Chapter Two
Brewer
“What the hell do you mean, you couldn’t find her?” I roar, throwing my helmet against my locker.
The usher, Duncan, Dumbass… whatever the hell his name is, just shrugs. “Seat’s empty. She must’ve left early to beat the crowd. Sorry, man.”
“Dude, chill the fuck out. We’ve got tomorrow off. Let’s go out, drink to the win, and I guarantee, we’ll find ya another redhead,” Lance laughs, punching me in the arm.
“Whatever,” I grumble and finish getting dressed. Usually, I’d be happy to have an off-day after winning at home, more than ready to hit the clubs with my wingman, or I his, but Lance didn’t see her.
She was… different. I’m not quite sure why, but damn, I’m positive she was— standing out in a crowd of thousands like the brightest star in the sky, smacking me in the face with instant, magnetic attraction. Gorgeous; long, dark red hair, button nose, fuck-me lips, and the biggest brown eyes, filled with curious energy.
And she got away.
The only one to ever not come to me, cling, let alone escape… even when I sent what’s his name to get her! Something I’ve never done. Fucking figures.
“You ready?” Lance busts up my thoughts.
“Just about.”
“You gonna be alright there, titsack? Quit crying, come on, and I promise, I’ll find you two redheads. If not, I’ll buy you a blow-up doll. Or a pocket pussy. Your choice.”
“Let me ask you something. Your dick long enough to reach your asshole?”
“And then some,” he cocks off, grabbing his crotch.
“Good. Then go fuck yourself.”
****
“How about her?”
“For the tenth time, no.” I down the rest of my beer. “And quit pointing, jackass. I’m not looking to draw a lot of attention our way. I just want to relax, enjoy a drink or two, and go home.”
“And I’m not looking to go home alone, so knock it the hell off already. Seriously man, what’s up with you tonight? There are hot chicks in the stands every game. Hell, there are hot chicks swarming this place right now. Why’re you so bent over one honey you got a five-second look at, while roughing up Jenkins? She probably had like twelve moles you just didn’t see.”
She didn’t have any moles, but still… good fucking question.
Maybe Jenkins slammed my head against the glass harder than I thought, and despite my helmet, I’ve got a concussion. Which means, Lance could have a point… which would also be a first. I did only get a brief look at her, and was, in fact, a tad distracted by my opponent trying to pummel me to death, but… no way in hell I imagined our ‘interaction.’ Or missed a menagerie of moles. And she definitely held up her dainty hand at my non-verbal request, telling me exactly what I wanted to know— no ring. Not engaged or married. I’ve never wondered it about another woman in the crowd, let alone held a silent conversation to ask them. Which she understood and answered.
No, fuck Lance—I’m not concussed or imagining things. She and I had a… a something; whatever the hell you’d call it. And that something lasted long enough that I did get a good look, a really good look, at her. Because even now, I can picture her heart-shaped face, pink cheeks, big brown eyes, and slightly parted, full lips. She was stunning… and far from a run-of-the-mill puck bunny.
“Yo, lover boy,” Lance barks and snaps his fingers right in front of my face. “Incoming. Don’t fuck it up for me. Unless, of course, I signal.”
I shake my head at the schmuck and wave the waitress over; I’m gonna need another beer. “Since you’ve never used it, gonna need you to remind me what this damn signal of yours is.”
“Scratching my nose. Damn, you suck at wingman. Now shut up; here they come.”
Then again, maybe I have one of those slight, “walking concussions,” ‘cause a random thought hits me from out of nowhere. How cool would it be if I looked up, and by some movie-reel serendipity shit, it just so happened to be my mystery redhead standing there?
Very Fucking Cool.
But… not what happens.
Unfortunately, this is real life… unlike the tits on either of the over-smiling, underdressed women standing way too close when I concede and take a half-hearted look at them.
“Ladies,” Lance greets them with generous benefit of the doubt and stands, pulling out a chair for each, nodding toward the blonde to let me know that’s the one he wants. No worries there, bud. You can have them both. “Let me get you beauties some refills. What’re you drinking?”
I don’t hear their answers, don’t care, but do have mind to thank the waitress when she sets my new bottle in front of me. Sipping on it slowly, since two’s my self-imposed limit, I’ve almost managed to completely tune out the trio’s babble, when the brunette scrapes her talons down my bicep, forcing me to pay her some attention.
“You played great, Brewer, as always.” She thinks it’s a flirty coo, but I hear a pitchy whine. She moves in closer, her tits now resting on my forearm. “But you don’t always wink at me. Tonight though, you finally noticed me. I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited for that!”
I manage not to growl in frustration and move my arm out from under the hard, no pliancy whatsoever, weight of her fake melons—even more annoying, after being reminded of my wasted wink. I shoot Lance a telling glare, scratching the hell out of my nose, but the bastard’s too wrapped up in blondie to notice. Fuck this whole night. I toss back the last of my beer, seconds from leaving, when whiny, concrete-tits chick says something I actually want to hear.
“I was starting to think that stupid bitch in the front row, same. seat. every. damn. game, was never gonna sit her fat ass down long enough for you to see me!”
I only heard the good parts… Front row, same seat every game. That can only mean one thing—season tickets. All the ticket holders’ information is tracked in the team’s system; I’m sure of it.
Well I’ll be damned, this night just turned on a dime. Not the exact serendipitous meeting I’d hoped for… but close enough. I stand, pull out my wallet, and throw a handful of bills on the table. “Gotta go, man,” I yell at Lance, who doesn’t respond, and all but run for the door. I’ve got work to do… and I can’t wait to get started.
You can run, but you can’t hide. I’ll find you, my beautiful doe-eyed ginger.