Page 73 of Hard Hitter
“You’re blushing,” Becca pointed out.
“You would, too.”
Her friend sighed. “Always the wingman, never the target. Somebody better make me another margarita.”
“I’m on it,” Georgia promised.
Ari passed Becca the bag of whoopie pies. “We still have to figure out what Vince left in my apartment. What could it be?”
“His heart, honey,” Becca said softly. “I think he’s just jealous. Sometimes men don’t know what they have until it’s gone.”
Ari wished that was the answer. “That’s a nice idea, but I think he’s serious. I’m going to have to go to the police again, aren’t I?”
“Probably,” Becca agreed. “I’ll go with you if you want. But tomorrow we’re going to Ottawa, so you have a reprieve.”
“And your drink is ready!” Georgia called from the kitchen.
She looked from one of her lovely friends to the other and wondered how life could be so beautiful and so troubling all at the same time.
TWENTY-ONE
O’Doul had taken some heat for waltzing into Leo’s apartment with a fancy drink in his hand.
“This is our captain on his night off,” Castro teased. “He probably wears a silk smoking jacket around the house.”
“What’s a smoking jacket?” Zac Sullivan asked. “Maybe I need one.”
But Castro just shook his head, as if he couldn’t be expected to explain shit to the masses. He was another smart guy, like College Boy over there on his sofa. O’Doul studied their relaxed faces. None of his teammates were dumb enough to get caught up in the bullshit Ari’s ex wanted to rain down on him.
If he got out of this mess with his dignity intact, he swore he’d never be so stupid again.
“Who’s winning?” he asked the room. “Louisville,” someone said with a sigh. “We’re all losing our bets tonight.”
“You can’tallbe losing,” O’Doul pointed out. “Who has Louisville in the bracket?”
“The kitty!” Castro complained. “The charity kitty has Louisville. I think Jimbo put that in, the little smartass. It sucks because the winner is supposed to buy us drinks afterthe Final Four! You’ll never let us dip into the kitty for drink money. I know this.”
Hysterical. “Buy your own damn drinks, asshole. You’re pullin’ down more money than most people can make in years.”
“It’s the principle of the thing,” Castro said, beer bottle pointed at him like a weapon.
“The principle of the thing, huh?” O’Doul grinned. “Put twenty bucks into the kitty just for being a boob.”
“Fuck.” He reached for his wallet. “Who do I pay?”
“I’ll tell Jimbo you owe him.”
“What’s in your glass, captain?” Beringer asked. “Doesn’t look like Scotch.”
“Maybe a lady friend made it for me.”
There was a chorus of “whoa!” and other interested noises.
“So it’s all working out for you?” Leo asked. “Do we ever get to meet her?”
“Dunno,” O’Doul said, trying to picture a future where he and Ari were an honest-to-god couple in public, and coming up blank. He’d never had a girlfriend before. But he’d never wanted to be with anyone the way he wanted Ari. “Your bakery thing was a hit. They even delivered it for me.”
“Never underestimate the power of baked goods,” Leo said, nodding like a prophet.
