A short laugh shakes my chest. At least she let me have it with humor. Although she’s probably not wrong.
ME:I’ll keep that in mind. Sorry for being a bitch.
LINDSEY:Good. And don’t be. If you weren’t one, how would I look so good?
I laugh louder this time, then toss my phone in the passenger seat and head to work.
The main bar is packed as I tie my apron around my waist. Today's another home game, and it’s Friday, so anyone within an hour’s drive snuck away early and is crowding us here. Draft beer at Earl’s is about half the price of what it is at the ballpark, so people came here to pre-game before walking to the stadium for an afternoon game. It’s good for tips, but it’s hard to handle a rowdy bunch with less staff. Thank God Daisy shows up for early games. All the muscle in the world at the doors is still half the deterrent of the fiery brunette who runs this place.
“I’ve got this handled. Why don’t you take care of the crew in the back.” She nods to the tables, where a dozen or so Mavericks players are clustered. Empty pizza pans are stacked atop metal stands, and there’s a lone piece left on the one closest to Hunter.
“Shouldn’t y’all be warming up or something?” I nod in the direction of the stadium as I gather the empty pans, minus the one with a single slice left. There are a few soda pitchers on the table, and half of the guys are rubbing their eyes with the butts of their palms, likely nursing decent hangovers.
“None of us are starting today. We’ve got an hour before we have to report,” one of them explains.
“Ah,” I say with a nod, my gaze sliding over to Hunter. He’s sitting back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his face. My body rushes with sudden heat from his attention, and my cheeks burn as I wonder if anyone else at the table notices my physical reaction. This isn’t like me. Maybe my sister is right.
“I tried, but they won’t let me start every game,” Hunter jokes.
I give him a soft laugh. His cockiness is a little cute.
“Yeah, well, if you want to be able to shift a car from park to drive when you’re thirty, you probably should take your off days seriously. Arm care and all that.” I squint one eye, and he shakes with a silent laugh.
“I take care of my arm, Renleigh. Believe me, I take care of my entire body when it needs it.” His brow quirks, and the damn heat wave strikes my core again.
“Well, good thing it’s an off day for you. You can take care of yourself all damn day.” My lips buzz with nervous energy, but I manage to form a smirk anyway.
“Ohhhh, that’s rough, man!” One of Hunter’s teammates nudges him in the bicep with a balled fist, but Hunter’s gaze remains fixed on me, his sure smile still locked in place.
He licks his lips as he sits forward, resting his elbows on the table.
“I was up all night putting together my . . .” He sucks in his lips as his brow furrows, I think trying to remember either the real or fake name of the bookcase he purchased.
“SNUFLEUPERGIS?” I help him out.
“Isn’t that fromSesame Street?” one of the other players pipes in.
I chuckle because it’s close to the name of one of the show’s characters.
“I finished at two a.m. If only I had an extra set of hands to help.” His gaze follows me as I round the table, picking up empty glasses.
“You had an Allen wrench. That’s better than hands.”
“Ha!” He busts out a laugh at my terse response, and as I pass behind him, he twists in his seat and catches my wrist with his hand.
“Hands are always better than some tool,” he says in a low voice. His eyes glimmer with what I’m pretty sure is innuendo, and my stomach tightens in a way it hasn’t in years. I lean forward and put my mouth near his ear.
“Depends on the tool,” I say, pulling back and giving him a wink.
His mouth forms an O that he hides with his palm before his teammates catch it.
“Tell our boy to get off his ass and come camping with us Sunday, Renleigh,” says Jasper, a regular here given this is his fifth year playing for the Triple-A team. I have to hand it to him—he’s not giving up. He must be twenty-seven or so by now, and in rookie ballplayer years, that’s nearing retirement.
I shrug and glance at Hunter, whose gaze is waiting for me.
“You should go. Camping by the stream is a thing around here. Maybe one of the guys can teach you how to fly fish.”
“Pfft, doubt that,” Jasper laughs out. “We can teach him how to drink, though.”
