The place is nearly empty now, just a handful of stragglers nursing their last drinks. Brock’s migrated to the bar, arms resting on the wood. He’s switched from Heineken Zero to tonic water with lime.
I work my way down the bar, wiping surfaces, collecting empties, stacking coasters. All the end-of-shift stuff you do when you want to look busy but you’re really just listening. Trying to hear every word over the low thrum of the music.
“I always am,” Brock says. “The guys need their sleep. I’m more of a night owl.”
“Is that right?” Roxy’s using her flirting voice, all smooth and honeyed. “Guess that makes you the fun one.”
“I don’t know about that. It’s just hard to wind down after a game.”
“I get it. All that adrenaline.” She’s got her elbow on the bar, leaning in, giving him a perfect view of her tits. “It has to go somewhere, right?”
My hands clench around the rag. She’s laying it on thick—the classic Roxy approach.
Brock sips his tonic. “I find ways to channel it.”
“Hmm, I bet you do.” She runs a finger along the neckline of her top. “You seem like a very... focused person.”
He raises an eyebrow. “That right?”
“I’m pretty good at reading people. Comes with the job. And you... you strike me as the kind of guy who’s very determined.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Just an observation. But I happen to like guys like that.” She wets her lips. “They know what they want, and they don’t let anything get in their way.”
I’m not sure if I imagine it, but for a split second, his eyes flick toward me before landing back on Roxy.
“Can’t argue with that.”
“And you’re not drinking tonight.” She points at his glass. “So you’re disciplined too. A dangerous combination.”
“Gotta stay sharp for the season.”
“Smart.” She smiles. “What position do you play, anyway?”
Shit.Why didn’t I ask that? He asked about my tattoo, showed an interest in me, and I just... didn’t ask anything back. Too self-absorbed, as usual.
“Quarterback.”
“Figures.” She lets out a little laugh. “The leader of the pack. The one calling the shots.”
“Someone’s got to.” He swirls the ice in his glass. “Not always easy, though. A lot of pressure.”
“Yeah? I bet you handle it well.”
She’s good. Really good. She knows exactly how to flatter a guy, stroke his ego, make him feel like he’s the only person in the room. I’ve seen her do it a hundred times. But I’ve never stood on the other side of it, watching her work on someone I…someone I what?I don’t even know how to finish that thought.I just know my jaw is tight, and I’ve wrung the same bar rag ten times in two minutes.
“So, quarterback.” Roxy leans a little closer, twirling a strand of red hair around her finger. “You always this hard to get?”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“Then what would you say? Because I’ve been giving you signals for the past twenty minutes, and you’re just smiling and sipping your water. Are you just not interested, or do I need to spell it out for you?”
“Damn,” Brock says, letting out a low whistle. “You don’t mess around, do you?”
“Look, I’m not usually this forward. But my shift is almost over, and I really want to fuck you. Okay? So I’m just gonna put it out there. Are you coming home with me or not?”
I drop a glass.
