Page 33 of Rookie Season
I go back to the bar. “Is this you avoiding Christmas shopping?”
“Not at 3 a.m.”
“Online,” I offer.
“I guess.”
“You don’t need to buy for anyone special?”
“Do the guys count? Jay is a present snob and gets annoyed if you don’t find him something great.”
I laugh as he takes a seat on the stool where he was before, but now it’s only the two of us. Ryan shrugs out of his coat.
My gaze lands on the bar. “Well, I don’t need a rescue, but I could use an opinion.” I slide a glass over to him.
He takes it, his gaze on mine as he sips. “That’s incredible.”
“Yeah?” I flush with pride.
“Why isn’t it on the menu?”
“My dad wants to keep things traditional. Focus on the team.”
“Fuck the team. Kidding,” he goes on at my look. “But maybe you can honor the team and still do your own thing.”
I reach under the bar for the good whisky and pull it out. His brows shoot up.
“Damn. Merry Christmas is right.” He chuckles.
I pour us each one on the rocks and slide his over. We click glasses and sip, eyeing each other over the rims.
“So, you got tired of cherry girl,” I say.
“Knotting a cherry stem isn’t that impressive a bar trick. I can do it too.”
I choke on my next sip of whisky. “You, Ryan, can knot a cherry stem with your tongue?”
“Mhmm. Hours on the road traveling, you gotta kill time somehow.”
Hearing a pro athlete cop to that skill surprises and delights me.
Before I can invite him, he circles the bar and comes in beside me, crouching next to me to see what I have beneath the bar. “Nice collection. I’m from Kentucky. I know my bourbon.”
“Of course you do.”
“I always wanted to be a bartender.”
I spread my hands. “Be my guest.”
There are no seats, so I hop up on the bar.
I go fishing for a cherry, trying the stem thing for myself while he works.
“This is hard,” I complain.
He holds out a hand, and I pass him one. He pops it in his mouth and, a moment later, puts the stem—tied—in his hand.
“No way.”
