by Kayt Miller
When it slams, Patsy releases a gust of air like she’s been holding it for years. “I should’ve done that a long time ago.”
“Did you really call Mr. Becker?” asks Susanna.
“I did. After I called Mom. She gave me his cell number.”
Kat then asks, “Was he angry?”
“You could say that. He said Mom is his oldest and most loyal employee. He’d never fire her just because his daughter says so.” Pats sits back down. “I suspect that’s all true; however, if Kara went to him claiming we hurt her physically or something, he’d fire Mom.”
“For sure.” Susanna nods.
“That’s why I thought he should know. I offered to let him talk to the police, but he said he’d talk to Kara first.”
“She could lie to him.”
“I’m sure she will. But I’m going to scan this”—Patsy leans over, picking up the police report from the coffee table—“and email it to him.”
“Good idea,” mumbles Robbi. “I need to get going. I’m late.” She points to the police report. “I may need a copy of that for proof since I missed a test in my first class.”
“Me too,” says Lindsay.
Patsy nods. “I’ll make everyone a copy.”
With that, I’m out the door with my backpack in hand. I’m still in my walking clothes, which consists of tight leggings and a T-shirt that’s shorter than I’d ordinarily wear, but I’m late, so it’s just the way it is. At least I brushed my teeth before everything happened, and my hair is still up but in a low ponytail now. Sliding on my helmet, I wince at the pain. The bump has grown to the size of a baseball. I should have iced it. Officer Golden told me to, but I don’t have time now. If I hurry, I can just make it to art history.
Chapter Eighteen
I haven’t seen Kara for a week, and it’s been bliss. To be honest, I haven’t given her much thought after last week. Partly because I’ve been so busy with work and my classes, and partly because, well, I got invited to a party. A rugby team party. I ran into Dan one day at the Hub. He walked right up to me and said, “Hey, Karen, how you doin’?”
Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. He got my name wrong. That doesn’t bug me. Neither does the real reason he’s inviting me—because of Cooke. The truth is, I’m not about to miss a chance to go to a real college party. So, when he asked me how I was doing, I laughed and said, “It’s Quinn, but Karen is close.”
Dan chuckled. “Sorry.” He stared at me for a second, blinking. “You look nice.”
I blinked right back at him and then looked down at my outfit. Jeans and a T-shirt. My standard look Monday through Sunday. “Oh, thanks.”
“What’re you doing tomorrow night?”
I knew I didn’t have to work. “Erm, nothing?”
“You want to come to a party? It’ll be mostly rugby players and our friends.”
“Oh, wow.” I know I blushed like a crazy person. “Sure.” Then I thought, What the hell? I can’t just go to a rugby party –alone. Can I? No! “C-Can I invite my roommates?”
“Sure, the more the merrier. Give me your number, and I’ll send you the address.” He leaned closer as I recited my phone number. I heard my phone ding and knew it was Dan sending a text. “There you go. See you tomorrow.”
“Right. Great. See you.”
Oh. Em. Gee.
I quickly pulled out my phone and sent a group text to my roommates telling them about the invite. I received immediate excited responses from Lindsay and Susanna and one grumbly affirmative from Robbi. Nothing from the other two. Since then, Patsy and Kat have said they’d have to see. They both have boyfriends, so I suppose their men wouldn’t like them going to a rugby team party. At least I hope that’s all it is.
In addition to that, the barbeque that the neighbor guys promised is now going to be on Sunday. My weekend is booked solid with the party on Friday, work on Saturday, and the barbeque on Sunday. I feel like I’m starting to like my life a little bit. It could also be the fact that I think our morning walks are helping me. I haven’t lost any weight to speak of, but I feel better. I have more energy, and with that, more optimism.
I haven’t heard a peep from Cooke since that last time. I don’t know if I overwhelmed him with drama over Kara and the money card or what. Part of me would like to message him, but what would be the reason? He’s busy or else he’d get in touch with me.
Right?
Chapter Nineteen
“Yo! Listen up!” shouts Dan. “This is the girl I was telling you about, Corinne. Her best friend is Cooke Thompson, the greatest fucking fly-half in the fucking world!” He’s so loud I have to cover my ears. The other guys must agree, because they all start howling like wolves.
I start to laugh, and after the howling subsides, I correct him. “It’s Quinn, and we’re just acquaintances.” Acquaintances? Ugh, I’m a total dork. Not a surprise.
I was so nervous for this party. I wanted to get here early, but the girls told me that’s a no-no. So, it helps that I drank a couple of beers at home before we left for the party. Not only that, but Lindsay and Susanna decided I need to step up my look, so they did my hair and makeup. They wanted me to wear something more suited for a dance club, but unfortunately, the nicest “club” clothes I have are black jeggings and a black tunic. So that’s what I’m wearing. It doesn’t matter; my face and hair look spot-on thanks to their talents.
As soon as we walked in the door, the girls scattered. Robbi saw a friend from one of her classes, and Lindsay and Susanna wanted to mingle. I guess they talked to a couple of the guys that night we were at the London Underground. It’s just the four of us, since Kat and Patsy went out with their boyfriends instead. While I wish they were here, I get it.
“Queen!” shouts a half-naked man. In all fairness, most of the guys are half naked, and there’s one guy who’s completely naked. According to Dan, it’s just “how they roll.” Anyway, the half-naked man rushes toward me, wrapping me up in his arms. They rest right below my ass, so when he stands up, I feel myself being lifted from the ground.
“Oh, no….” I pat the top of his head because I’m not sure how else to get his attention; plus it’s the only part of him I can really reach. “Put me down,” I squeak. “Please?”
We’ve begun to move around the room like that. Then, suddenly, he stops and releases me.
“Here she is, cap.”
I slowly turn to face the biggest man I’ve ever seen. He’s got to be almost seven feet. Okay, maybe not quite that tall, but he’s close. My eyes roll from his stomach, where my head is, up to his face. He’s… well, he looks like he may have been in a fight or two, recently. He’s got one black eye and a white piece of tape running across the bridge of his nose. I’m about to ask him if he’s okay when he grunts, “You Corinne?”
“Quinn.”
“I’m Bull. Here.” He holds out his hand. In it is a piece of yellow cloth. “Give that to him.”
Him? “Cooke? You want me to give this to him?” I unfold the fabric to see it’s a T-shirt. An Iowa State University rugby tee, to be exact. It’s just like the ones they wore at the bar a few weeks ago. “Ask him to come here.”
“Oh, he’s in England.” No way am I asking him to come here. He’d think I was insane.
“I’m insane for you,” he said.
“Ask him.”
I nod. “I will. I’ll ask him.”
“Call Dan when he gets here.”
I’m biting my lip to keep myself from laughing. This entire thing is so comical. I don’t know why, but I start to giggle.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Nerves.” I wave my hand in front of my face to get myself under control. “You’re sort of intimidating, Bull.”
He smirks. “Yeah.” Then grunts, “Ask him.”
“I’ll ask him.”
“Good.” Bull turns and walks away, and that’s that.
I fold up the tee and shove it into my small purse. Half of it is poking out, but
I’ll make sure it gets home safely. The truth is, I’m excited to send it to him. Maybe I’ll throw in a few other things—you know–, make him a care package. Not to mention how cool it’d be to see a picture of him in an ISU tee.
We stay at the party for another hour after that. By then, almost half of the rugby guys are stripped down to their underwear; the rest were naked. I don’t know why, and it’s strange. And it isn’t like they’re trying to be sexy or anything. Nobody is trying to rub their you-know-what on any of us; they’re just hanging out naked.
Maybe it’s a rugby thing. I should ask Cooke. Yeah, I know I said earlier that I didn’t like to be the one to make first contact, but this is important. It’s for science.
Me: Is it normal for rugby players to hang out naked all the time?
Not quite a second later, he responds.
Cooke: What the bloody hell are you talking about, Quinn?
I giggle at his response.
Me: I went to a rugby party, and by the end of the night, a bunch of them were naked. Is that a rugby thing or an Iowa State rugby thing?
Cooke: Bloody hell, woman. Stay the feck away from ruggers. Dirty wank stains, the lot of ’em.
Wank stains? I don’t know what it means, but it makes me giggle anyway.
Me: So it’s not just the ISU team?
Cooke: You’re giving me a coronary. Did any of them touch you, love? I’ll fecking kill them with me bare hands.
Me: They’d like that. They want you to visit.
Cooke: Jesus, Mary n Joseph.
Me: LOL. I’m sending you a shirt from them. They wanted you to wear it when you come to visit.
Cooke: Please, love. No more interactions with the rugby team. Promise me.
Me: But you’re on a rugby team.
Cooke: I’m 7000 km away.
Me: Sadly, I know.
Cooke: Sadly?
Oh shit. I typed that. Now what do I say?
Me: Well, I need to get to bed. I have work all day tomorrow.
Cooke: I see you changed the subject. No matter. I’m sad too. Nighty night, fair Quinn. Stay away from those fecking arseholes.
I laugh and it feels good.
Me: For the record, they were all gentlemen. Naked gentlemen.
Cooke: Feck me. Stay away from ’em, love.
Me: :) Sure.
I throw myself onto my bed and laugh again. I’ve never had so much fun messing with someone as I just did with Cooke Thompson.
Chapter Twenty
“How was your first time working on a game day?”
I look over at Patsy, who’s sitting in the lawn chair next to me. “Crazy. I was the barback. But I made it past the two-week trial period, so I’m officially a bartender at Cy’s.”
Patsy claps her hands and smiles. “Yay! Go, Quinn! Wait. What’s a barback?”
“Everyone’s bitch.” I laugh. “I basically restocked beer and everything else the bartenders needed to keep everything running smoothly.” The beer is stored in the basement, so I had to run up and down the stairs a million times. My legs are killing me today, among other things. “Next Saturday is going to be ten times worse.”
“Oh, right. It’s the Iowa versus Iowa State game.”
“Yep. And it’s in Iowa City this year, so everyone will be at Cy’s to watch the game. So, I’m going to enjoy Jack’s relaxing barbeque today, because this time next week? I’ll be broken.”
Pats giggles. “True. This backyard is so nice. We can just kick back and let the guys treat us like queens.”
I nod, then sip my beer. The neighbor guys are great. When we first arrived, I was introduced to Jack’s roommates, Aaron, Ron, and John. They all seem so nice. I haven’t worked up the courage to talk to any of them yet, but I’m working on my second beer, so maybe that will help. I look around the backyard and marvel at how well kept it is. There are even flowers planted all along the fenced-in yard, and outdoor lanterns hang from the one and only tree. It’s old and massive, so there’s no need for more than one.
“This yard…,” I say to Patsy.
“I know. Aaron is in the landscape architecture program. This is all his doing.”
“If he needs a project, maybe he could do this to ours.” The backyard of our house is much smaller than this one, so it’d be easier, right? “I could help.”
“You should ask him.” Patsy turns her head to lean in. “Actually, you should talk to Jack.”
“Jack?”
“Yeah, he keeps looking over here.”
I hadn’t been paying attention to Jack—or anyone for that matter. I look over toward the grill where Jack and Ron have been working. They’re grilling burgers and hot dogs, and they seem to take it very seriously. At that precise moment, Jack turns to face the crowd and yells, “Food!”
There are about fifteen people here for this thing, and ten of them are charging toward Jack and Ron.
“I guess they’re hungry.” Patsy giggles.
“I’d say.”
We wait until the crowd clears out to make our way over to the table. By the time we get there, everything is picked over. Now I see the reason for the stampede. But Jack must have been prepared, because he opens the grill and reveals a new batch ready to go. “Ladies.” He smirks. “Burger or dog?”
“Burger,” Pats and I say together. “Please,” I add.
He places a burger on each of our plates, then says, “Hang on,” and races back into the house. When he returns, he’s holding a large tray. Bowing, he says, “Milady.” I laugh as I see he’s got fresh everything: buns, condiments, cheese, chips, and coleslaw.
“Wow, this looks amazing, Jack.”
He blushes, at least what I can see above his perfectly trimmed beard. “I’m glad you approve, Quinn.”
Patsy nudges my arm, but I ignore her. Instead I quickly fill my plate and return to my chair. There’s no way Jack likes me. Not like that, anyway. And as the evening progresses, my theory is proven when I watch as his attention moves from me to Lindsay—who appears to be just as taken by him.
“See?” I slap Patsy’s hand. “Lindsay and Jack.”
Patsy’s head turns slowly until she sees them together sitting on a bench at the back of the yard. “Well, I’ll be.”
“Yeah, see? Told you.”
“Well, I guess it’s okay to leave some of the guys for the rest of us.” Patsy giggles.
“Huh?”
“Oh, come on.” She rolls her eyes. “You’ve got men panting for you.”
Heat rushes up to my cheeks. “No I don’t.” That’s not true. Nobody likes me. Not like that.
“You didn’t notice how that cop was totally smitten with you?”
“Officer Golden?”
“Yes. The blond god.”
“No, he was just being nice.”
“To you. I think he wanted to kill Kara after he heard what she did to you.”
“No, he was just doing his job.”
Ignoring me, she adds, “And what about Cooke?”
“Cooke?” I practically screech. “We’re just friends.”
“Sorry, but I have guy friends, and none of them FaceChat with me at all hours of the day and night.”
“He’s in England. And… and we’re just friends. Have you seen him?”
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
“Oh, come on. He could have anyone. I’m just….” I look down at myself and notice two things. One, I’ve got a blob of ketchup on my tee that I hadn’t seen before, and two, my stomach. “No. He’s just bored.”
“You don’t see it, do you?”
“See what?” I’m getting a little defensive. And embarrassed by all this talk.
“How beautiful you are.”
I’m blushing so much my eyes hurt. Trust me, it happens. “No. I’m too—”
Patsy moves her chair closer. “You’re one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen, Quinn.”
“No.”
“Yes, Quinn. Look in the mirror somet
ime.” She pauses. “And not just at your face. Of course your shiny dark hair set against bright, blue eyes is stunning, and you’ve got a perfect nose and adorable freckles. But your body is curvy and sexy. You just choose to wear those huge T-shirts all the time. The morning Kara went to crazy-town—”
I laugh at the expression. It’s true, though. Kara definitely went to crazy-town.
“Anyway, that morning, you were wearing tight workout clothes. Officer Golden couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”
I shake my head. “You’re wrong.”
“Okay, fine. But I’m telling you, if you wore clothes that actually fit you, you’d have guys falling all over themselves.”
I smile at Pats. “I appreciate what you’re saying. I really do. Thank you.” But she’s wrong. And the depressing part? She didn’t mention Bryant. The one man I’ve been pining for this past year. I’ve spent the better part of a year trying to figure out how to get him to like me back, but so far, I’ve come up with nothing, because that advice your mom gave you growing up, the “just be yourself” advice? Yeah, that doesn’t work.
Why do I bother thinking about Bryant at all? He asked for Kara’s freaking number. The jerk.
Chapter Twenty-One
“We need more Bud,” Luke yells from the other side of the bar.
I quickly drop the bar rag and race down into the basement to locate a case of Budweiser. It’s dark, so I slide my palm around on the brick wall in search of the light switch. When I find it, I flip it on, then quickly wipe my palm on my jeans. The basement is extra damp today. Not a surprise since it’s been raining basically nonstop for two days. Rain’s not typical for Iowa in October, but it’s been unseasonably warm this year. Thank you, global warming.
Weaving my way through the stacks of inventory, I spot the Budweiser next to the rest of the domestic beers we carry. Reaching for it, I pull it down from the top of the stack and turn toward the stairs. The box isn’t terribly heavy with its twenty-four bottles, but carrying box after box up a long flight of stairs is starting to take a toll on my back, legs, and arms. At the top of the stairs, I pause to catch my breath. Luckily, the entrance to the basement is sort of obscured from the rest of the bar, so I can do so in private. Lugging the box to the beer fridge after a moment’s reprieve, I quickly fill up the Bud section in the refrigerator, lining up each bottle with labels out, just as Luke taught me.
