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Based on the shit-eating grin still plastered across his face, he absolutely doesn’t understand. Thankfully, Tuck starts complaining that I’ve abandoned his schedule, and Easton lets me turn back to the phone without another word. The reprieve lasts approximately three seconds before his knee bumps mine beneath the table, and when I glance over, he mouths Pea.

I kick him in the shin, and his laughter fills the room as I force my focus back to Tuck’s calendar, even though the heat in my face has nothing to do with Easton anymore. Without looking, I know Jubal is somewhere across the room, which is ridiculous, considering there are half a dozen people in here and none of them has ever made me this aware of where my hands are or what expression is on my face.

I find Tuck’s next conflict and concentrate on that instead. “Are you free on the twenty-fifth after one?”

“Yes. You can put me wherever you need me.”

I make the change and hand his phone back, only to have Sullivan slide a tablet across the table before Tuck has completely cleared the space.

“Since you’re fixing everyone else’s.” Sullivan points to the event sheet. “I want to keep the hospital visit.”

“You also want to take part in the football clinic.”

“I can want two things.”

“Not when they’re happening forty minutes apart on opposite sides of town.”

I cross his name off the clinic list and confirm the hospital visit against the shared calendar before handing the tablet back. “Done.”

“See?” Sullivan looks toward Whit. “All you had to do was ask Callie.”

Another laugh slips out before I glance across the table and find Jubal watching me. I’m still smiling when our eyes meet. He’s only ever known me outside this place or trying to keep my distance from it. He hasn’t seen Easton steal things out of my hands because annoying me entertains him, or Sullivan drag me into an argument I wasn’t part of five seconds ago. Jubal’s gaze stays on me long enough for warmth to spread through me before Easton steals the pen out of my hand, breaking whatever passed between us.

“Seriously?” I reach across him for it, but he lifts it out of reach. I shove his shoulder, and he laughs as I reach across him again before Tuck snatches the pen from his hand and tosses it to me.

“Thank you.”

“Duvall.” Archer angles his laptop toward him. “They put me on the youth clinic with the quarterbacks. I should switch, right?”

Jubal walks over to look at the assignment. “Why?”

“I’m a running back. Figured they’d want somebody who actually knows what they’re doing when the kids start throwing.”

“Do you want to do the clinic?”

“Yeah.”

“Then stay on it. Those kids won’t care what position you play. Half of them will probably want to race you anyway.”

“Probably,” Archer responds, leaving his name where it is and turning back to his laptop.

I watch Jubal reach for an empty chair, still thinking about how easily Archer accepted his answer. He’s been here barely a week, but Archer asked him as if he already trusted whatever Jubal would tell him.

“You planning on volunteering, Duvall?” Whit asks.

“I was planning to.”

Whit points toward me without looking up from Archer’s laptop. “Callie has the list.”

Jubal’s gaze comes to mine as I slide the laminated sheet across the table. “Apparently, I’ve been promoted to unpaid administrative labor.”

“Sounds prestigious.” Jubal takes the sheet, but instead of looking down immediately, his eyes stay on me for another second. “What do you have left?”

There are only so many places left for players to volunteer, and I’ve been staring at the list long enough to know exactly which ones still need people. But Houston left too many memories attached to Jubal asking me what I want.

I clear my throat and lean closer to the sheet. “There’s a food-bank event, another school visit, and the youth clinic still needs two people.”

“I’ll take the food bank.”