Page 32 of Striking Heat
“Are you forgetting what he said about me and the team?” I remind her.
My blood boils thinking about his suggestion that our team isn’t necessary because there’s already a team in Orlando. That the love the Pride had gained from Florida wouldn’t be replicated by us, even with those who lived in Tampa. And my personal favorite was when he said I lacked attack.
But we’re going to make Tampa love us, root for us, and get behind the idea of another women’s team here in Florida. That’s part of the reason we’re bartending tonight—showing goodwill to the community and raising money for charity.
Before any of us can say anymore, Phil, the bartender, comesover to us. “Hey, ladies. Do any of you have any bartending experience? Typically, when we do these nights, we like to have the players actually serving the patrons. They love it and it raises a lot of money for charity. It’s a win-win.”
I nod and raise my hand lamely. “Yeah, I do.”
Cass and Amelia just shake their heads, indicating that they do not.
“Do we have to be servers?” Amelia asks. She’s chewing on her bottom lip and looking around the crowded bar. I take a peek around and know exactly what her issue is; she’ll never make it around this bar without covering herself in beer.
“Nope, you’ll just bartend. We can teach you how to work our drafts or you can uncap the bottles, but we’ll keep you safe behind the bar. And if anyone gives you any trouble, just flag us down and we’ll step in.”
We all head back behind the bar, and Phil shows us where to stow our belongings, which isn’t much, and then we get ready to serve. Phil gets on the mic and announces us.
“Good evening, ladies and gents. Just wanted to let you know that we are entering charity night here at The Backwoods. We have some players from the Tampa Bay Blaze here to serve up some drinks! Feel free to tip them generously, because all proceeds will be benefiting the Tampa Children’s Hospital.”
Cheers ring out and Phil hops off the barstool he stood on to get everyone’s attention. I sigh and put on an apron. The announcement sure made them all run to the bar. I wonder how long we’ll have to do this for. I’m not really in a peopley mood tonight.
“Come on, kiddo, you gotta smile and shake that moneymaker,” Cass says in a sing-song voice. “We need to raise money for the kids. Besides, I bet slinging some drinks is exactly what you need to get yourself out of this little funk you’ve been in since we got back.”
“Yeah, honey, Henny is good,” Amelia reassures me. “I saw her working with Jase yesterday. She wasn’t diving but she’s fine.”
She must think my mood is about Henny, but it’s not. Danny went with us to Chicago and came back from that game separately, with August, and had nothing to write about. There was no article, positive or negative. Nothing to clammer away all the things he said about us. It’s weird to me that he can be all nice and friendly with me—sometimes flirty even—but then he printed all that stuff about me and the team.
“Ladies, come here,” Phil calls us over, and we stand in a circle, waiting to see what he needs. “You all look so tense and scared right now. Do you want to take a shot of liquid courage?” He smiles widely, pulling a bottle of tequila and three shot glasses from behind his back. “What do you say, will this help put some smiles on your faces?”
Cass giggles. “I’m in.” She greedily takes the shot glass from him and holds it out, waiting for him to fill her up.
“Why not,” I say, grabbing my own glass.
Amelia just smiles and takes it.
Phil fills up the glasses and says, “On three—one, two, three, drink!”
I down the shot, feeling the burn in the back of my throat. I stifle a cough so that I don’t look like some kind of amateur, even though I’m not a big drinker.
Amelia lets out a whoop and we all join her.
“There, that’s better. I knew that was all you needed.” He pats Cass on the back. “Now, let’s go raise money for the children.”
“You got it,” I reply, turning my attention to the bar.
A handsome man is standing there in a button-down shirt that is rolled up at the sleeves. It’s like my kryptonite. I love seeing a man with his sleeves rolled up like that.
“Hey, there. What can I do for you tonight?” I croon with a big smile.
He returns my grin with an even bigger one. “It’s nice to seesuch a beautiful bartender tonight. The last time I was in here, it was some grumpy man.”
“You mean Phil?” I gesture to where he’s standing watching over us, in case he needs to jump in, or we get too busy.
“Yes, that man right there. He was so grumpy when I asked him for my draft beer.”
“He kinda owns the place, so you might want to be careful with what you say or how loud you say it.”
“Will do. So, when I was walking in here, I heard him yelling something about proceeds being donated. What is that all about?”
