“Fascinating.” My smile widened at her little outburst. “This is a side of you I didn’t know about, Doc, and I’m pleasantly surprised.”
“What is?” She hadn’t glanced at me again, instead staring daggers at the TV. “Come on, my god.”
I chuckled.
“What is so funny? Are you a Gila Monsters fan or something?” She picked up her bottle of Coors Light and sipped it, the brown bottle dangling from her fingertips. Something about her was oddly attractive—a fucking doctor, sitting at a bar, yelling at a TV with a beer in hand.
“No, I support Chicago through and through. Just, seeing you like this is fun for me. All angry and loud.”
“Here you go, Oli, soda water and lime.”
“Thanks, Mario.” I nodded at him, but his gaze had questions. Like,why aren’t you pushing the woman out of your spot? Or how do you know her?“Doc here seems to think this is her bar. Care to tell her the truth?”
“Doc?” Mario repeated, his gaze moving toward Sloane. “You’re a doctor?”
She sat a little taller. “Yes, I am.”
“She works for the Rampage now. One of the first mental health coaches in the franchise, probably one of the first across the country,” I said, admiring how her cheeks flushed as she stared at me. “It’s impressive as hell.”
“Damn, Sloane. This whole time… I don’t know what I thought, but that’s sick.”
“Thanks, Mario.” She smiled and ducked her head as her ears reddened. “It’s not a big deal?—”
“Yes, it is. Stop it.” Fuck it. I slid into the chair next to her, our knees hitting for a second as I got comfortable. Her perfume was even better this close, and I couldn’t stop trailing my gaze over her wrists and neck, wondering if that was where she sprayed it.
“Oh, please, yes, sit down by me. Be my guest,” she mumbled, her grip on the bottle tightening.
“Thank you for the kind offer,” I teased, leaning closer to her and noting the freckles on her shoulders. Something about freckles charmed me—and yup, a few dotted her face too.
“Jesus, throw a strike!” She tossed the little bar napkin, but it didn’t go far. “What was the point of the trade if your closers can’t do their job?”
“Question,” I interrupted her rampage. “Why are you this way?”
She glared at me. “Clarify your question because there are many ways I could interpret that, and none of them are good.”
I sipped my soda water, so glad I was here and not at home spiraling. I hadn’t thought about tomorrow once since walking in. “You being an aggressive Cubs fan. I never would’ve pegged you for having such a potty mouth.”
“You’re a grown man. Don’t say potty mouth.”
“Doctor’s orders?” I smirked, enjoying annoying her a little too much.
She snorted, and the sound was so unladylike, so unfiltered and real, I wanted to get her to do it again.
“Smartass.” She laughed more, jutting her chin toward the soda water. “Good choice to keep your head clear for tomorrow.”
“Not only a tonight choice. I rarely drink.” I waited for a remark or comment. So much of our social lives revolved around drinking that often, when I shared that, people were annoyed by my decision.
Not drinking made first dates weird. It made conversations strange too, because they always asked why.Whynot? Are you recovering? Are you sick? Sloane shrugged, seemingly unbothered by my lack of alcohol. “So back to this business about beingyourbar?”
“It is, and you’re sitting in my chair.”
She frowned, her dark brown eyes narrowing as she studied me. “Um, no this is my spot.”
“Do we need to work on a custody negotiation?” I nudged her shoulder with mine, and she did it back, grunting a little bit. “Don’t hurt yourself, Doc. I’m kinda large.”
She took another sip of her beer as the game came back on. She didn’t acknowledge me one bit as the Cubs’s lineup had their shot at winning the game in the bottom of the ninth. She whispered to herself a bit, and I watched her.
This woman was a mystery to me, and that was the problem—I liked puzzles. I liked seeing a bunch of pieces laid out and to find the way they fit together. Maybe it was because I hadn’t figured out the puzzle of my own body, but I loved a challenge, and I wanted to figure Sloane Mercer out.
