Page 14 of For the Boys
“You guys, chill. It’s not that bad. I’ve got it all under control.”
But as he finished his meal, listening to his teammates chatting around him, he couldn’t help thinking about Berkley. His teammates’ words kept swirling around his brain, taunting him.
She probably thinks you’re a creepy stalker now!
She’ll probably never speak to you again, bro.
Fuck.
What was it about him that always seemed to drive off good women and attract crazy ones? He was a great guy. He was college-educated, came from a wonderful family, and had more money than he knew what to do with. He supposed it was the last one that attracted the crazies; money made normal women do ridiculous things. But wealth aside, Brent was just a man. He gave his whole heart in relationships. His mother always told him any woman would be lucky to have him. That was what mothers were supposed to say, but he tended to agree with her. He genuinely had a lot to offer.
Would he ever find someone to share his life with? He desperately wanted a family, someone to come home to at the end of long road trips. Someone to travel with and generally share his life with. Someone to grow old beside. But he wasn’t sure it would ever happen for him.
That night, some of the Warriors went out to a bar on Broadway. Brent rarely joined his teammates for drinks at local establishments when they were on the road, but after their conversation at dinner, he felt the need to blow off some steam.
As this was Nashville, the place they walked into, The Dancing Pony, was a classic country bar. The walls were lined with photos of singers who had performed on The Dancing Pony’s stage, which took up half of the space and overlooked a large dance floor. The tables were bar height, and the bar itself was a chrome and metal affair that stretched along the length of one wall.
The five of them—Brent, Mitch, Parker, Cole, and Chase—settled around a table, and a waitress walked up a few seconds afterward.
“Hello, boys,” she said, flipping her long brown hair over her shoulder. Her long legs were clad in dark jeans, her feet stuffed into black shoes, and a black tank top displayed her ample cleavage. “What can I get for you?”
“How about your number?” Mitch asked, grinning down at her.
“Maybe later,” she said with a wink. “How about some drinks to start?”
“What do you recommend?” Chase asked. “We’re not from around here.”
“The local IPA is real popular, though if you ask me, it tastes like ass. I recommend either the State Park Blonde Ale or Urban Hiker Tennessee Lager. Both are from Tennessee Brew Works, and both are delicious.”
“Let’s do a pitcher of each,” Mitch said.
The waitress glanced around the table at each of them, confirming they were all on board with this plan. Her gaze lingered on Brent, and he smiled at her. Biting her lip, she smirked back, nodded, and walked off toward the bar.
“Of course she’s interested in Jean,” Parker said with an eye roll.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Brent asked.
“As much as it pains me to admit it,” Mitch said, “you’re objectively the best looking one of the group. It’s really not fair sometimes.”
Brent snorted. “Well I’m not interested.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Cole said. “None of us stand a chance as long as she’s got her eye on you.”
“Although I’m more than willing to shoot my shot,” Parker said, holding his fist out for a bump. His teammates ignored him, and Brent bit back a laugh.
The waitress, whose name tag informed Brent her name was Kendra, returned with their pitchers of beer. She moved around the table, placing a pint glass in front of each of them, pressing her breasts against Brent’s arm as she reached across him to set a pitcher down.
“Please let me know if I can get you anything else,” she said before making her way to another table.
“Bro,” Mitch said, leaning close to him after she walked away, “please do us all a favor and hit that tonight.”
Brent took a swig of his beer before responding. “I don’t want to.”
“There’s something wrong with you, man,” Cole said, and Brent glared at him across the table. “I’m just saying. You’re turning down a sure thing for what? The possibility of something with a girl who blew you off? I mean, c’mon. That’s insane. Where’s the slutty Brent Jean we all know and love?”
“Remember that exotic dancer you went home with in Vegas that one time?” Mitch said.
“Technically, we never made it to her place,” Brent corrected them. His teammates looked at him quizzically, and he shrugged. “We fucked in the back of the Uber. She got out at her place, and I went back to the hotel.”
