Psycho snapped his fingers. "Damn, I forgot my cowboy hat and boots."
She narrowed her gaze on him. "No fighting, Psy-cho." The wild man had been fined and suspended for misbehavior on and off the field more than any player in the league. "If you're not a fan of Alan Jackson and line dancing, don't stop for a beer."
Psycho pushed off his chair and stood toe to toe with her. "Care to ride along? Crack the whip?"
Through the window, she caught a glimpse of his Dodge Ram. Three dirt bikes filled the truck bed. Badass and ready for back road action. "There's not enough room in the cab for a fourth person."
He patted his thigh. "You could sit on my lap."
"Not while you're driving."
"Shame." He swooped in and kissed her cheek. "I promise to leave your town in one piece." He looked to his two friends. "Let's hit the road."
Stevie watched the three hot young players cross to the door. Two tables of women, all over sixty, followed their progress. Widower Abigail Gates leaned toward her tea-sipping companion. Tight butt and auction rose from their table on a raspy giggle.
Stevie couldn't help smiling. "Those two ladies will be spending their social security checks tonight."
"Anticipation ups the ante," Aaron agreed. He then glanced at his gold watch, a Cartier Panther that shouted money. "I've got less than an hour. Let's get down to business."
Stevie's heart squeezed. When had Aaron started making his exit the moment he entered? Where was the laid-back man who once lingered over coffee and her?
Zen started to rise. "I'll switch tables. Give you two some privacy."
Aaron hesitated as if he hated to ask. "Are you involved in the charity events?"
"Risk added my name to the celebrity golf tournament," Zen informed him. "Do you have a problem with me being here?" His tone turned cool, challenging.
"Your name's as big a draw as Risk's or mine." Aaron motioned him to sit back down and Zen obliged. "Stevie and Jacy can give us a quick rundown on all that's taking place."
"Jacy's in the kitchen with Risk," Stevie stated. "I'll get them."
"On your way back—"
"Coffee, white?" she recalled.
Aaron nodded. "Always liked a little coffee with my cream."
She turned to the shortstop. "Refill, Zen?"
He shook his head. "No thanks. I'm set."
Silence held between the men as Stevie crossed the room. Surely they had something to discuss. There was always the weather. A safe topic, even between strangers.
Pushing through the swinging doors, she spotted Risk and Jacy near the sink. They were so hot for each other, they had yet to notice her arrival. Risk's full-body press pinned Jacy to the wall as he licked caramel glaze from her fingertips. Jacy's cheeks were flushed red from the swirl and sweep of his tongue.
She cleared her throat. "Risk, get Jacy's fingers out of your mouth so she can meet with her cousin. Aaron's out front having coffee."
Jacy jumped and Risk grinned. "We'll be out as soon as she washes her hands," he informed her.
Stevie rolled her eyes. "You've licked them clean."
"My sugar fix. Jacy tastes sweet."
Risk had sampled her fully. His whisker burn reddened Jacy's cheek and chin, her lips were swollen from his kisses.
"Five minutes," Stevie called on her way out.
"Make it ten," Risk shouted back.
She figured it would be at least fifteen before they made an appearance. Back behind the counter, she brewed a fresh pot of coffee. She inhaled the rich Guatemala Antigua blend. Scanning the selection of china, she decided on her favorite French pattern, the cup, saucer, and creamer hand-painted with green pears and dark red cherries.
Jacy had a love for fine china. She'd brought that love into the coffee shop. An assortment of eclectic patterns enhanced the coffee experience.
Returning to the table, Stevie served Aaron, then took a seat next to him. A seat that placed her directly across from Zen. His dark gaze touched her face and drifted to her breasts. She locked her jaw against the tingle that set her nipples to diamond-hard points.
Rubbing her arms, she crossed them over her chest. "Is it cold in here?"
"I was finding it warm." Aaron shrugged off his gray suit jacket, revealing a crisp white shirt and pale blue tie. Dropping the jacket over her shoulders, he asked, "Better?"
So much better. Tailored and expensive, the mate-rial held his scent and warmth. Dwarfed by its size, Stevie smiled when she saw that the sleeves hung nearly to the floor.
Aaron glanced down. "Careful, Stevie. Don't get the sleeves dirty. There's not a decent dry cleaner in Frostproof."
Not a decent cleaner? Had Aaron forgotten Parson's Fresh Press? Three generations had seen the town through sixty years of service without complaint.
Besides, the black-tiled floor of the coffee shop had been mopped after the afternoon rush. It was presently clean enough to eat off.
Aaron was on his second cup of coffee by the time Risk and Jacy joined them. Risk slapped Aaron on the back. "I see Frostproof allows even their losers to come home."
Aaron stood, hugged Jacy, then pumped Risk's hand. "You've never hit a cutter in your life. I swear, I thought I had you out."
"You thought wrong."
"Major set of plums to point to the nosebleed seats."
"Couldn't leave Zen hanging on third." He winked at Jacy. "Home run was for Pink."
"Jacy in Heaven's Row," Aaron teased. "Thought Risk could afford box seats for the hometown crowd."
"He offered," Jacy returned. "I preferred to hang with the rowdy Rogues. Fans can party."
Aaron looked at Zen. "How's the hamstring?"
"Sore." Zen stretched out his legs. "I'll be able to golf as long as I don't have to walk the course."
"Carts are available," Aaron assured him, then asked, "Have you met Jacy?"
Zen smiled across the table. "Haven't had the pleasure. But I hear you give good sugar."
"No sugar for you," Risk said to set his friend straight.
Zen cast a glance at Stevie. "I much prefer a good blow."
Aaron blinked and Stevie rushed to explain, "We're talking coffee."