"If you don't give sugar, how do you satisfy your customers?" he asked.
"I blow—" Heat shot to her hairline. She'd give her life to recapture those words.
Zen folded his hands on his lap. Right over his zipper. His fingers were long. His nails clean. "Blow what, exactly?"
She couldn't breathe. Couldn't swallow. "Blow on hot coffee until it cools," she rasped out. "Same as Jacy."
"I'll have a double cappuccino. And a blow."
She stepped back and straight into another server carrying a full tray of gourmet coffees. Stevie grimaced as froth sloshed over the sides of the china cups. She then escaped as fast as her legs would carry her.
"Play nice, Zen." Risk pushed himself off the floor, then righted the retro stool. The legs were no longer wobbly. Rolling the screwdriver between his palms, he added, "Stevie's sweet and incredibly loyal. She's shaken her pom-poms for Aaron Grayson since high school."
Zen's chest squeezed for a fraction of a second. When he'd caught her staring, he'd sensed her curiosity. A curiosity that bordered on interest. An interest that left her irritable once she'd recognized his name. As far as she was concerned, he played for the enemy. "There's no ring on her finger," he noted.
Risk shrugged. "Aaron has yet to propose."
"Stevie hasn't heard the league rumor, then?"
"It's strictly a rumor until Aaron makes a formal announcement," Risk returned.
Zen hoped for Stevie's sake the rumor was false. Catching her by the cappuccino machine, he watched as she chatted up customers with a quick smile and an easy laugh. Although a confirmed bachelor, he was a sucker for hazel-eyed women with freckles. He admired her fire and loyalty. Found her soft breasts and rounded hips womanly. He'd had his fill of stick chicks.
And Stevie's baseball IQ fascinated him. He'd never met another person who tracked facts, remembered and recited them.
Beside him, Risk inhaled deeply. So deeply, he drew Zen's full attention. The man's nostrils flared, his gaze fixed on the kitchen door. "Jacy's baking caramel rolls." Male hunger for more than Jacy's culinary skills darkened Risk's eyes. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."
Zen tracked Risk's swagger, around tables and through the kitchen door. Whispers followed the major league player. A few chuckles, followed by raised eyebrows.
"Kincaid's going to delay the caramel rolls," Frank Stall complained.
Walter Tate agreed. "Jacy's sweet. The man's after her sugar."
"All I've ever gotten is a pansy cube and a swirl of her finger," Stall muttered.
"You're lucky to get that with Kincaid in town," Tate stated.
Zen stared at the kitchen door until Stevie stepped into his line of vision.
"Your cappuccino." Stevie delivered his double in a blue-and-white wedgewood cup. Steam crested the rim. A sucker for a sexy mouth, Zen stared as she puckered her pink lips and gently blew on his cappuccino.
The longer he stared, the shorter her temper seemed to get. Her final blow sent froth over the rim and onto her wrist, blotching her skin. Her hand jerked, and the wedgewood tilted on its saucer.
Zen jumped to his feet and made a grab for the cup. "You've burned yourself."
Stevie clutched the cup to her chest, steadier now.
Zen, however, was shaken. He'd nearly grabbed her left breast in his haste to right the cup. Even now, his fingers lingered over her nipple. A nipple that puckered from the mere suggestion of his touch.
Stevie Cole's entire body tightened. Tightened and blushed. With her free hand, she furtively plucked at the front of her blue polo in hopes of hiding the twin peaks. Beneath Zen's stare, her breasts swelled even more, as if seeking the brush of his fingers.
Zen dropped his hand and balled his fist. His face was as red as her own. "How much for the cappuccino?" he asked, his tone as tight as her breasts.
Utterly mortified by her body's response, she quickly set the cup and saucer on the table and informed him, "Four dollars."
He pulled a money clip from his pants pocket, peeled off a twenty and pressed it in her palm. "Keep the change."
"A sixteen-dollar tip? For what?" Puckered nipples? Nearly laying my breast in your palm?
"The blow, Stevie," he said as he dropped onto the stool and rubbed the back of his leg. She caught the flicker of pain in his eyes before he straightened and reached for his cup. His forefinger was too thick to slide through the handle, so he cupped the base as he took his first sip. "Good coffee. Good service."
Stevie knew different. Her service had been poor. Her attitude unprofessional. Her body unpredictable. She'd embarrassed them both when her nipples beaded beneath his hot stare. She didn't deserve a tip.
Guilt prodded her to suggest, "How about a butterscotch brownie on the house?"
He shook his head. "I don't eat sweets."
"Never?" She couldn't imagine life without sugar.
He patted his flat abdomen. "Need to stay at the top of my game."
Which meant she was at the bottom of her own. Feeling fat and vulnerable, she took her leave. "Let me know when you need a refill."
"Will do." He returned to his newspaper. His expression turned serious as he scanned the financial section.
Stevie kept an eye on Zen. While waiting patiently for Risk, he covered the Times and Miami Herald, then selected Forbes, Fortune, and Newsweek from the silver bucket and read them cover to cover. Several of the female servers stopped and spoke to him, flirting a little, but getting no more than a polite nod in return.
The afternoon coffee crowd—those in need of a caffeine kick to see them through to five o'clock— filtered in slowly. Amid the crush, Stevie recognized the Bat Pack. Three Rogues power hitters Risk Kin-caid had introduced to her over the years. Though Risk held the highest batting average on the team, the Bat Pack came out swinging strong every season. They were young, hot, and full of themselves.
Right fielder Cody "Psycho" McMillan led the pack. All lean and tan; wild and crazy. And a known nudist. Jesse "Romeo" Bellisaro came second. He bore the all-American blond of his mother with the Italian fire of his father. He was one hot third baseman. During spring training, women threw their panties onto the field to gain his attention.