Page 41 of Pucker Up
I waited outside the restroom, wondering why Ace Bailey had called me. After pulling the Tigers out of an epic slump, he should be celebrating, not calling me.
Mel reappeared, complete with a full face of makeup. “Change of plans, let’s go for a drink at Ultimate Sports.
“Fine.” I shrugged. They were basically the same place, and Ultimate Sports was closer to the streetcar stop.
The night was frigid and I buried my face in the collar of my jacket. We practically ran to the bar. My heart sank when I realized the line up of people running down the block was for Ultimate Sports.
“I’m just going to go home.” I shook my head. “I don’t feel like getting hypothermia tonight.”
Mel grabbed my hand. “Come on. We’re not waiting in a line.”
“What?” I was confused, but let Mel drag me to the front of the line. She worked for one of the top realtors in the city, but little Mel Malone didn’t have front-of-the-line pull at McDonald’s, let alone Ultimate Sports.
The bouncer looked annoyed as we approached, but before he could send us to the back of the line, Mel pointed to his clipboard. “Mel Malone and Goldie Swanson.”
The bouncer took in my jeans, handknit mittens, and ten-year-old peacoat heathered with Morton’s grey fur, and dubiously scanned the clipboard tracing the names with his fingerless gloves. To his apparent surprise, and mine, he stepped aside and unhooked the velvet rope.
“Right this way, Miss Malone and Miss Swanson.”
“Thank you.” Mel batted her eyelashes at him.
“Thanks,” I echoed.
I tugged off my mittens and matching wool hat and shoved them in the pockets of my coat. Ultimate Sports was a trendy sportsbar, not a nightclub, but most of the women inside hadn’t gotten the memo. Mixed amongst throngs of fans wearing orange and black jerseys, young women in dresses and heels sashayed around the room. “How did you do that?”
Mel cupped her hand around her ear, “What?”
“How did you get us on the list?” I shouted.
She didn’t answer. Instead, she gestured for me to follow her. “Come on, there’s got to be a place we can squeeze in at the bar.”
There wasn’t a square inch free at the bar. Every table was filled and my feet were starting to hurt. “I think I’m going to go home.” While I pulled my mittens from the pocket of my jacket, a subtle hush fell around us.
“Ethan Turner,” someone behind me gushed.
I turned, and sure enough, subject number six from my study was walking towards us, leaving a wake of starstruck fans behind him.
“Professor Goldie.” He grinned. “What are you doing here?”
Mel stepped beside me. “This is my friend, Mel. We were at the game tonight and were hoping to celebrate your win with a drink.”
“Hi, Mel.” Ethan shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Mel brushed her dark hair behind her ear.
The bar was crowded, and as a couple of guys tried to get past us, they ended up getting jostled into Mel. She lost her balance and stumbled toward Ethan. He spread his arm protectively behind both of us. “Hey, watch your step,” he shouted at the guys, who had continued to stagger and bump into everyone they passed. “Fucking drunks,” he muttered. “Are you all right?”
If I wasn’t already enamored with a Toronto Tiger, Ethan Turner’s protective chivalry would’ve gone a long way. I was surprised that Mel hadn’t flipped on her flirty-girl persona, but she kept glancing around the room, as though looking for someone. It struck me as odd. One of the hottest players in the game was standing in front of us, and he had just saved her from a tumble to the sticky bar floor.
“I’m fine.” Mel’s gaze returned to Ethan. “But we can’t get close enough to the bar to get a drink.”
A grin spread across Ethan’s face. “I can help you with that. Come with me.” He crooked his arm, and Mel slid her hand into his elbow. “We’ve got a booth at the back.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good…” Ethan and Mel had already proceeded to part the sea of people ahead of us. The crowd stepped aside as we passed, as though we were royalty. “…idea,” I sighed and followed behind them.
The booth was at the back of the bar, and flanked with security personnel. They let Mel and Ethan through, but the burly man with the tattoos and earpiece dropped his hand like a tollbooth arm in front of me. “VIP only.”
Mel and Ethan were shimmying in next to some of the players I hadn’t met and didn’t see that I’d been denied entry to their fancy table.
