The Not-Outcast(24)

I made no comment, because this was the adorable five-year-old side of Dean. He truly was a fanboy of the team.

“So, we’re down a volunteer.”

I sighed. Dean was carrying a whole file of paperwork. And he was waiting for me, that meant he was going to follow me into my office, sit there, and not move until we’d talked about everything he needed us to talk about.

I changed courses, heading into the kitchen first. I was going to need coffee for this, a lot of coffee.

“Cheyenne-the-eye-of-the-tiger!” came from behind the grill, and our main chef lifted up one of his beefy hands, booming his normal greeting to me. He told us to call him Boomer, and well, judging by his greeting, you can see why. He kicked his head back and flashed me some pearly whites. “How’s it hanging with my especially fabulous-looking girl today?”

I gave him a smile back, but I didn’t try to keep anything from Boomer. He had the inherent ability of seeing everything, and I mean everything. If you had been anxious about something three days ago, he’d ask how that was going. Boomer and I shared something that Dean never would. We had both shared time on the streets, and there was a vibe we got from the other.

I thought those days were long behind me, like way, way behind me, but one look from Boomer and he understood. I wish I could look at him and know what he was feeling, but Boomer liked to remind everyone that he was our All-Knowing, All-Wise, All-Black Maestro. His words. I overheard him introduce himself that way to the new volunteer last week, and even she seemed transfixed with him.

“Boom, I need—”

He turned back to the cutting board but pointed to the coffee area. “Already got you covered.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” I breezed past him, grabbing a mug asap.

I hoped Dean would step back, give me a breather for a minute.

Nope.

I got my coffee, turned back, and there he was. Still waiting, readjusting his Mustangs’ tie. Those cufflinks flashed again, and for some reason, that settled me. I grinned at him. “You going to get through the next dos dias? Need a fresca? A bebida?”

He frowned, twisting his tie the other way. “I don’t know what any of that means.” He lifted up the papers. “But I want to hash all this out before the first Mustangs get here.” His gaze dropped to my coffee where I was still pouring creamer into it.

I was a cream type of girl.

“You done yet? Want some coffee with your creamer?”

My grin spread, all slow like. “And there you are, thinking you can write the manual for office sexual harassment. You go, boy. You lead from example.”

He blinked at me. “Huh?”

“Never mind.” The moment was gone. I led the way to my office, and once inside, my purse was dropped on the floor. Coffee set on the desk. I dug out my phone and booted up my computer. First things first, right?

I grabbed for my coffee, and leaned back, taking a big whiff. This was my porn.

“Okay, Deano. Let’s do this.”

He just rolled his eyes at his nickname and pulled out the first sheet. “Cut Ryder was taken off the volunteer schedule for today. He might get in tomorrow, but they’re not sure.”

Well, there went that porn-inspired coffee-creamer mood.

I tried to ignore the shrinking on the stomach lining. “Why? I mean, did they say how come?”

He shook his head. “Said something about PT, but since they’re sending the entire team, I think we can still use them for our social media marketing. And if he doesn’t come tomorrow, I’ll reach out and see if we can get him to come alone on another time. This might work in our benefit.” Second sheet was pulled out. “And we need to talk about changing our distributors—”

I mentally checked out.

I was trying not to think about Cut, about what PT he’d need, about everything that had nothing to do with Come Our Way. I was still looking at Dean, and he thought I was paying attention. I could tell because I was simultaneously monitoring his word efficiency, speed, tone, and volume frequency.

But I was thinking about Cut.

He was in PT.

Probably because of his fight. He’d had two in two games.

And he was being used to cover two lines.

He was fatigued by the end, and I’d wanted to text him, ask if he was all right, but I was also more of a chickenshit at the same time.

Dean’s speech hadn’t changed. He thought I was paying attention…but there was Cut.

He wasn’t coming today.

That was good.

Right?

Maybe it wasn’t.

No, no. It was good.

Even if he came tomorrow, it was business. And I’d be hiding in the office, and that made me remember—“Wait, I’m not coming in tomorrow.”

Dean stopped, his mouth open and in mid-sentence. “What?”

“I have a thing tomorrow.”

“A thing? We need you. It’s our biggest social media day.”

I shook my head at the same time my mind was buzzing, so was my blood. I was whirling. Winding up. He had no clue what he was asking of me, but nada. I couldn’t do it. “No comprendo.”

“That means you don’t understand.” Dean huffed. “I had a photo op planned for tomorrow, especially if Cut Ryder is coming. We need you—”

“No, you don’t.” Blood, calm down. Mind, pause. One thing at a time.