Page 27 of Pipe Dreams
“Well, good luck,” Lauren said, sounding abrupt to her own ears. All the women in the Bruisers organization already thought she was a harpy. It was just that she became so freaking uncomfortable whenever she had to spend time anywhere near Mike Beacon.
“Night!” Becca said, cheery even with a head injury.Figures. “Tell Nate I said congrats!”
“I will. Good night!”
She hung up. Mercifully, the journalists seemed to have gotten their fill. So Lauren went to make sure that the travel team had already handled everyone’s ground transportation.
NINE
Even though it was late, by the time the bus left the rink, the players wanted to celebrate. Instead of taking them back to the hotel, the team bus took them to a big, old-school tavern, with a gleaming copper bar and wood paneling.
Lauren had been wearing heels and a suit for far too long, and socializing with the team wasn’t her style. But it was raining, and there were no cabs in view on the street.
She was starving, too. A little something to eat in a quiet corner of the bar would be a good idea. And she could regroup, and call herself a car. One of the players held the door open for Lauren, so she stepped inside.
With typical macho bravado, the players trooped toward the back of the place, laughing and trading jokes about whose turn it was to buy the first round.
“I’ll stand for the bill tonight,” Nate said.
“Well then.” O’Doul rubbed his hands together. “Order the good stuff, boys.”
Heads swiveled everywhere as bar patrons did the math on who this group of large, handsome besuited men mightbe. More than a few women slipped off their bar stools, drinks in hand, and followed the players toward the rear, like flies to honey.
Lauren wondered whether any of them were on their way to chat up the blazing hot goalie whose dark, wavy hair was just visible in the scrum. Mike Beacon was a single man again, and at the top of his career. The women probably hurled themselves at him like moths at a porch light.
Let’s not think about that. She turned around, locating an empty booth in the very front of the restaurant. Perfect.
She took a seat facing the street. Maybe she should even get her order to go—she wouldn’t want to be sitting here when the single players who’d hooked up with a female fan made their way drunkenly into the night.
A young waiter approached the table. “Good evening! Can I start you off with a drink?” He set down a menu.
“Sure,” Lauren said. “But do you have a Caesar salad I can order to go? And I’ll have a Diet Coke while I wait.”
“Indeed we do. But the Greek salad is even better.”
“Good tip. I’ll take one of those.”
He gave her a friendly wink, slid the menu off the table and disappeared.
Lauren pulled out society’s universal disappearing device—her phone. She opened up the app she used for scheduling car service orders and noted that the average wait time was only four minutes.
Perfect.
“Lauren.” She looked up to see Mike Beacon hesitating at the edge of her table. “May I sit down?”
Here we go again. “I’m not staying long.”
“Well.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to take up a lot of your time, but there’s something I needed to tell you.”
Evade, evade!Her heart screamed. Last time they’d had a conversation she’d said too much, then spent thirty minutes in the bathroom crying. She sure didn’t want to repeat thatperformance. On the other hand, if she told him to fuck off right now, it would only prolong the drama.
Damn you, Mike Beacon.
“Have a seat,” she said, regretting it already. How long did it take to whip up a Greek salad? Ten minutes, tops. She could stay cheerful for that long, even if it killed her. “Congratulations on your win tonight.”
“Thank you,” he said, slipping into the booth. “Felt good to prove we could do it again.”
“I’ll bet.”
