She trots inside, going right to her pink bed by the couch. I put the food away, then drop into my spot on the couch.
“Glad to be home, girl?” I ask. She looks up at me, wagging her butt. “Yeah, me too.”
I turn on the TV, which opens up to the last channel I was watching—ESPN. And of course it’s covering the Olympics, and the first person’s face I see?
Nico.
I raise the remote to change the channel, but as he smiles up at the crowd, I stop. I can’t change it. I want just another moment with him. Just one.
It cuts away to the female gold medal winner. They talk about her performance but it all sounds like mumbling to me. I push up off the couch and go to my room to change into workout clothes, then head to my in-home gym.
I spend an hour in there before I decide it’s not working well enough to distract me, so I run out to the car to get my bags and do laundry, which keeps me busy for about ten minutes. Until I spot Nico’s sweatshirt tucked all the way at the bottom, andthen I can’t breathe again. I shove it under my pillow and take Taco for a walk. I hop in the shower when I get back. My mind is racing and I just want it to stop. Once I’m dressed, I stand in front of the mirror to look at myself.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I whisper.
My phone rings from the other room, and I jerk back, hurrying out to see who it is.
Disappointment fills my chest when I see it’s Connor.
“Hey,” I answer. “You get home okay?”
“Yeah, you?”
“Yep.”
“Wanna grab a beer?”
“Fuck yes,” I say.
He chuckles. “Eager much?”
“Sorry, I’m just…” I sigh.
“I get it,” he says softly. “Meet me at Down Denver.”
“I’ll be there in thirty.”
I change out of my sweats and into boots, jeans, and a flannel. I grab my jacket, kiss Taco goodbye, and I’m out the door.
Down Denver is a busy bar that athletes are known to hang out at. It has a decent amount of security because of it. They don’t allow fans to act crazy and bombard the athletes, which is why a lot of us locals like to come here. Other places feed into it, wanting the extra cash flow. They aren’t like that here because the owner is a retired Diamond. He knows how it is to want to get a drink and not be bothered, so he made it so that can happen.
Connor is already inside and at the bar when I get there, the stool to his left free. I hop onto it.
“You made it,” he says, lifting his hand to get the bartender’s attention. She holds up a finger, speaks to some guy at the end of the bar, and then she’s in front of us.
“What can I get you?” she asks, looking between us.
“I’ll take another one of these,” Connor says before draining the rest of his beer and putting it on the bar.
“I’ll have the same.”
“So, what made you so eager to come out?” he asks, smirking at me. “Bored already?”
“Something like that,” I grunt.
He nods. “Yeah, I get it.”
He looks away, back at the TV screen that’s playing more Olympic reruns. Right now, it’s snowboarding. Hopefully it stays that way.
