They’d met as college freshmen football players, both anxious to prove they belonged, and immediately bonded. During those early days, Donovan had been an offensive lineman responsible for blocking for fullbacks like August before the coaches realized his talents would be better served on the other side of the ball. Then, four years later, they’d both been drafted by the Knights.
“He might not have anything to say, but he definitely has something to do.” Nicholas held out his palm toward August.
Donovan knew what that meant. They’d made a stupid bet. He knew because he partook in the practice himself on the regular with these two. That didn’t mean he liked it when he was the subject of a wager. “What the hell did you two bet on?”
“Whether you would show up on your day off,” Nicholas answered, glee infusing every word. Donovan rolled his eyes while August pulled out a black leather wallet from his back pocket, took out a twenty, and slapped it into Nicholas’s waiting hand.
That matter settled, August turned his attention back to Donovan. “We can handle things,” he said, his voice filled with its usual gruffness, like he was unused to speaking. An accurate description, really.
“I know,” Donovan said. And he meant it. “I only planned to stop in for a few minutes to fill you in on what happened yesterday, but obviously someone beat me to it.” August had the day off and Nicholas had already left after spending the early morning baking before the incident. “I’m going to see Mrs. T and get some advice about how we can boost sales.”
“So you’re not taking the day off.” Nicholas sighed his disgust. Not that he wasn’t a hard worker. He was the best running back in the league. Talent alone hadn’t gotten him there.
When Nicholas was drafted by San Diego a year after Donovan and August, he’d glued himself to August’s side, wanting to build a rapport with the man who would make his life easier on the football field. Which meant he was always there whenever Donovan turned around. Donovan had eventually warmed up to him when he saw his commitment to the team and dedication to his family and community. Now, he couldn’t imagine life without the man others had dubbed “Pretty Boy Nick.”
“We promised each other we would take one day a week for ourselves,” Nicholas added.
With his smooth mocha skin, sharp jawline, gray eyes, and ever-present grin, Nicholas looked like a damn GQ model, even dressed in the standard Sugar Blitz polo and khakis. There was a reason they made him work the counter when he wasn’t baking. August was stockier, a few inches taller than Nicholas’s five feet ten. August didn’t give a damn about chasing the spotlight or records, leaving that up to his business partners. Jeans and a decades-old T-shirt with his black locs pulled back into a low ponytail and a perfectly groomed beard that covered the mahogany skin on his face was his preferred look when he wasn’t playing football.
They both crossed their arms, united in their exasperation with Donovan.
He refused to feel guilty. There would be no relaxation for him until the shop was consistently turning a profit again and they could afford a full-time manager and more part-timers. Yesterday, after Cupcake Shop Critic had waltzed out, he’d gone back to his office and scrutinized the sales numbers some more. Maybe if he stared hard and long enough, they would change. Or maybe he would develop some magical powers to make it happen. Why the hell not?
When he’d realized he’d ventured into hallucinogenic territory, it dawned on him that he knew someone who did know how to make magic. Who had turned an underachieving team into a major success story. He’d put in a call. “Look. It’s just a meeting. Then I’ll relax.”
Nicholas’s brows lifted. “You mean go work out for two hours?”
Damn it, why did his friends know him so well? His spine stiffened. “Owning a cupcake shop is—”
“—no excuse not to stay in football shape,” his best friends finished for him.
He gave them the only response warranted. He flipped them the bird.
“Mature,” Nicolas intoned. “But enough about that. Tell me about this mystery shopper. I want to hear the dirt straight from your mouth.”
Donovan glared. Nicholas remained unfazed. Donovan sighed. Why didn’t his glare work on his best friend? Or Cupcake Shop Critic? “Okay. Fine. She was talking shit about the store and said our cupcakes were stale. I wasn’t in the mood to hear it, so I offered her a cupcake. End of story.”
Nicholas rocked back on his heels. “Wow. I want to meet the woman who made you forget to be polite at all times.”