We say our goodbyes, and I tuck my phone into the pocket of my skirt. Which is exactly why I bought it. Well, the pockets and the fact that the shorter length and emerald green flatter both my olive skin and muscle tone. Plus, it swishes when I dance. I smooth its hem as I mill through the packed pub, finally landing on a barstool by the counter. A moment later, there’s a tap on my shoulder.
“Ryan, hi.” I drape an arm around his neck, then shuffle it down his torso as he tries to figure out if this side hug is deserving of one or two arms.
Off to a great start.
“Glad you could still make it.” He smiles, his darkeyes boring into me. “You’re lookin’ as good as ever. No surprise there.”
I offer him a sheepish smile. “Thank you. So how long until trivia starts?”
Some guy with a white rag thrown over his shoulder approaches, both hands carrying towers of stacked drinking glasses. He smiles when he sees us, setting down his cups on the bar and yanking Ryan in with a handshake. He lifts a chin to me before grabbing his stacks again and disappearing behind the counter.
“They’re short-staffed. Diego is pulling double duty, bussing and bartending,” Ryan says.
“Oh. Yeah. It looks pretty busy.”
Ryan nods, looking proud like this is his baby. If I remember right, he’s worked here for almost six years, so I guess in a way, it probably is. But it’s not like he’s an investor or even a manager. Still, it’s admirable he’s been able to commit to one place so long. God knows I haven’t.
Minutes later the overworked bartender—Diego—reappears holding two glasses swirling with bubbles and a lime wedge. He mentions something to Ryan about picking up his shift next week, and the two of them chat as I quietly sample my cocktail, soaking in the weathered ambiance of the dive bar. The drink could benefit from a splash of sweetness.
“Sorry about that. What were you saying?” Ryan asks, taking a sip from his tiny straw.
I look around as people start finding their seats. “Nothing. I just asked when trivia?—”
A commotion across the room grabs my attention, and my stomach drops. Next to the DJ booth I spot a group oflarge men pulling tables together to make enough space for what I assume is their trivia team. But they aren’t just large men. I know every single one of their names, jersey numbers, and performance stats from last season. They’re football players.
Vista City Kings players.
My heart thuds against my ribs as a pair of pale blue eyes meet mine.
Ty is here.
A hand presses into the small of my back, breaking my eye contact with him. Ryan shuffles me forward.
“Where are we going?” I ask over the music the DJ has started up.
“Just wanted to say hi to the guys real quick.” He nods toward the players. “They’re regulars.”
He’s taking me to their table?
“I’m sure you’ve met them like a million times,” he continues, and when his feet move forward, so do mine.
“No, actually I’m not?—”
My answer is cut short by Ryan slapping one of them on the shoulder. The guy looks annoyed until he sees who it is and offers him some kind of fist bump handshake combo. It’s the Kings’ center, Cole Skinner. A white-hot panic streaks through me as a few of the guys turn to face me, one of them being Ty. He nearly chokes on his drink when he realizes I’m now looming over his table.
“Easy, Ty,” Ramiel Watson—our quarterback—pats him hard on the back.
Ty mumbles something before scooting his chair forward, his head dipping into the menu. Ryan chums it up with a few other guys, never bothering to introduce me,which is totally fine. If these guys don’t realize that I’m a cheerleader, all the better.
I scan my surroundings, the panic-heat ratcheting up as I spot people with their phones out, wide eyes drinking in this table of giant celebrities. If Larissa were here, she’d drag me right out, not willing to risk breaking her contract. As much as I don’t want to do that either, attempting to tell Ryan yet again that I’m not really supposed to be hobnobbing with the players sounds awkward. My stomach twists. I’ve gotten myself into trouble more than once due to this little imperfection, the one that wants everyone to be happy even if it makes me uncomfortable. The one that too often keeps my smile locked in place. I sip my drink and debate my slim options.
The DJ makes an announcement about getting settled into our respective tables, and I take it as my cue. I wrap a hand around Ryan’s arm, sliding it down until our fingers lace together. “Let’s go find a spot.”
Ryan laughs at something Ramiel says, but he doesn’t look my way. Ty’s focus is still fixed on the tabletop as he fidgets with the corner of a napkin.
I tug Ryan’s hand, moving away from the players. “There’s some open spots over?—”
Ryan frowns at me before dropping my hand and turning back to the guys. “If you need anything, let me know.”
