Page 46 of Forecheck
Her words, not mine.
I loved when she talked dirty.
“I’m glad,” I said with a sigh. “I’m going to be off until after the new year, probably a few weeks at least, so hopefully they keep it up without me.”
“Aww, poor baby,” Berkley said, fake pouting into the screen. I scowled back, and she laughed. “I wish I was there. We could curl up and watch movies while you convalesce.”
“That sounds amazing,” I said, wincing and closing my eyes against the surge of pain atop my skull.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Berkley said. “All this screen time probably isn’t great for your injured brain. I’ll let you go.”
As loath as I was to end the call, my eyes were on fire, and I wanted nothing more than to take a nap.
“Yeah, I’m going to try to get some sleep before the next nurse comes in to torture me,” I said. “But it was good seeing your face. I can’t wait for you to come home so I can see it in person.”
Berkley dipped her head, and I was certain she was hiding a blush.
“Look at me,” I said.
She did, and even under the dim lights of her bedroom and from a few hundred miles away, I was pleased to find her cheeks pink.
“Fucking beautiful,” I breathed.
“Good night, Brent.”
“Good night, Berk.”
We hung up, and I stared up at the ceiling, phone cradled against my chest.
Due to my concussion, I’d be going on the injured list for the foreseeable future. I wouldn’t be allowed to so much as set foot in the arena until I was concussion symptom-free for at least ten days, and it would be even longer before I could play again.
Suddenly, my schedule was wide open, and I knew just what I wanted to do with all that free time.
Surprise?
By Traverse City standards,Lawless was a relatively new club. Owned by Owen Lawless, a former NFL quarterback, opened it a few years ago, after a traumatic shoulder injury forced him into early retirement. In a place where every bar, boutique, and other shop—where the very cobblestone streets beneath my feet—had become common, overly familiar, and, frankly, boring, Lawless was a novelty. The marquee flashed against the winter night sky, the line of people hoping to get inside snaking around the block.
Why this former professional athlete had chosen Traverse City of all places to open this club was a mystery, but I had to admit, it was working out well for him.
Thankfully, my friend Amara and I had planned ahead and, armed with tickets to the club’s NYE party, we skipped the line and were immediately admitted.
It didn’t hurt that she’d had a…relationship with him the previous summer, before she’d left for Europe to get her MBA in London. Now, she was home for break, and we were out celebrating.
Being here tonight doused me in nostalgia. Not because I’d been here before, obviously, but because nightlife in Traverse City reminded me of so many nights before this one when we’d been younger, and we’d go to underage nights at other places in the area. We’d get drunk beforehand and spend the night dancing until we were sore and sober.
Once inside, we paused at the bar for drinks and to scope out the scene. The entire club had a luxurious, upscale vibe, which didn’t surprise me given its owner had endless amounts of money at his disposal. The bar was long and sleek, the beer and wine fridges outfitted with strips of LED lights that glowed blue. Near the back, a spiral staircase rose to a loft, which I assumed housed the VIP section. Booths and tables filled the rest of the space, and the two exterior walls were floor to ceiling glass, offering patrons an unobstructed view of the docks and water beyond.
While I waited for my drink, my phone rang.
“Hello?” I shouted over the music.
“Hi, babe!” Brent yelled. “Where are you?”
“Hi!” I hollered back. “I’m at this club called Lawless!”
“As in…Owen?” he asked.
“Shit, sorry,” I said to a girl as I accidentally bumped into her, trying to force my way outside to better hear Brent. The moment I pushed the door open and stepped onto the frozen street, I took a deep breath. “Yes, as in Owen Lawless.”
