Football players are assholes. I know - my brother is their king. Older and annoyingly overprotective, he's the star quarterback at Santa Cruz High School. I love him, but everyone worships the air he breathes and it's suffocating.
After a traumatic...
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The thick smell of pizza toppings, heavy grease, and minimum-wage labor greeted me at work. The silence wasn't a friend of my overactive mind, which spun through every possible path I could take to go back to my quiet, introverted, anti-social quiet life. Other than hoarding myself in my bedroom, all other possibilities hit a roadblock. Harper's pro-Logan stance was no help, although her revolving door of first dates made for interesting lunch conversations.
My quiet, peaceful work shift changed fifteen minutes in, starting with a short text from Jake.
Jake: Sending you some security today.
I blinked down at my phone. "Huh?"
Derrick's red curls didn't look up from his inventory and payroll sheets. "Elle, no phones at work."
I grumbled a string of inaudible swear words but put my phone into my pocket and pretended to clean the counter. Ten minutes later, the front door swung open with a chime and I auto-filled, "Welcome to Pizza Palace, where your pizza is our palace pleasure."
"Hi, Elle."
Three tall, lanky guys stood at the counter in their Santa Cruz letterman jackets, from the JV team by the white stripes circling the sleeves and the 'JV' white blocked letters on the armband. "Hi." I gave a fake smile when another trio of JV players entered. Weird. "What can I get you?"
The door chimed before they ordered. Unfortunately for me, Derrick and a new guy Max here today, the stream of odd patrons didn't stop. Guy after guy entered the front doors, to a continuous chime. Poor Max worked his third day in the kitchen, and the problem most likely came from my meddling brother. I gaped when the JV team, about thirty guys, lined up at the counter.
My stomach clenched when the first varsity group showed up, wearing identical grins. He didn't... he did. As if by clockwork, every five to ten minutes, more Santa Cruz football players entered. The lobby became packed to burst. Despite Derrick helping Max, the kitchen was overwhelmed with orders. I was a headless chicken, with my arms weighed down with heavy trays and my feet rushed in all directions. All of the guys were generally polite, but in between taking orders and weaving through the crowded table area, I got asked to Homecoming. At one point, with thirty-six orders still left, my hands shook.
Since you decided you were open for dating business.
I'll kill him.
More than an hour of chaos later, Jake, Kieran, and Brody were the last three players to arrive. I marched around the counter, his smirk blurring under the anger seething in my veins, and shoved my palms into his chest. Jake's head tipped back with a laugh. "Where's my warm and inviting Pizza Palace welcome?" Oh, I wanted to punch off that smirk! How could he!? Kieran flashed a smile, and Brody wore an expression best described as if he wanted to run out the door.
"What the hell is this?" I waved at the sea of red and white Santa Cruz Cardinals. Our lobby was beyond capacity, and most guys only half-fit in their seats. It was funny if not at my expense. They were like giant clowns that didn't fit into tiny cars.
