2. Harrison

2

HARRISON

A few of the guys and I are at the local hangout, Blue Line Pub and Grill, having dinner and a couple of beers. Bergan wracks my brain. I have to know more about her.

“So what’s Bergan’s story?”

The men quiet down and a couple lift their brows.

“She used to date Rocket Tilders. Shit went south. He cheated, but I heard she’s sleeping her way to the top.”

I clench my jaw at how callous he is. I hate gossip and the lives it can ruin.

Out of the corner of my eye, a woman walks through the pub wearing huge Audrey Hepburn glasses and a trench-coat and I chuckle. I sit back in my chair and smile.

“Guys, get this… that’s her.” I point Bergan out and all the men look.

“Not a very convincing disguise,” Alexi says.

The guys stop paying attention to her, but I can’t. She’s like the sun and I’m constantly wanting to revolve around her. She edges a little closer to our table and I wave the waitress over and ask to use her pen.

I start writing when I say, “Send a beer over to the woman in the big black glasses and red heels in the booth behind us and give her this.” I hand the folded napkin to her.

“You got it, Snow Beast.”

I frown but nod. It’s my nickname for the ice, but I hate it. I ignore it, though. It’s useless to argue with somebody about calling me that when it’s in the mouth of every reporter, coach, teammate, and fan out there.

“Let’s see what this does to her.” I swallow the rest of my beer.

Bergan

“Here you go.” A waitress drops off a beer and puts a napkin in front of me.

“I didn’t order this.”

“Read the note.” She nudges her chin toward the napkin and walks off before I can say anything.

Curious, I open the napkin slowly and slink down in the booth.

I’ll give you my inside story. Meet me at Zest, 7pm tomorrow night. Text me your answer: (555) 333-8787.

Who is this?

I lift my gaze and look around the room, and my eyes stop on Harrison, who’s leaning back in his chair with a shit-eating grin. He winks at me.

Shit! I’ve been made.

Well, I’m not James Bond and never claimed to be.

I sit up straight, claiming the moment and accepting my fate. Picking up the beer, I toast him and drink. I stuff the note in my pocket and grab my cell.

Bergan: Zest? That’s a little out of my budget.

Totally true. That place is $250 minimum for a meal. I wouldn’t be able to pay my rent if I eat there.

But it wouldn’t be out of the question if I could become the new announcer.

Harrison: It’s on me.

Bergan: It’s not a date.

Harrison: Fine, you can pay me back. Four easy installments of $29.99.

Bubble of laughter pops out of me without meaning to, and I blush knowing he probably noticed. He’s too cute for his own good, and maybe mine too.

“Ugh.” This is a dangerous slope, but I’m way too intrigued.

And a girl’s gotta eat…

Bergan: 7:30 pm and we share a meal.

Harrison: Do I need to watch my figure? Because you sure as shit don’t.

I don’t dare lift my head because I can’t hold back my smile. I like that he appreciates my curves because I sure do. My curves are one of my best assets.

Bergan: See you at 7:30, Harrison.

I lift the beer and chug it down. The guys cheer and all the eyes in the pub are on me.

I put on a big smile and sashay over to Harrison and lean down and whisper in his ear. “Thanks for the beer.” Then continue on my way, putting a little more sway into my steps, knowing he’s watching my assets as I walk out.

I’m not hating it because it got me an inside story and I’m ready to make things happen.