Page 22 of Play to Win
Sunny laughed. She had a throaty voice and when she laughed it sounded more like a rumble of thunder before the explosion of chuckles that could sometimes be infectious.
“For the last ten minutes you’ve been talking about the house and boxes and your book tour. And I’ve been listenin’ to every word. Especially those you weren’t saying.”
“Are you smoking again, Sunny?”
“No. And don’t start acting like your brainwashed mother. I don’t need to be under the influence of any substances to see what I see.”
Portia shook her head. “But you’re not here to see anything.”
“I wish I was, even though it makes no difference because my hearing is just fine. And before you say anything else, I’m just going to leave you with this, take a chance. You went from being sheltered by your idiot parents, to being mistreated by that silly boy in college, and now, being praised for the business you’ve built. And at no point did you ever stop to think it was possible to love and be loved.”
“Sunny, please. You’re really going off on a tangent tonight. I’m just trying to keep my promise to you. That’s all,” Portia said even though there was a tingle of something like doubt or trepidation swirling in the pit of her stomach.
“Go get him,” Sunny said. “Get out of that house and go get the man that has you trying like hell not to think about sex.”
Before Portia could comment, Sunny hung up. Portia sat on the chair in the kitchen that would be picked up tomorrow by an antique shop she’d called a few days ago and stared at the phone in her hand. She had no idea what Sunny was talking about. There was no man for her to go out and get. No man that was making her think about…Ethan.How the hell had Sunny known about him?
Portia pressed the phone to her forehead and closed her eyes. Sunny knew something was going on here the same way she’d known to call Portia nine years ago when she’d been in her senior year at college and had awakened to a total nightmare. As Portia sat on the phone crying to her godmother that day, Sunny had told her to fight back, to take a stand, and so she had. She turned what could’ve been the most embarrassing moment of her life into a way to both get back at Bobby and make a little money in the process. The surprising success of that one video propelled her to go a step further and start taking business classes. Now, she was the owner and chief content director of Pleasured, Inc., the company which produced intimacy and sexual instruction videos, and an author. She’d made millions in a field that she knew nothing about personally and she was sitting in this kitchen thinking and doing everything except taking the advice her godmother had given to her and she, in turn, had given to so many people across the world.
Patience is a bitch, grab the bull by the horns.
Portia stood from the chair, clenching the cell phone in her hand and walked through the house to the foyer where her purse and car keys sat on a table by the front door.
It was almost ten-thirty at night and she had no idea where Ethan lived. But she did know where he worked, so she’d start there.
* * *
The Game Changers Bar and Grill was popping with energy on a Friday night. From the moment Portia stepped inside, the sound of music and lots of people talking greeted her. A line of four people stood in front of her as she waited to speak to the hostess who was dressed in black pants and a black shirt, The Game Changers logo scrawled in red on this one.
Portia looked around while the lyrics to one of her favorite songs filtered through the air. She hummed along with P!nk’sF**kn Perfectand admired the modern stylish and sleek look of this place. Instead of wall-to-wall sports memorabilia plain wood booths and chairs, and cracked peanut shells on the floor, there were floor to ceiling windows, rich mahogany wood walls and floors, high-boy tables with red leather cushioned chairs and a bar that stretched from one end of the main dining room to the other.
Just beyond the hostess booth were red carpeted stairs blocked off by a red rope. The bar was bathed in hazy red lighting, and along the top of each wall, a black and white digital sports and world news ticker ran. Across the room were the dark wood butcher block tables, some long enough to accommodate groups of eight, others cozy enough for a couple. Portia thought there might be booths toward the back, but couldn’t really see because of the number of people either seated at the tables or at the bar. There was another area off to one side where a red, white and blue sign that read The Bullpen, hung. More seating was offered in that area where she could see computer stations, which she thought was an oddity in a sports bar, but admitted to being intrigued.
“Welcome to Game Changers, where your wish is the name of the game! How many are in your party tonight?”
The hostess was cheerful and had a beautiful smile of straight white teeth against her rich mocha complexion.
“Hi! Just one, please. Um, at the bar is fine,” Portia told her.
After surveying the room, she was certain that being seated at the bar would offer the best view of the place.
“Sure. There are some seats at the other end, if you just head straight back. Enjoy the game!” the hostess exclaimed.
Her name was Joy, as stated by the silver name badge on the opposite side of the restaurant name, and she wore her hair in black with a few strategically placed bold red goddess braids.
“Thank you,” Portia replied and walked past the hostess stand.
Across from the bar, the majority of the wall was covered by rows of flat screen televisions that all played some sports game or programming. It reminded her of an electronics store. Dishes clanked somewhere in the distance and the murmur of conversations followed her as she progressed deeper into the room. There was an energetic vibe here that she immediately liked. She bumped into someone, muttered an “excuse me” and kept moving until she spotted a seat at the bar.
Three bartenders were working the part of the crowd that faced them here, taking orders, fixing drinks and stopping to chat. Portia situated her small crossbody purse in her lap and snatched up a menu. She’d eaten earlier but knew that because she didn’t drink often, she definitely needed something else on her stomach if she was even going to consider one of the adventurously described drinks.
“Hey there! What can I get for you tonight?” the bartender that came to a stop in front of her asked.
He was a tall and handsome guy. His rich sepia complexion and smiling eyes an added bonus to his muscular physique.
“I think I’ll start off slow with a mojito and an order of fried mozzarella,” she told him.
He nodded, smiled and continued to stare at her.
