Page 63 of Hard Hitter

"Maker's?" the man chided. "We're taking shots, All-Star, not sipping whiskey and diet Coke like we're in a sorority."

Quinn laughed and shook his head, conceding, and took the shot with a wince. "Fuck, at least it's not Jim Beam."

“The All-Star’s a diva, huh?” The man- whose name he still didn’t know, he realized- raised an eyebrow. He seemed to be taking an X-ray of Quinn, taking in each and every detail in a split second before relaxing his posture, leaning back against the beer cooler.

“Nah, I just don’t drink a lot. When I do I guess I’m particular,” Quinn shrugged, and sat down on a cushioned bar stool.

“Well we do drink a lot around here,” Sandy-blonde said, slamming another shot glass down on the bar and filling it with Jameson again. He pushed the glass toward Quinn. “So drink up, All-Star.”

Quinn glanced down at the fresh shot glass in front of him, contemplating. When the guy poured himself another shot and held it up, Quinn sighed, clinked his glass and threw it back. With another wince, he set the glass back down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re trying to get me drunk and I don’t even know your name. Is this how Thor puts the moves on?”

The guy laughed heartily, “Ah, yes. Shots first- always.” He switched to a booming and rather convincing God of Thunder impression, “And then you put the hammer down! That’s how we do it back in Asgard.”

“You’re not actually trying to give Quinn Casey tips on how to pick up women, are you?” A blonde guy whose entire face just screamed “former frat-bro” chimed in, leaning up against the bar. “Seriously,Thor, when was the last time you tapped Giselle Frederick?”

Still not dropping the Thor voice, he replied, “Giving a woman shots isn’t exactly a ground-breaking strategy.” He poured two more shot glasses and slid one to Quinn again. “The secret is in the hammer. And if you don’t have the hammer, you won’t bring the thunder.”

Quinn let out an amused laugh and, without much thought, brought the new shot of whiskey to his lips. Just as Quinn began tossing the drink back, the Thor impersonator muttered, “Fucked every single one of those Valkyrie bitches,” causing Quinn to choke and spit half his shot back out as he laughed.

Rae would have my ass if she knew I laughed at something like that.

Blame it on the alcohol, the sea of testosterone residing in the shed, or the fact that he hadn’t had a guy’s night in ages, but Quinn was enjoying himself. This new company, and the spreading warmth the whiskey was filling him with were easily pushing aside the earlier anxiety he’d been feeling.

Thor the Bartender grabbed a towel and tossed it to Quinn to clean his own damn mess up before ducking beneath the bar. “You’re right, All-Star. No more shots for you.” He placed a rocks glass filled with iceon the bar and poured in a small shot of Maker’s Mark and topped it heavily with Diet Coke. “Enjoy your scrapbooking party, you goddamn sorority girl.” He plopped a small straw into the glass, adding, “Don’t forget- I’d hate to see a sorority chick without something to suck on.”

Quinn half-suppressed his laugh and snatched the straw out of his glass, flicking it back to the bartender. “Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of an asshole?”

“All the time,” he shrugged. He reached into the beer cooler and pulled out a Heineken. Leaning back again, he asked, “You’re from around here originally, right?”

“Yeah,” Quinn said. “Not quite this neighborhood, but in Traverse.”

Fake-Thor eyed him curiously. “Some kind of ‘rags to riches’ inspirational story?”

With a sigh, Quinn shrugged. “Something like that, I guess. Not too inspirational. Just a kid who learned to hit a ball pretty well.”

“Don’t tell me Quinn Casey’s humble in real life. Are all those rumors just for show?”

Quinn glanced out toward the bonfire where all the women were sitting, their drunken laughter echoing through the open window. He didn’t have a clear enough view to see where Rae was, but he could distinguish her clear, vibrant laugh from the rest when he heard it.

He smiled half-heartedly. “No, those rumors are true. Or some of them. Maybe most of them. Just somethin’ about being home again, I guess.”

“Harsh reminder of where you came from?”

“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” Quinn replied. “How about you? Just around for the night or do you live up here?”

“I’m from Romeo, down state,” he said, now snapping the top off his bottle. “The land of wealthy, entitled, trust-fund assholes. Like me.”

“Must be a rough life.”

“Yeah,” Fake-Thor tipped the green bottle to his mouth and sighed after a long swig. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” When Quinn gave him a skeptical glance, he added, “I’m not saying it was worse or anything like whatever you might have dealt with. At least I never had toworry about food or money, but everything was still chaos. Carefully kept under the guise of being perfect and normal.”

“Ah, yes, gotta keep up those appearances.” Quinn nodded. “Not that I know anything about that exactly. I was just trying to keep CPS from putting me in foster care.”

Whoa, where had that come from? Why am I sharing that with this guy?

“Okay, you win,” Fake-Thor chuckled. “I just never saw my parents, and the turnover rate for my nannies all depended on how long it took for my mom to catch my dad in bed with them. Or in the car, or the office...the laundry room. Wherever.”

Quinn considered for a few moments. “So, you had hot nannies? And I’m supposed to feel bad for you?”

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