Page 128 of Call the Shots
A middle-aged woman with a feather boa stared. “Hot damn. CalebMontoya?”
Montoya’s eyes darted to mine, confused.
“Bear Moreau!” a voice shouted out.
“Felix Fowler!”
“Nick Kurosawa!”
The four of us stood, motionless, while a bunch of older ladies ambled over to shake hands, asking questions about playoffs last year.
“Let me buy you a drink!” A woman clapped me on the back. “My kids love you?—”
“We have hockey night every Tuesday.” The bartender smiled, cleaning a glass. “If you wear a jersey, it’s half-off appetizers.”
Not at all how I thought the night would go.
Nick and Fridge had fake IDs and a hunched-over lady in her sixties kept handing Montoya her flask. I stayed sober to be the designated driver. Fridge got my attention to take a video, and I passed him my phone.
Another patron crept into view. “What are you doing?”
“He’s trying to get a girl’s attention.”
“Fridge.”
“You won’t get it like that!” the lady with the gravelly voice barked. “Pull up your sleeves! Mess up your hair! Look like a Don Juan out on the town!”
Two ladies shuffled over to muss up my hair. With my sleeves rolled up, and Nick’s drink at my right, I grinned for the camera, but the grin disappeared when I checked my views.
Nothing.
June hadn’t checked anything at all.
CHAPTER 47
JUNE
WRITTEN OFF
After the conversationwith my mom, I sipped my drink, leaning into King at the table. There were hearts dancing in his eyes while he focused on Willow.
I wouldn’t be gloomy. I wouldn’t ruin their night.
I squeezed his arm. “You should see yourself. Boy’s inloooove.”
“Uh-huh.” King nodded, but I was sure he didn’t hear me. He walked away to scoop some napkins off the counter, offering them for Willow’s purse. Something must’ve gotten on it. He gently tugged her closer and cleaned it up.
“Willow?” Kassie got my attention, coming up with drinks. “One more shot before we hit the road?”
It took me a moment to realize she was talking tome. Kassie winced, and I quickly shook my head. “It’s okay?—”
“Goddammit, I’m sorry?—”
“Pinky promise, it’s okay.”
“We spend twenty-four seven with each other—I’m sorry, June.”
“Hey?” King broke into our conversation, motioning discreetly to my phone. “Can I see the pictures?” I started toshow him the big group selfies, but King dropped his voice. “The Willow ones?”
