His threat silenced Zen. His friend had pulled his hamstring during his sprint from third to home during the World Series. He was still walking stiffly.
Hitting on a safe subject, Zen asked, "How long has it been since you've been home?"
Risk shrugged. "Two, maybe three months." Two months, one week, and four days. Jacy Grayson had called, down in the dumps after ending a six-month relationship with local pharmacist Mel Colburn. Hearing the sadness in her voice, he'd hopped a plane in between road trips, arriving in Frostproof to heal her heart.
He had stayed all of five hours.
He wondered if Jacy was involved with someone now. Or if they'd have a month of great sex ahead of them. More than a booty call, he was her rebound lover. Totally into her, he delivered both pleasure and comfort until she forgot the man who'd broken her heart. They shared a history of friendship and sex, a closeness envied by many married couples.
A smile curved one corner of his mouth. Jacy had one fine body. She'd fleshed out sweet and curvy. Play-ful, seductive, uninhibited, she drove him crazy in bed. Thoughts of her naked shot from his head to his groin. He shifted on the leather bucket seat, uncomfortable as hell. If he wasn't careful, the press of his sex would pop the buttons on his denim fly.
"I'm going to stop for coffee," Risk told Zen.
"You don't drink coffee," Zen reminded him.
"I do today."
The Cornerstone Building claimed a full block along Wall Street. The five stories housed a pharmacy, several retail stores, doctors, lawyers, architects, and Jacy's Java.
"Damn, there's no place to park," Zen muttered, scanning the street for a spot.
Risk found a space six blocks north of their destination. "Can you hobble or should I call a cab?"
"I'll make it, as long as I don't have to run."
Companionable silence stretched between them as they sauntered along cracked sidewalks beneath bright blue canopies. Their reflections flashed in the windows, two tall men, casually dressed, without a trail of press, fans, or groupies.
"Are you glad you came along for the ride?" Risk eventually asked.
"Did I have a choice?" Zen returned. "My Navigator's in the shop, waiting for a new carburetor. When you offered to drive me to the grocery store, I didn't know we'd be shopping in Florida."
"Freshest citrus in the country."
"I'll fly a crate back to Richmond."
Risk slowed his stride. "I couldn't let Aaron down."
Zen came to a stop. "I barely know the man."
"He'll appreciate your participation in the weekend events."
Zen shrugged, pushing forward. "That's yet to be seen."
Risk saw a great weekend ahead.
Aaron Grayson sponsored a charity event each year, attended by players throughout the major league. An auction, golf and Softball tournaments, along with a country club dance, brought in spectators and fat donations for the expansion of Frostproof's parks and recreation facility—a facility Aaron and Risk had established as their second home during their teens.
"You can ride in my golf cart," Risk offered.
"Not if you drive the cart the way you drive your Lotus."
"Carts barely make five miles per hour."
"Yeah, right, and the Lotus maxes at fifty."
"We were cruising."
"We were flying. The tires never touched the pavement."
They passed Walter's Meat Market and Maria's House of Hair. Big hair from the look of the woman who came through the door.
Risk nodded. "Mrs. Moreland."
The woman in the plain tan housedress and brown flats was pushing eighty. She peered at him through thick glasses. "That you, Richard? Ben and Carrie's boy?"
"Ben and Mary's," he gently corrected.
She looked up at him through her bifocals. "What grade you in now? Senior?"
"I, uh, graduated several years ago."
"Where are you working? Still packing oranges at Temple Groves?"
"No, ma'am. I'm playing ball."
Pity creased the corners of her eyes and mouth. "No money in that, boy. You need to find a real job."
"Duly noted, Mrs. Moreland."
She turned slowly, all big hair and thin, frail body. "Greet your parents for me."
"Yes, ma'am," Risk replied. He caught Zen's stare. "What?"
"You're a real hometown hero, Richard." Zen chuckled.
Risk grimaced. He hadn't been called Richard for twenty years. Not since the day his Little League teammates tagged him Risk for all the chances he took both on and off the field. "Here, I'm Ben and Mary's boy," he explained. "Here, the World Series takes second place to the new fire truck."
"You should have arrived with flashing lights and a siren."
They pressed on down the sidewalk. Overhead signs swung in the light breeze, in need of paint and fresh lettering.
Another block, and Zen slowed. He shaded his eyes with one hand. "Is that a line up ahead? What's drawing the early morning crowd? Flu shots?"
"No, coffee."
Zen stopped, bent, rubbed the back of his leg. "Is Juan Valdez making a guest appearance?"
Risk grinned. "It's all in the sugar."
"I drink my coffee black."
"You won't today."
Thirty minutes of inching forward landed them at the door. A bright red door with gold paisley swirls. Another ten, and Risk held the door for Zen to pass ahead of him. He wanted to catch his friend's reaction to the coffee shop.
Zen didn't disappoint. His eyes widened, then narrowed. His jaw dropped. "Damn, Kincaid, I need sunglasses."
Jacy's Java defined bright. Prior to the grand opening, Jacy had decorated like a wild woman. Free-spirited and flamboyant, she'd tossed buckets of paint onto the walls, laughing when the colors mixed and ran like a box of melted crayons.
The colors reflected like a kaleidoscope off the shiny black-tiled floor when the morning sun shot through the windows along the east wall. Hung from the original gilt ceiling, gold fans stirred the air. The scent of strong coffee blended with freshly baked sugar-and-spice cookies and gingerbread men. Red chili pepper Christmas lights glowed against the cappuccino machine all year round.
An eclectic scramble of chairs from red leather and honey-toned rattan to retro pub stools were pushed up to cherrywood, tubular steel, and mosaic-tiled tables. Sunflowers bloomed in cranberry vases. Beside each table, silver water buckets displayed a selection of newspapers and magazines. The atmosphere was one of contentment as the morning regulars took their first sip of coffee, closed their eyes, and collectively sighed.