Page 11 of Play Along With Me
"I'm flattered," I say, and I am. Being wanted is always better than the alternative. "But I'm under contract with Providence through the end of the season."
Kevin waves this away. "Contracts can be worked out. Teams make trades all the time. The question is whether you'd be interested in a fresh start with our organization if the opportunity arose."
Before I can answer, a bartender appears before us, and something about her silhouette catches my attention. I look up from the menu and—
Holy shit.
It's Audrey. Chocolate ice cream girl. Collin's angry neighbor. Except now she's wearing a crisp white shirt and black vest instead of stained pajamas, and her hair is pulled back in a neat ponytail rather than looking like she stuck her finger in an electrical socket.
She hasn't noticed me yet, her attention on Kevin.
"Kevin Wooledge, as I live and breathe," she says with a smile that transforms her face. "The usual Manhattan?"
"You know it, Audrey," Kevin grins. "How's the stand-up career going?"
She just laughs.
Kevin gestures to me. "This is Jake Marshall, goaltender extraordinaire and hopefully a future colleague."
Audrey turns to me, and I see the exact moment recognition hits her. Her eyes widen slightly, then narrow, and the corner of her mouth quirks up in a half-smile.
"Well, well, well," she says. "If it isn't the guy with the heavy knock."
Kevin looks between us. "You two know each other?"
"We've had the pleasure," Audrey says dryly. "Though I usually see him in a more... residential setting. Trying to break down my door like the hockey goon he apparently is."
"It was a misunderstanding," I feel compelled to explain. "Collin gave me the wrong apartment number."
"Ah, the Collin connection," Kevin says, nodding as if this explains everything. "If Audrey likes you, Jake, that's a good sign. She only tolerates the best people."
"I wouldn't go that far," Audrey interjects. "I merely haven't added him to my mental list of 'Men Who Deserve to Step on Legos Barefoot Every Day for the Rest of Their Lives.' Yet."
"Progress is progress," Kevin laughs.
"What can I get you, Door Pounder?" Audrey asks me.
"Whatever IPA you have on tap," I say, figuring it's hard to mess up a beer. "And maybe a recommendation for something that won't bankrupt me on this menu?"
"The burger is only moderately extortionate," she stage-whispers. "And I can tell the kitchen to actually cook it the way you want, not the way the chef thinks you should have it."
"Sold," I say.
"That Manhattan for me," Kevin adds. "And two burgers."
Audrey gives a mock salute. "Coming right up. Try not to break any doors while I'm gone."
She turns and walks away, and I find myself watching her move down the bar. There's a confidence in her step that wasn't there in her apartment doorway—or maybe it was, just in a different form. Here, she's in her element.
"Audrey's the best," Kevin says, following my gaze. "Half the reason I come to this overpriced place. She never kisses ass, even when my Polar Bears knock off your Saints."
"You're a regular?" I ask.
"Once a week when I'm in Boston," he nods. "Been coming here for about a year. She's got a mouth on her, but it's always the highlight of my trip. Funny as hell—she should do stand-up comedy on the side. She would make it big one day, but she's a writer."
"A writer?"
Down the bar, Audrey is making a complex cocktail for another customer, adding a dramatic flourish as she shakes it that makes the businessman sitting there laugh. There's something magnetic about her, the way she commands her space.
