“Shut it.”
His barely-there smile reached his eyes. “Have you told her that you would like more from … whatever it is?”
“It’s not like that. But I suppose I’d like us to be a little closer.”
Sexually, for a start.
“Well, you have to figure out how to navigate the next few months without losing your mind. If you and the mother are not meant to be, then you must accept that. Or get over her by getting under a cowgirl. We are in Texas after all.”
His phone rang and he checked the screen with a frown. “I should …”
“Go ahead.” This interruption coincided with the bartender finally giving me the time of day. “Sam Adams Winter ale. And another round of shots for the boys.”
Someone placed a hand on my back, and I turned, expecting Nazarov or Hatch. The actual was far prettier.
“Hi,” she said, kind of breathily. “I’m Farrah.”
She looked like a Farrah, and with that tight, white T-shirt, showcasing tear-drop tits and the hot pink cowboy hat, perched jauntily on her head, she also looked like the kind of woman who could take a man’s mind off his troubles.
“Jason.”
“Oh, I know.”
One of the perks of the job. Everyone knew who you were and women were never hard to attract. I had permission from the doc to return to normal programming, right?
“What are you drinking, Farrah?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Franky
* * *
My sister had many good attributes: she was a great cook, a loyal friend, and a mixologist par excellence. But her ability to craft a cheese plate was probably her most underrated talent. I sighed at seeing it laid out like a Bake-Off showstopper on her coffee table.
Summer nudged me. “You, too, huh?”
“I love a good cheese board.” I would have to stay away from the Brie and feta, but the hard cheeses were fair game.
“Are you sure you don’t want a martini, Franky?” Adeline handed off a Cosmo to Summer, who took a seat on the sofa, an iPad in her lap.
“No, I’m fine. I’ve a slight headache so I’ll stick with the water.” I was going to have to come up with better excuses during these early weeks of my pregnancy.
Esme Fitzpatrick sipped a dirty martini. A good friend of Rosie and Adeline, she was the daughter of Tara, the Rebels’ hair stylist, and Hale Fitzpatrick, a former general manager. I didn’t know her that well, as she was much younger than me and had recently moved back to Chicago after graduating from NYU.
“Franky, those boots are gorgeous. Frye, I’m guessing?”
They were my favorites, a warm brown and well-worn. “Good eye. ’Tis the season and all that.”
Lauren came rushing in. “Sorry I’m late, guys. One of my players needed to be talked off the ledge. He thinks he offended a veteran player at a cookout when he told him he didn’t like red onion in the man’s guac.” She shook her head. “That’s me. Therapist to the rookies. Ooh, look at that sexy cheese board!”
Once a month we met for Bonking Book Club, a reading group focused on romance. This month, we were reading a super sexy enemies to lovers historical, and I was looking forward to taking my mind off Jason and whether he was having sex with someone in the present.
Rosie came in with a sleeve of crackers because you could never have too many carbs. “Before we get started, could we talk about how amazing Hatch played last night in Dallas? That third period was phenomenal!”
“And your man and Isner in those waning moments?” Lauren spoke to Adeline, referring to her boyfriend Lars, who also had a great game. “I didn’t think we’d ever see a better pairing on the D-line than Theo and Nyquist, but those boys are gellin’ like Magellan.”
There was some chatter about the game, and I offered a few comments, so it didn’t look like I was trying to avoid conversation about Jason.
