Page 17 of Her Coach

I shook my head. “No, I can’t put in a good word for you.”

His shoulders deflated. “But you’ve read my book. You liked it, right?”

I nodded. “Of course, I did. I think it’s a great book! But Dani and I make it a point not to mix our friendship with business.”

He held his drink up to me before taking another long swig. “Well, it was worth a shot.”

I tossed him a friendly wink. “Always is.”

The bar had a rhythm to it and somewhere between Mikey's second bourbon and a table of four ordering a round, I found a spare second and my eyes went to the far end without my permission.

He was still there, same stool, same Coke, same stillness. The team had been loud around him all night and he sat in the middle of it the way a rock sat in moving water. Completely still. Not uncomfortable. Just still. Like a man who had been in enough loud rooms that this one didn't require anything from him.

I grabbed my rag and moved toward him because that was my job and standing at the other end of the bar stealing glances at him was not.

"Need a refill?" I asked.

He glanced at the glass, then at me. "Sure."

I took it, went to the soda gun, filled it fresh, set it back down on a clean napkin. He nodded once. That was apparently all the thank you I was going to get, which for some reason I found more entertaining than annoying.

I was about to move on when the noise behind him picked up.

The team had migrated from the pool tables. Jett led the charge because Jett always led the charge, elbowing his way into the space beside Colton like he'd been invited, which he had not been. Moose lumbered up behind him. Rhett appeared from somewhere and clapped Colton on the shoulder in greeting.

"How long ya working tonight, Bry?" Rhett asked, already reaching across the bar for the bowl of bar mix near the register.

"Closing," I said, moving to pull it out of his reach. He got there first.

"Hell yeah," Jett said, throwing his arm around Rhett's neck. He caught my eye and grinned. "Got any specials tonight? You know, unless you're free⁠—"

Colton didn't even look up from his glass. "Finish that sentence and you're running bag skates until opening night."

The low whistle that came from somewhere in the back of the group said everything the rest of them were apparently too smart to say out loud. Jett looked at me. Then at Colton. Then at the floor, which was probably the wisest decision he'd made all evening.

Mikey, who had been watching all of this with the expression of a man thoroughly entertained by someone else's problems, leaned forward on his stool. "Good man," he said to Colton. Then, to me: "Bry, get the coach a real drink. On me."

"The Coke is a real drink, Mikey."

"The Coke is a punishment," Mikey said. "Get him the bourbon."

The corner of Colton's mouth moved. Not quite a smile, but in the neighborhood.

"I'm fine," he said.

I looked at him for a second. He looked back at me with that steady, unhurried stare of his that I was already learning meant he'd said what he meant and wasn't going to say it again.

"One more Coke it is," I said, and went to get it.

He's for Mom, I reminded myself as I filled the glass. That was the plan. Brilliant plan. Great plan. Stick to the plan, Brynn.

The problem was that from this angle he didn't look like anyone's plan. He looked like someone you made a plan around without meaning to.

Mom would love him.

I was going to have to be very careful about that.

I slapped my rag over my shoulder and went back to work.