Bryant
TWO MORE WINS for the Smoke and we are even closer to going to the playoffs. It’s been almost a week since my middle of the night visit to Layne. I texted her after our game two days ago, and she said she was crazy busy with all the customers who’d come in to watch the game and she’d text me later. She didn’t.
I texted her again last night right before the game and didn’t have time to wait for her response, so I didn’t see it until after. She said good luck. I figure she was short with me because she was slammed at work, like tonight. Either that or she’s avoiding me.
We got home this afternoon, and I’m sore as hell from the last couple of games. They are really starting to take a toll on my shoulder. It’s already after ten, but I really want to see her. I know it’s her night to close, so Gracie is with her dad. There is no way in hell I’ll make it until 1:00 a.m. when she closes though. We’ve got more training tomorrow, and then we leave for Seattle early next week for another round of games.
Making up my mind, I head home to change first. Something less showy than the suit. I hate having to wear them when we travel, but it’s part of the image the league wants us to portray. It’s stupid. Plus, if I go in there dressed like this, they’ll know it’s me the moment I walk through the door. I’m not opposed to hanging out with my fans, but a bar full of them is a little much. I really want to sit at the bar, have a beer or two, and talk to Layne.
I haven’t even pulled into the driveway when my phone rings. When I see it’s Conor, I almost don’t answer it. He’s been cranky as shit lately because he can’t “find a good woman” as he puts it. I informed him finding a good woman in bars notorious for cleat chasers is probably not the best place to look. That response didn’t make him happy.
“’Lo,” I bark into the phone.
“Let’s go get a beer, dude. I can’t sit in this apartment tonight. I’m too keyed up,” he rushes out. It’s like he drank a pot of coffee since I saw him an hour ago.
“Sorry, man. Plans.”
“Come on, man! I’m lonely.”
“Jesus, dude. You need to find a girlfriend. Why can’t you be unattached for like a week?” I laugh out.
“I was not made to be alone, Bryant!”
I can’t help but laugh. He’s completely right. He’s been through girlfriend after girlfriend since his divorce. He swears he’ll find “the one” soon.
“Look, I’m going to go by Layne’s bar since she’s working.” The moment it leaves my mouth, I regret it.
“Sweet, swing by and pick me up. I’ll go with.”
“No.”
“What do you mean no? I’m your best friend. You’re in love with this bar girl, and I haven’t even officially met her yet,” he fake whines.
“Stop it. First, I’m not in love with her and we’re only friends. Second, I don’t want your ass there hitting on her or whatever else you plan to do to make me mad.”
“Fine. I’ll follow you.”
And then he hangs up.
Dammit.
I rush into the house to change clothes, knowing damn well by the time I get out of this suit and into something else, he’ll be at my front door. A side effect of living a few blocks from your best friend.
I haven’t even gotten my shirt over my head when I hear the front door open.
“Honey, I’m home.”
I groan under my breath and make my way out into the living room. He’s in board shorts, a hoodie, and flip-flops.
“You know it’s like forty-five degrees outside, right?”
“Yep. Let’s go.”
I shake my head and laugh. There’s no getting around him coming, so he might as well ride with me.
“I’ll drive,” I gripe at him as he makes his way to his truck.
“Nope, I’ll follow you. Ya know, in case I meet the future Mrs. Conor McLoughney,” he explains while wiggling his eyebrows up and down.
Shaking my head, I get in the car and head to Layne.
As we pull into the parking lot, I notice there aren’t as many cars as I expected, which is nice because Conor being with me will definitely get us recognized.
When he gets out of his truck and walks over to me, he’s got a big-ass grin on his face.
“What’s so funny?”
“You. Looking all nervous and shit.” He laughs before slapping me too hard on the back.
“Don’t be weird in there.”
“I’m the coolest person you know, Nash.”
“I’m serious. Don’t overdo it.”
He regards me like he’s trying to read my mind.
“I’ll be cool,” he finally responds and heads off to the door without waiting for a response.
This is gonna be bad. He’s going to embarrass me. I know it.
I try to keep my ball cap pulled low, but it really won’t make a difference once people notice Conor, who in no way, shape, or form is trying to hide his identity.
My eyes scan behind the bar quickly and find her, stocking beer with her back to me. We don’t even make it halfway across the room before someone yells, “Holy shit that’s Conor McLoughney.” Conor smiles and waves but continues to the bar where Layne has spun around to face us. When her eyes meet mine, she gives me a little smirk and shakes her head in disbelief.
As soon as we sit down, a couple of women who were sitting near the other entrance head our way. One of them sits next to me and the other slides up next to Conor. This was a bad idea.
Layne smiles brightly as she walks to us, a little more sway in her hips than I remember there being.
“What can I get you, boys?” she asks politely, no sign of irritation or jealousy.
“How about your phone number?” Conor responds cheekily. Then he laughs so loud it draws even more attention when I growl at him.
“I’ll have a Blue Moon. I don’t know what this idiot wants,” I groan out. Layne rolls her eyes at us and turns to get my beer. The moment her back is turned, the woman sitting next to me scoots closer, making me a little uncomfortable and a whole lot of worried about how Layne will respond.
“Hey, sugar, wanna buy a girl a drink?” she slurs out. I’m about to decline when Layne sets my beer in front of me and leans on the bar toward the woman.
“Carla, honey, go back over to your table and get your things together. Your husband will be here in five minutes. I already called him.”
“Thanks, Layne. You’re the best.” Carla stands from the bar and stumbles her way back over to the door she was sitting by when we came in.
“What can I get for you?” Layne asks Conor. When the woman sitting next to Conor looks up at Layne, she motions her head to the door but doesn’t say a word. The woman nods in acknowledgment and goes back over to her friend.
“I’ll have a Guinness.”
“Guinness coming right up,” she responds with a smile.
“I’m Conor, by the way,” he blurts before she can walk away. She turns to him, smiling, reaches out her hand to shake his and laughs when Conor brings her hand to his lips and kisses it.
“Layne Scott. Pleased to meet you, Conor,” she replies coyly. “Although, I’m gathering you know who I am, considering you two went all caveman on the poor guy trying to ask me out at the game last week.”
“It was all his idea. I do what he tells me. I’m his best friend, by the way, but I’m the cool one.” He laughs while pointing at Bryant.
“You two are trouble with a capital T.” She pulls her hand out of Conor’s grasp and turns to get his beer, as I pop him in the back of the head.
“Ouch, dick. What’d you do that for?”
“Stop it. You’re flirting with her on purpose to make me mad,” I whisper-shout.
Conor laughs and looks around the bar. Several of the patrons have moved closer to us, and more than one of the ladies is showing a special interest in Conor. I keep my ball cap pulled down and my eyes behind the bar. Conor can mingle with the people if he wants, but I came to see Layne. It doesn’t take more than a few minutes before he’s making himself at home at their tables, chatting them up like they’re all old friends.
“How you feeling?” she asks without looking up from the sink where she is washing glasses.
“Sore,” I tell her honestly. Her eyes instantly meet mine.
“You were favoring your right shoulder late in the game,” she replies, keeping her voice low so only I hear her.
She’s right. It’s a little tender, but I’ve been trying not to let it affect my game.
“Didn’t Gracie start practice this week? How’s it going?” I ask, trying to steer the conversation away from my shoulder.
“She did,” she responds immediately with a huge smile. “They put her at right field, and she’s not happy about it. She wants to play first base like last year.”
“Why won’t the coach let her play first?”
“He says she’s afraid of the ball since she got hit with it last year. He wants her to play outfield for a bit so he can work with her before he puts her back at first.”
I nod again, not really understanding his theory behind that. Face your fears, not put them in right field.
I scan the bar and notice Conor is sitting at a table with several men and women chatting about the last game. I chuckle and turn my attention back to Layne.
“So, what’s with the surprise visit?”
“Nothing. We got home today and I wanted to say hi and have a beer. That’s friendly, right?”
“Sure,” she says with a shrug. “Surprised, that’s all.”
“We can’t stay long, and I’ll probably have to drag Conor out of here before he proposes to someone. He’s ‘lonely,’” I tell her with air quotes and all.
She giggles and shakes her head, turning to see Conor chatting up her customers.
Even though the sports highlights for this week are playing on all the TVs, I can’t tear my eyes away from Layne as she moves around the bar so gracefully. She really has no idea how beautiful she is.
The seating area itself is fairly large, with two huge big screens on opposite ends, and a couple of normal-size TVs scattered throughout. Smoke memorabilia decorates the walls, along with neon signs with beer and liquor names. Even though it’s in a sketchier part of the city, it’s got a laid back, homey feel to it. Layne, and her father before her, have obviously taken good care of the place.
When she gets back behind the bar, she notices me watching her and gives me a sweet smile before continuing with her work. She is always so focused when she’s working. She takes being a business owner seriously, and I respect her for that. She walks around and chats with her customers like they are life-long friends.
It’s not long before the achiness starts to set into my muscles again and I feel myself becoming more and more tired.
Spotting Conor on the other side of the room, I head his way to tell him it’s time to go, but slow my pace when I see he and Layne seem to be in deep conversation. They look relaxed, and the tightness in my chest loosens when Layne throws her head back and laughs wholeheartedly. I know sometimes Conor can be a little too much for people to take and a lot of people don’t get his sense of humor. Layne obviously does.
“What’d I miss,” I ask as I walk up beside her.
“It seems your friend here wants to meet all my single friends,” she chuckles. I roll my eyes and glare at Conor.
“Dude, you just met her and you’re already hitting her up to hook you up with friends? Do you have no shame?” I joke with him.
“Nope. None,” he replies with a full-on cheesy smile.
“I can’t take you anywhere, I swear.” I laugh out before turning my attention to Layne.
“I need to get home before I fall asleep sitting at your bar. I’m exhausted and we have training tomorrow.”
She reaches over and places her hand on my shoulder, causing me to flinch a little, but enough for her to notice. When her eyes meet mine, her face is etched in concern.
She motions toward the bar, and I follow her as we walk away from Conor, who is shoveling pretzels in his mouth and has his attention back on the other people at the table.
“You okay?” she asks, low under her breath without looking at me as we walk.
“Yep. Right as rain. A little sore. I’ll be fine tomorrow,” I reply. I almost shrug but stop myself because I’m sure that’ll hurt too.
Before we make it to the bar, Layne grabs my left hand and steers us around the bar to the back swinging doors, pulling me behind her. She lets go of my hand and opens what I assume is a walk-in freezer with the amount of cold air rushing out of it and disappears inside. When she walks out a few seconds later, she’s carrying an ice wrap. She grabs my hand again and pulls me to a small table with two chairs.
“Have a seat, Mr. Nash,” she tells me, and I do what she says, ’cause the ice wrap is looking like heaven right now.
I sit down and almost groan when she lays it on my shoulder and wraps it around so it will stay on. She walks back out to the bar area, before returning again a few minutes later with a large frosty mug of water and a bottle of ibuprofen in her hand. She taps out a couple of pills and hands them to me, followed by the water.
She’s being awfully bossy, but at the same time not saying much.
“Give those a few minutes to kick in, and then I’ll release you to go home,” she scolds, but a small smile plays on her lips.
“Thanks, Dr. Scott,” I joke. The idea she wants to help me is strange. I’ve never had that before. “Thanks for taking care of me.”
She turns back to me, giving me a small smile before responding. “Well someone should. I have no doubt you’re as stubborn as they come. I can see the pain written all over your face.”
I drop my eyes to the mug in my hand and don’t respond. How is it possible that this woman I barely know can read me better than people who’ve known me for years?
She rubs her hand across the top of my forearm and walks back out into the bar.
As I take in my surroundings, it dawns on me this is a full kitchen. A kitchen fit for a restaurant. She really should expand her menu.
When the ice wrap begins to melt, I place it back in the cooler and walk back out front. There are several new customers sitting at the bar, and I notice Conor is still chatting away. He’s such a social butterfly.
One of the men who recently arrived and is sitting at the bar looks up at me, and I see the recognition on his face almost instantly.
“Holy shit, you’re Slam Nash!” he barks out, almost choking on his beer.
“Bryant,” I respond, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. “It’s Bryant Nash.”
Although the ice and ibuprofen helped, my shoulder is aching something fierce, and I really need to get home.
“Mr. Nash, it’s an honor to meet you.” The guy holds his hand out for me to shake, which I do.
“You too,” I respond with zero enthusiasm. I probably sound like a dick right now, but I can’t help it at this point. I’ve got to get out of here.
Conor walks up then, smiling like usual, and when he sees the look on my face, he knows it’s time to go.
“Layne, it was a pleasure to finally meet you, seeing how you’ve got this one wrapped around your little finger,” Conor tells Layne. Her cheeks turn pink instantly and she avoids looking at me.
“That’s a little dramatic, don’t ya think?” Layne laughs.
“Nope. Never seen—” He starts, but I cut him off before he embarrasses me further.
“All right, Conor,” I interrupt. “Time to go.”
Conor kisses Layne’s hand with a shit-eating grin on his face. She shakes her head slowly, like she’s watching a child do something he shouldn’t. That sounds about right actually.
After telling Layne I’ll see her soon, I drag Conor out of the bar, without a future Mrs. McLoughney.