Page 1 of Honkers Under the Holly

A WILD GOOSE CHASE

Iweaved through the crowded Oktoberfest tent, the scent of bratwurst and sauerkraut mingling with the crisp October air. My phone buzzed in my pocket for the third time in ten minutes. I didn’t need to look at it to know it was Tommy “The Tank” Wilson, my only signed client and the reason I was navigating this sea of lederhosen and dirndls on a Friday night.

“Entschuldigung,” I muttered, squeezing past a group of rosy-cheeked revelers. My high school German teacher would’ve been proud. Or maybe not, considering I was pretty sure I’d just apologized to a wooden support beam.

I spotted Tommy at a long table near the back, already three steins deep if the empty glasses in front of him were any indication. So much for our “quick meeting to discuss strategy.” The guy was built like a brick house but had the alcohol tolerance of a gnat.

“Mac, my man!” Tommy’s voice boomed through the tent as I approached. He raised his current stein, sloshing beer all over the already sticky table. “Have a seat! Have a beer!”

And this was why Tommy was a free agent with no prospects. Which made me a sports agent with even fewer prospects.

I slid onto the bench across from him, plastering on my best “responsible agent” smile. “Hey, Tommy. How about we talk about that offer from the Razorbacks? The coaching staff have a position?—”

“Razorbacks, schmazorbacks,” Tommy slurred, waving a hand dismissively. “Tonight, we celebrate! Prost!”

He clinked his stein against an imaginary glass in front of me and took a long swig. I watched, a knot forming in my stomach. This was the guy I was pinning my fledgling sports agency on? The guy who was more interested in setting records for beer consumption than rushing yards? The Bandits had won their Thursday night game against the Mustangs despite Tommy acting more like a lump on a log than a running back. If he wasn’t one of my best friends…, but he was and that meant something.

A waitress appeared at my elbow, her blonde braids swinging as she set down another stein and some delicious-looking apple strudel in front of Tommy.

“Anything for you, sir?” she asked, her German accent as thick as the foam on the beer.

I looked up, ready to decline, not really into the fake milk maid thing, but the words died in my throat. Her blue eyes sparkled with amusement, and a dimple appeared in her cheek as she smiled. She was tall, and lush, with an ass that was barely covered by the floofy skirt and even more curves in all the right places. Her dirndl hugged her thick figure in a way that made my mouth go dry.

“I, uh...” Real smooth, Mac. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I’ll have some of that strudel and a water, please. Someone’s got to be responsible here.”

She laughed, and the sound had my heart do a little polka. “Very responsible. I’ll be right back with that.”

She walked away, and I couldn’t help but watch each sway of those hips. Tommy, despite his inebriated state, noticed. He let out a low whistle. “Now that’s what I call a first and ass.”

That didn’t even make sense. I turned to him, ready to steer the conversation to his career, but he was already halfway through his new stein. This was going to be a long night.

My phone buzzed again, this time with a text from my mom.

Got another offer on the shop today. Your father’s excited. Don’t forget to start packing. Smiley face.

She hadn’t quite learned to use actual emojis in her texts yet.

Great. Just awesome. Not only was my sole client more interested in partying than playing, but I was about to be homeless. Some sports agent I was turning out to be.

The waitress returned with my strudel and water, setting it down with a wink. “Enjoy, Mr. Responsible.”

I grinned despite myself. “Thanks, Ms...?”

No ring, so yes... yes, I was fishing. She was definitely the best part of this evening.

“Sara,” she supplied with a cheeky grin. She knew exactly what I was asking. “Sara Jayne Bauer.”

“Mac Jerry,” I replied, extending my hand. She shook it, her grip firm and warm.

A crash from across the tent drew her attention. “Ach, duty calls. Perhaps I’ll see you later, Mac.Prost.”

As she hurried off to deal with whatever drunken disaster had just occurred, I turned back to Tommy, determined to salvage something from this meeting. But he was face-down on the table, snoring softly...like a gnat.

I sighed, fishing out my wallet to pay. Some third-round draft pick he was turning out to be. At this rate, I’d be livingin a cardboard box behind my parents’ soon to be sold sports memorabilia shop before I ever saw a decent commission.

I looked around, hoping Miss Sara Jayne was still nearby to settle Tommy’s tab, wincing knowing the total would be ridiculous. But a commotion erupted near the entrance of the tent. Raised voices and startled yelps punctuated the usual Oktoberfest cacophony.

“Komm zurück, du dummer Vogel!”

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