Page 7 of Hooking the Captain
“Please.” I took a seat. “How’ve you been?”
He grabbed a pint glass and filled it with the wheat-colored beverage. “Can’t complain. You had a good season.”
“I did.” I nodded.
“It has to be the C on your jersey.” As he placed the glass in front of me, a grin tugged at his lips.
Lifting the glass, I chuckled around the rim. “Yeah, maybe that’s it.”
I glanced to the side as someone took the open seat next to me. My breath hitched as I took in his handsome face and then I gave him a tight smile. I was about to tell him the seat was taken, but I was distracted by my phone buzzing in my pocket. I pulled it out to see that it was JP.
“Hey,” I answered the call.
“Damn, Coop. I had to turn around.”
I stood from the stool and headed toward the door so I could hear him better. “Everything okay?”
“I was on my way, but Chrissy called because Trevor woke up screaming and crying. He has a high fever?—”
“Oh wow. Yeah. Go take care of your family.”
“Sorry. I wanted to come.”
“Hey, no. I get it. Totally cool. Maybe we can meet up tomorrow or whenever Trev gets better.”
“Thanks, bro. I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t be. Hit me up later and let me know how the little man is.”
“Will do.”
After we said our goodbyes, I slid the phone back into my pocket and headed into the bar. I had planned to pay for my beer and tell Harvey goodnight, but the guy who had sat next to me turned his head toward me and, in a split-second, I decided I wasn’t going to run. His dark hair was perfectly disheveled, and the way the neon lights caught the stubble on his jawline made my heart skip a beat. We weren’t in a gay bar, so talking to a stranger wouldn’t likely garner any attention, which would help alleviate the fear that popped up every time I wanted to talk to someone.
“Everything good?” Harvey asked as I took a seat again.
“Yeah. JP just can’t make it now. Kid is sick.”
“Kids are nothing but germs. That’s why I never had any.”
I chuckled and took a sip of my beer. “Maybe you have some you don’t know about.”
Harvey roared with laughter. “That’s a possibility.”
Someone at the other end of the bar waved him over and he left. I chugged another gulp of liquid courage, took a deep breath, and then turned my head toward the guy next to me. He was watching the baseball game on the TV mounted on the wall at the end of the bar.
“Red Sox’s fan?” I asked.
He twisted his head to look at me. “I am. You?”
“Yep.” I had to break the ice somehow but I really didn’t want to talk about sports in case the conversation turned to hockey. I attempted to change the subject, however, as the words left my mouth, I regretted how lame my question sounded. “Do you come here often?”
He shook his head. “No. I’m not from here.”
“Oh?” I raised a brow. “In town visiting?”
“You can say that. You?”
I nodded and took another sip of beer. “In town for a few weeks.”
