Page 68 of Thrown for a Loop
Steve Sailor.
“Oh shit,” Darcy whispers, raising her magazine to hide her face. “Hetrackedus here.”
“How?” I demand. Unfortunately I don’t have a magazine to hide behind.
“My phone belongs to the Legends, and when we’re traveling, anyone in management can see my location.”
“Well, that’s a terrible deal,” I mutter.
Sailor glances at the customers seated at manicure tables and frowns. But then he gets a clue and raises his gaze to the row of pedicure chairs in back.
“Busted.” Darcy sighs.
The manager at the reception desk gives him a glare, but Sailor swaggers in our direction anyway. “Evening, ladies!” Without asking permission, he jumps onto the dais and plops down in the empty pedicure chair beside mine.
“Can I help you?” the manager asks, her voice chilly.
“Just here for a quick chat.”
“Steve,” Darcy says primly. “You can’t take the seat of a paying customer. If you want to sit and talk with us, you’ll need to get a pedicure.”
I mentally high-five Darcy as Sailor frowns. But then? He leans over and pulls one of his shoelaces. “Fine,” he says curtly. “I’d like a pedicure, please. At least my boyfriend will appreciate it.”
“Well played, sir,” Darcy says.
“You really thought you’d get rid of me that easily?” he asks, removing his shoes and socks as another technician hurries over to take charge. “I’m a tough competitor.”
“I see that now,” Darcy admits. “Even so, you’re crashing girls’ night, Steve. We came here because we thought it was safe from interruption. You’re going to have to make it up to us.”
He sighs. “Ma’am, could we have three of your mocktails, please? And put it on my bill. Nothing saysI value your timebetter than a watermelon-ginger shrub. Right, girls?”
I snort, but Darcy nods. “Yes. You’re doing much better now.” She whips out her phone and snaps a quick picture of Steve with his feet in the tub. “For blackmail later,” she says. “Now what did you need to discuss with me?”
He leans back, hands behind his head. “You can’t blackmail a happy man, Darcy. And tonight’s business is with Zoe.”
My stomach drops.
He waits to elaborate until the manager brings us three tall glasses on a tray. The mocktail is pink, with a jaunty sprig of mint atthe rim. It’s too pretty to ignore, so I take a fortifying gulp and wait to hear Sailor’s demands.
He takes a sip and smiles. “Delicious. We should do this more often.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Darcy says. “Just put Zoe out of her misery already. She looks like a prisoner on her way to the gallows.”
“Okay, it’s like this,” he says. “Before the playoffs begin, we’ll have our annual charity jamboree benefiting the owner’s favorite cause—Save the Children.”
My eyebrows lift. “That’s a great charity. But what’s a jamboree?”
“Oh, it’s a fun time,” Darcy explains. “They sell out every seat in the practice rink, plus standing room. That’s over a thousand tickets at five hundred buckseach. People come early for pictures with the players, autographed swag, and free drinks…”
“Free?” I gasp. “Don’t you mean five-hundred-dollar drinks?”
“Accurate.” Sailor grins. “After the cocktail hour, the show starts. There are some three-on-three matches, but with all the players in the wrong positions. You get to watch the goalie score on the center. Or sometimes it’s three on three with the right players, but the puck is a beach ball. Or the stick is a pool noodle.”
I smile in spite of myself as I try to picture Chase swatting a beach ball into the net with a pool noodle.
“There’s usually a mascot fight,” Sailor adds. “And raffle winners can put on skates and try to score on the goalies during intermission.”
“Yeah, okay. That sounds like fun,” I admit. “But I don’t see what that has to do with me.”
