Page 2 of Wildcat
“Dammit. Really?” Brad’s shoulders slump, and he finishes off his beer.
“Sorry to disappoint.” I’m not breaking his heart and telling him I’d never hook up with someone in the media. I have a hard enough time with interviews. I don’t need to piss off any of the reporters.
Micah sets his empty bottle on the table with a clang. A victorious smile pulls at his lips. “Make sure they grab one from the back of the cooler. I like it ice cold.”
Brad starts to get to his feet to grab the drinks.
“I’ve got this round,” I say, standing and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Shots? Pitcher?”
Their eyes light up. I remember all too well what it was like to be a poor college kid. I won’t get to hang much since the season is about to kick off. All summer long, we drank here after our Wednesday night finance class. It was nice.
Until next summer, I’m only taking one class a semester online. I wish I could do more, but I’ll finish my degree eventually.
The bar in this place spans one long wall. It’s a narrow space with tables scattered in front of it. There’s no dart board or pool table and only one TV. It’s a total dive, but the proximity to campus keeps the cramped space in business. It has a friendly, fun vibe and is obviously the place to be tonight. It’s busier than I’ve ever seen.
I choose the less crowded end of the bar closest to the new hottie bartender. I’ve come to know some of them. Mike, the owner, is the only one I recognize tonight. I don’t think Mike knows who I am, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that would make a big deal out of it even if he did.
They’re really slammed, so I settle in to wait.
Hottie bartender moves slowly as she pours a line of tequila shots. She’s concentrating so hard, like it might be her first night. She’s holding up the line, but she’s damn fine to look at, so no one is complaining much.
Her long brown hair is the color of aged whiskey. It’s pulled back in a ponytail that sways around slender shoulders. People are calling out to get her attention, but she continues taking her sweet-ass time like she isn’t bothered by the chaos around her.
The guy buying the shots says something to her with a cocky tilt to his mouth before he hands over his credit card. He holds on when she tries to take it and leans in closer. She recoils, and I don’t have to be a genius to know he hit on her, or more likely, propositioned her. She snatches the card away and turns to run it. As if he didn’t get a clue by her avoidance, he bends over the bar and smacks her ass.
Damn. Ballsy. I stand tall ready for… fuck, I don’t know. Mike catches the dirtbag in action, scowls, and comes over, presumably to defend his employee and kick the guy out, but before he can, she stomps back with a wild look in her eye, picks up one of the shots, and tosses it at him.
I laugh. Mike, not so much. Most of the other patrons have a good chuckle and then slide down to the only remaining bartender. Not me. I’m enthralled.
“I’m sorry, Mike,” she says, hands balled up in fists, looking about as sorry as I feel that she doused that guy in alcohol.
“That guy had it coming,” Mike grumbles. The two of them move my way to talk more privately. “But you can’t go around tossing top-shelf liquor in every douchebag’s face, Scarlett.”
Scarlett. I try her name out in my head as I get a better look at her. Her tank top and denim shorts are the standard attire of half the girls here, but it shows off her lean body and slight curves. Her eyes are dark, but the way she smiles, a little mischievously and a whole lot sexy, makes them light up under the glow of the bar.
“We need to start trivia. Why don’t you help Jade?”
She pulls a bottle opener from her back pocket and hands it to him. “Sure.”
“Good. I think that’ll be a better fit for you.”
“Why? Because they’ll be too busy to grope me?” Her voice is raspy, annoyed, and sexy as hell.
He smirks. “No, because the drinks on that side of the bar are already paid for. Toss away.”
She brushes past me, and Mike meets my gaze and moves in position to help. “Wildcat.”
“What’d you say?” In all the times I was here this summer, he never mentioned the team or let on that he knew I was an NHL player.
“That one is a wildcat,” he says with a head tilt in the direction Scarlett went. “What can I get you, man?”
I breathe a sigh of relief that I haven’t been outed. I can go most places with a minimal invasion of privacy, but here hanging with guys from class, I don’t want to be Leo Lohan, NHL player. I just want to hang with some friends and relax.
And maybe get Scarlett’s number.
2
DELAYED JET LAG
