Page 8 of Rookie Season
It’s not their bar, but in so many ways, it is.
“Settle this for us, Sierra.”
I look up at Ryan, his bright eyes locking with mine.
“Who played better tonight, me or Miles?”
“You think I have time to watch you play ball?” I answer Ryan. “Some of us have to work.”
Miles grins. “Funny, that’s what Brooke always tells me.” He winks and goes to say goodbye to the rest of the guys.
All the Kodiaks fans light up around the team, and the guys are happy to rub shoulders with the locals who support them.
The line of women who want the guys on the Kodiaks isn’t short. Their fans number in the millions. They’ve gone from an underdog team to world champions. There’s something for everyone—Clay’s the all-star, Jay’s the team leader, Atlas is the big man with the European accent, Miles is the charming guard.
Ryan’s the wild card. The cocky new kid I still can’t quite get a pulse on.
Hell, right now there are two women eyeing him up.
“Nice decorations,” Ryan says, nodding toward the mistletoe over the bar.
“Dad’s fault,” I say, shaking my head. “I’d prefer not to post invitations for drunk people to kiss me. I guess he didn’t think about it because no one tries to kiss him.”
Ryan laughs.
Mile High is decorated for Christmas with swags along the length of the bar and lights gracing the top of every wall. It’s been that way since I was a kid.
Tonight, I’m dressed in a cutesy outfit that’s not my usual style, but in my defense, I was distracted when I got ready for work. My little black skirt shows a ton of leg over my knee-high black boots. The strapless purple top pushes up the girls and shows off the ink—a long Tinkerbell trailing star dust down the underside of one arm and a ribbon below my collarbone. I keep tucking my straight black hair behind one ear when I lean over the bar. I should put a ponytail holder in it and be done, but I haven’t had a moment to slow down.
If I’m being honest, the mistletoe hasn’t caused that many problems. My regular patrons wouldn’t hit on me. The odd drunk person does, but they’re easy to dodge.
I haven’t had a hookup in a while.
I’m due. Overdue, if we’re counting.
There’s a lot to be said for a mutually beneficial physical relationship. Everyone knows the score, and expectations don’t start to get out of scope.
Still, I’m not using some sappy Christmas decoration as an excuse to get snuggly with someone. Especially not a pro athlete I might see again at my family’s bar.
“You going to finish that anytime soon?” I prod.
I’ve been surveying everyone’s drinks—it’s second nature and my job—and Ryan’s been working on that one all night.
“I’m getting there. You trying to rush me outta here?” His eyes dance as he takes me in.
“Rookies don’t need to close the bar.”
“Not a rookie anymore, Sierra.” He flashes a grin.
“Second year’s still a rookie,” I remind him. That’s how first contracts work in basketball.
“How old are you? I bet we’re the same age.”
His question throws me off-kilter.
“Twenty-three.”
“See?”
