Page 20 of Linebacker
“You mean Vance Marshall is insisting on it?” This is going to be fun… Not!
“There’s a brand-new laptop, which has already been setup and checked by our IT department, in the bottom drawer of your desk,” Lucy replies, giving me the distinct impression that she’s not comfortable responding to my comment.
Avoid. Avoid. Avoid.
“A desktop, monitor, keyboard and mouse are due to be installed on Friday, but I’ll get IT to get it done today.”
“That would be great. So, when is my first victim due to be hauled into my den of psychological horror?” I ask her with a straight face.
“Monday,” Her face is serious, but suddenly her eyes light up when she realises I’m just messing with her. “Shit.” Her hand immediately comes to cover her mouth before it opens as she laughs out. “You’re going to make coming to work a whole lot better.”
“What are you doing tonight?” I ask her out of the blue.
“Nothing, why?”
“Do you fancy showing me where is good around here to get a drink?” I ask hopefully, as the last thing I want to do is spend another night in doing jack-shit.
“No, sorry,” Lucy replies, her head cocked to one side. “But I can show you GREAT places around here to grab a drink.” She teases, and I quickly catch a glimpse of her perfect smile before once again her hand falls over her mouth.
I can only assume that at some point, Lucy has had braces or some kind of mouth issue and has been ridiculed or embarrassed about it. From that, her mouth covering when she smiles has become somewhat of a habit. Because from what I have seen when she smiles, it is dazzling and certainly shouldn’t be covered up.
CHAPTER17
As it turns out, Lucy has a one bed apartment right near where she’s planning on taking me. So, around eight-thirty, after we’d both had time to get back to our respective homes, shower and change, Lucy pulls up outside my condo block. After getting a general rundown of what kind of bar we’re going to tonight, I plump for a pair of black fitted jeans that make my arse look incredible and an oversized off the shoulder, lightweight jumper in cobalt blue. It’s big and baggy, making most people think I’m trying to hide my body shape. In fact, my boobs are an ample handful if you have big hands, my waist nips in pretty tight and with the work that I do put in at the gym (well, I could hardly tell my clients to push themselves to the limit if I didn’t sing from the same hymn sheet) my hips and arse have just the right curviness to make me feel good about my figure. I’m a dress for comfort kind of girl, rather than wearing something so restraining that you end up walking like a robot. The strap of a small bag, that’s just big enough for my bank card, phone, a few dollars in cash and a nude lipstick, is slung across my body.
Apparently, the locals only dress to the max if they’re going to high-end events, weddings and the like, or maybe one of the two night clubs that are further out of town. When I get a look at Lucy’s outfit, which is similar jeans, bright orange halter neck top and leather jacket, I’m confident that I’ve made a stellar choice. The flat boots I’m wearing are a no-brainer as Lucy has already explained that once we drop her car back at her apartment, we will have a bit of a walk until we hit the first bar.
Despite the heat of the day, the evening is pretty chilly, but I’m not worried that I don’t have a coat because we British girls are used to going out with only limited clothing in the perishingly cold English weather.
We’ve not long since arrived at the first drinking hole, a sports bar called ‘Time Out’, and I take a seat at the only available booth while Lucy grabs our drinks from the bar opposite. The place is buzzing, the atmosphere electric. Large flat screen T.V’s sit at all four corners of the room, currently showing a baseball game between the Tigers and the White Sox. Sports memorabilia of all kinds fill every available space on the walls and ceilings. Even the bathroom signs have been fashioned from the front sections of a football helmet.
“This place is amazing,” I tell Lucy as she sucks vodka and cranberry through a straw from a highball glass. “I’m loving the vibe.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool here and popular,” she gestures to the high number of people around us. “We’re lucky to get a seat.” The rest of the booths are crammed. Hip to Hip. Elbow to Elbow.
“It’s busy, that’s for sure.”
“If you think this is busy, you should see it on a weekend. You can barely move in here for all the hot sports jocks.”
“Ha, so this is the place to be if you’re looking to snag yourself a rich or up-and-coming sports star?”
“You could say that,” her eyes lazily work their way around the room before they fall back on me. I smirk at her. “Not that I’m looking for that,” she gushes with wide eyes. “I’m comfortable here, even if I come on my own because I know a lot of them. It doesn’t matter what sport you play, they all get along, and that’s nice.”
“Have you always lived around here, Lucy?” I probe, wanting to know more about her.
“This is my hometown, but I spent a few years over in D.C, while completing my education.”
“So, how come you’ve got lumbered with all this extra PR work, can’t one of the club managers take that on until they get a new person?” From what I’ve seen, Lucy is more than capable as a personal assistant, but being the PR for the Club is totally different ball game. “That’s some difficult shoes to fill.”
“I guess because it was my major at Washington University, they thought I’d be capable of covering for a few weeks,” She shrugs her shoulders like it’s no big deal.
“You have a PR & Strategic Coms degree?” My eyes bug out because I’ll be honest, that kind of surprises me. No wonder the Club has pushed the extra work her way. I bet they’re not paying her dues though.
“Masters actually, GPA of 3.79,” she says proudly.
“I have no idea what that means but I guess by the look on your face that it’s a good grade?”
“It’s a fucking phenomenal grade, but when I apply for jobs and they see that I’m only twenty-six, I don’t hear back,” she sighs, her shoulders drop making me think that she’s already feels defeated.
