They were making their way out of the arena through a back way when Joel’s phone buzzed. He checked it.
Quentin:Hey, I know you might have to leave, but some of the guys and I are gonna go out to celebrate. One of them knows a guy who opened a new bar, and it’s supposed to be really good. You should join!
Joel stared at his phone for a long moment and then turned to Harlan and Shivonne and said, “I’ll come to Orlando tomorrow morning.”
Shivonne turned to him sharply. “What? Why?”
“I’m going to celebrate the win with the team.”
Harlan hid a smile.
Quentin didn’t know what was harder for him to believe: that he’d invited Joel to join him and the team for drinks, or that Joel had said yes. He told the team, those of them who were going, and they cheered. Most of them didn’t have Dorsey’s outdated and frankly homophobic perspective on Joel hanging out with the team. Dorsey didn’t say anything, though he was also joining them.
The bar was called Luca’s, and it was owned by Luca Loretti, a celebrity chef who had restaurants in Los Angeles, New York, and Las Vegas. Luca’s was supposed to be a simpler, more pared-back place, with an Italian spin on classic bar food, and good cocktails. There was dancing there at night, and it was an exclusive place, and hard to get into. The team got in because Luca was trying out a new menu that night, and there was a famous DJ, and one of the guys on the team knew Luca.
“Joel looked like he was having fun tonight,” Henri said as he and Quentin were getting ready in their hotel room.
“I think he did,” Quentin said.
“That’s good. Looks like you’re really becoming friends.”
“I think we are.” Quentin wondered if Henri was getting at something specific.
“I’m glad you’re friends,” Henri said. “He seems like a good guy. You should keep hanging out with him.”
Huh, Quentin thought. “I think I will.”
They joined some of their teammates in a private limousine, which took them to Luca’s, the bar. There were bouncers out front, and EDM music played from the inside. The bouncers let them in, and Quentin and Henri went to the bar, where they ordered drinks.
“When is he getting here?” Henri asked as they leaned against the bar together with their drinks.
Quentin shrugged. “Soon, I think.”Soon, I hope.
An attractive dark-haired woman, maybe a couple of years older than him, slid up to the bar next to him. “Hey,” she said. “You’re Quentin Hartley, aren’t you?”
Henri clapped him on the shoulder, gave him a smirk, and disappeared into the crowd.
“I am,” Quentin said, shifting his posture a bit so he could look at her. She was very attractive, and the smile she gave him wasn’t overly flirtatious. It seemed genuine and curious.
“I’m Shelby,” she said. “I saw your game today. You played so well.”
“Are you a Tampa Bay fan?” he asked, smiling at her.
“I am, but I can make an exception for you.”
“Oh, not very loyal to your team, I see?”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, I cried when we lost.”
“I see.”
“Did a ritual sacrifice before the game, burned a picture of you.”
Quentin blinked.
“I’m kidding,” she said, laughing.
“Oh…good.”
