by T. Torrest
She held out her hand, so I shook it. But instead of offering her name, she simply asked, “And?”
“And, you said you were a hockey fan.”
“So?”
“You don’t recognize me, do you.”
“Should I?”
Jesus, this was just going nowhere fast. Had I become so irrelevant to the game in only four years of absence? “Well, it’s been a few years, but I used to play for those guys right there.” I gave a point to the TV, taking note of the score. Still not even on the board yet, dammit.
“Am I supposed to be impressed?”
“Most people are.” Is that smoke I smell? Because I’m pretty sure I just crashed and burned. “I only played three seasons with them before I got shipped down south.”
“Short career.”
“Hey. That’s better than most. We can’t all be Gordie Howe.”
“Who?”
I bring up the name of Mr. Hockey himself and she asks me ‘who’? Who? Only the first player to ever score a thousand goals, the guy who holds the record for most consecutive games ever played, and one of the greatest athletes to ever play the game? Did she really not know who Gordie Howe was? Even a non-fan has at least heard of the guy!
Red hadn’t been receptive to my advances throughout our entire exchange, but her complete lack of knowledge about a game she “really liked” was when I checked out of the equation.
I’m sure the shocked look of disgust must have been written all over my face when I answered, “Yeah. I think this conversation is over.”
And at that, Red gave a shrug, gathered up her change, and left.
Relief flooded my bruised ego, but then a familiar bark of laughter filled my ears. “Wow. Does that ‘owning-the-ice’ line usually work?”
I turned to see Avery a few stools behind me. She must have slipped in while I was chatting with Red. “Usually.”
“I thought you didn’t use lines. Maybe you’re losing your touch.”
I came out to the floor and walked over to where she was sitting. Leaning an elbow against the bar and raising my eyebrows, I shot back, “Impossible.”
That made her laugh. Good. I was hoping it would. I waved Alice over to hook Avery up with a drink, taking note of her order.
Attention, gentlemen: You can tell a lot about your odds with a girl from her chosen cocktail—at least according to what the old-timers have always told me. Let’s pause here for a moment so that I may share their wisdom with you. You may want to grab a pen and some paper to take notes in case there’s a test at the end:
THE COOL CHICK: A beer girl is laid-back, the kind of woman who’s content to stay in for the night with a pizza and watch the games with you on your couch. She might be a friend of yours already. Maybe she used to date one of your buddies, but if it wasn’t serious, she can be put on the Prospectives List. She can be found most often frequenting ball games, sports pubs, frat parties… and gives one hell of a blow job.
THE SURE THING: Shots of hard liquor indicate party girl, which can sometimes be a lot of fun, provided she doesn’t do too many and turn into a crazy bitch. This is a special breed and must be handled with extreme care. Fun for an evening or two, but not necessarily the type you’d bring home to Mom. She can be found dancing on any random bartop, but tends to frequent loud establishments, normally when a rowdy band is on stage. Hell, she probably came with the bass player. She will fuck like nobody’s business, and probably leave you sore the next morning.
THE NEWBIE: Piña Coladas and Daiquiris are for the young and inexperienced, so an I.D. check is suggested immediately before proceeding. Provided her license isn’t a fake, she’s fair game. And that’s a good thing, because the Newbie is eager to please. She can normally be found in a darkened corner, making out with a random dude she just met five minutes prior. With any luck, he’ll ditch her to seek out a girl who will be down for more than just kissing. In about twenty minutes, she’ll be looking for her next hookup. Heartbroken and insecure, she’s just waiting to prove her sexual prowess with the next guy she meets, and if you play your cards right, that guy can be you. A fake name is advised when encountering a Newbie, because she tends to be rather clingy after sex. The last thing you need is a starry-eyed stalker calling you at all hours for the next month because she hasn’t yet learned the rules and can’t take a hint.
THE BITCH: And if a woman’s drinking something like a Mojito? Steer clear, my brothers. Any labor-intensive drink requiring more than two ingredients and a mashed anything means high-maintenance, entitled, and an all-around pain in the ass. This broad is looking for a sugar-daddy to fund her expensive tastes and you do not want to be that schmuck. She thinks she’s way hotter than she actually is, so she’s a lousy lay. She can normally be found at your local nightclub when she deigns to step foot into any establishment outside of a major city. But don’t worry; if you’re not wearing a designer suit, she won’t be interested in you anyway.
THE GIRLS’ NIGHT OUT: Any group of ladies that are drinking wine are normally married with children. They’re finally out of the house with their friends and don’t want anything to do with you, so back the fuck off. Besides, they’ll all be wearing wedding rings, which is the first thing you should have checked for anyway. Shame on you for even trying.
There are exceptions to every rule of course, and since I’m only offering generalities here, I hope you ladies won’t take it personally. And if repeating such assessments makes me seem like a misogynist, I apologize for giving you the wrong impression. I actually love women. They’re smarter than we are, they’re more sensitive than we are, and they generally smell a whole lot better. The fact of the matter is, however, that those old-timers may have known what they were talking about. I not only saw these stereotypes playing out every weekend at my bar, but experienced them firsthand back in my wilder days.
Therefore, I was pleasantly surprised when I saw Avery drinking a Loopy Seven. Booze plus soda meant low-maintenance, but with a touch of class. But Froot Loop-flavored vodka? And with a cherry? Not the usual request, and I found myself making adjustments to my list. Low maintenance, touch of class… knows how to have fun.
Alright then. Let’s have some fun. “So, what are you doing here tonight?” I asked, flashing her one of my most irresistible grins. “I don’t see your beautiful face for four years and suddenly I’m graced with your presence twice in the same month.”
Avery’s mouth tightened into a repressed smile, but her eyes were bright as they met mine. She dismissed my compliment as if she hadn’t even heard it, and instead answered, “I guess I was getting a little over-anxious.”
Hmmm. I eyed her up and down, blatantly checking her out, and stepped closer to deliver, “Is that so?”
“Zac, you scoundrel,” she spat out with a shaky laugh. “I meant I’m anxious about the party. It’s torture trying to plan an event when I don’t even know if it’s going to happen. My mind hasn’t stopped racing ever since I was assigned to this thing, but it’s been in overdrive since their win last night. I kept trying to envision how I was going to set everything up, but didn’t want to finalize any ideas until I could see how the flow of the room would work when packed with people.”
I stepped out of her personal space at her monologue. Apparently, my close proximity was making her nervous enough to babble, and I wasn’t looking to make her uncomfortable. Or maybe I backed off because being that near to her was having more of an effect on me than I was comfortable with. “Yeah, well, too bad you chose tonight. The air-conditioning is broken, so the place is hardly packed.”
“I noticed.” At that, she lifted the hair off her nape and fanned herself with her free hand. I watched as a bead of sweat made a leisurely trek from her hairline and carved a trail down her neck, just behind her ear. The sight made me want to run my tongue up the enticing wet line and bury my face in her hair. As I stared unrepentantly, I could almost taste the salt on my lips, smell the heat emanating from her skin, feel her hair ti
ckling against my nose… so much so that I had to literally shake my head free of the vision. Where the hell did that come from?
I released a chuckle, which came out sounding nervous to my ears. Hopefully not to hers. “Well, no worries. I’ve got my main man Barry working on it as we speak. Before happy hour’s through, this room will be colder than my ex’s heart.”
She giggled and shot back, “Nice, Zac. Whatever happened to… Julie, was it?”
I wasn’t referring to anyone specifically; I was only trying to throw out a funny line. But now this can of worms was being opened, and hell. There was nothing funny about the situation.
And for the record? Julie was not my girlfriend.
“Yeah. Julie.”
I didn’t elaborate, hoping Avery wouldn’t push too hard for any details. It was only now that I was older and wiser that I could look back and recognize what an asshole I actually was when it came to women. The injury turned me into a bitter dickhead for months, but even before that, I wasn’t the easiest guy to deal with.
Back then, my life consisted of hockey and sex, in that order. I suppose that with all that blind ambition, the people in my orbit didn’t get too much from me. Not that I had so much to give. It was only recently that I’d begun to try and figure out what kind of man I was going to be, what kind of life I was going to build for myself. And even now, this life was nothing to write home about.
I was still working on it.
Avery could tell I was being evasive, and thankfully, she opted against pressing the matter. Time for a change of subject. “So, yeah,” I diverted. “I was just looking over that contract. Everything seems up to snuff.”
“I told you it was pretty standard stuff.” She gave a bite to her bottom lip before asking, “Does that mean your answer’s going to be yes?”
Her eyes were hopeful and her trapped lips were trying to contain a smile. Simply adorable.
“Sure,” I laughed out. “Actually, I already signed and faxed it over to your office about an hour ago. I guess we’re a go. Now all we need is for the team to do their part.”
Her smile broke out full-force as she smacked her hands together in excited applause. “Yeay! Oh, Zac. You don’t know how much this means to me. My boss has really been watching over my events lately, and she is not a multi-tasker. I think the extra attention is because she may be looking to promote me, finally. A party as high-profile as this? It could really put me over the top.”
Something about the way she said that made my heart sink. “So this is all about your career?”
She gave a stir to her drink as she answered, “Well, not all.”
I was waiting for a sign, something to read in her expression that would clarify her statement. Something to let me know that despite the formality of our reunion, maybe there was a small part of her that had come back for me. I didn’t need—or want—her to be the same, shy, starry-eyed girl she was back in the day. But the fact of the matter is, we used to get along really well back then. We were friends. I guess I was kind of hoping that maybe she missed us a little bit.
When she met my eyes, a spark of optimism ran through me as a hint of a smile played at her lips. “I was thinking it could mean big things for both of us.”
Her mysterious smile shot right into my gut, and my heart started racing. I was caught off guard, intrigued by the playful look in her eyes. So intrigued that my brain shut off, and the question left my lips before I even had a chance to think about asking it.
“Why don’t we take this conversation up to my place?”
Chapter Twelve
“Oh my God! Fuck me, Zac!”
I barely had Avery in my front door before the screaming started. There was really no controlling it, but the outbursts were actually making me uncomfortable, to say the least. Why, why, why did the screeching always have to be so goddamn loud? Was I supposed to play it cool at a moment like this?
I was trying to think of the correct way to handle the situation, but I was too stunned and embarrassed to do the right thing at that second. Plus, with Avery right there, I was kind of—you know—distracted. Maybe I should’ve just laughed and gone with the flow. You’d think after so many years, I would’ve come to expect such a reception by now. But it had been a while since the last time this happened, and I guess I’d just forgotten that there was a possibility that it could. I mean, who knew? Avery seemed so uptight. And yet, here was a string of obscenities flying around the room. If I was surprised by it, it must have shocked the hell out of her.
And yet, it continued.
“Love your cock! Oh my God! Fuck me, Zac!”
What the hell was I supposed to say? The truth is, I was caught off guard and actually feeling sort of mortified.
I turned to Avery, standing just inside my door, and registered her wide-eyed expression. She was staring at Magnum P.I., my twenty-two-year-old African Grey Macaw, wreaking social havoc from the confines of his cage in the corner of my dining room.
“Shut up, Magnum!” I yelled in his general direction, which had the effect of altering the chanting from obscene to self-deprecating as he repeated my words back to me.
“Shut up, Magnum! Shut up, Magnum!”
I ran a hand over my hair and offered an apology to Avery. “Sorry about him. He doesn’t break out with that one too often, thank God. Apparently, only to embarrass me when I bring guests home.” I went over to Magnum, ran my finger over his beak in a quick nuzzle, and then put the cover on his cage to clam him the hell up.
Avery hadn’t moved beyond the doorway. “I’m going to do us both a favor and not ask for the details of how a bird would pick up such terminology.”
The name Olivia ran through my head at that, even though I wasn’t sure if that was her actual name. In any case, she was a former hockey groupie from way back when, a gorgeous hellcat whom I’d never met before nor since that one crazy night. She left me with a satisfied grin and my pet bird with an extended vocabulary. It was hard to forget a girl who could do that. What can I say? I like ‘em spirited.
Without going into the details of such a dubious subject, I turned, faced her confidently, and answered, “I think it’s pretty self-explanatory, don’t you?”
Avery gave an exaggerated shiver. “Okay. Now I feel like I’m in a brothel. How many girls have you had up here?”
I shrugged. “Not many.”
To tell you the truth, I saw more action in this apartment in the years before it became my home, and even then, it’s not as though I was hooking up all the time. My brothers and I used to try and sneak up here on the rare occasions when one of us would meet a willing partner in the bar downstairs. But the kind of ladies that came here to drink weren’t necessarily the type that you’d want to even touch, much less fuck. We’d only get lucky when the odd, unsuspecting sorority girl wandered in. Even then, my brothers and me would have to fight it out, not only over any pretty girls, but over who would get to call dibs on the apartment. Then after all that, we’d still have to make it past my father without getting caught, which wasn’t often.
When Avery threw me a skeptical, sideways glare, I added, “I swear! What? You think I treat the bar like my own personal lady trap?” Because I don’t anymore, I left unsaid.
“Can you blame me? The evidence suggests exactly that.”
“Look,” I started in, “Magnum picked that up from one wild night a long time ago. I’ve been trying to deprogram him ever since.” I gestured to the sofa in the middle of my living room. “Please sit. I promise it’s been sterilized.”
That finally broke through her uptight demeanor as she flopped down onto the couch, laughing. “I’m going to pretend this slipcover is made of Kevlar, okay? Hopefully, it’s acting as a barrier to contain any cooties within the defiled couch underneath it.”
Her words had me doing a double-take, and when they registered, I found myself laughing right along with her. It wasn’t even the same damn couch!
I was grateful that my apartment
was fairly clean. I had to learn to be pretty self-reliant in the homemaker department ever since college. And trust me, when you grew up with a neat-freak mother like mine, you tended to pick up a cleaning tip or two. So, while my furniture was almost always in need of a good dusting and my floors would definitely benefit from a vacuuming more often than I implemented, for the most part, the place normally looked presentable.
It was upstairs from the bar, my home separated from my work by only the small, pass-through landing that served as my office space. I liked to think of that room as my sterile chamber, the limbo between work and life, where I could shake off the stresses of the day before entering my sanctuary.
The apartment was small, but the perfect size for just one person. For a short time back when my father first bought the bar, however, my whole family lived up here. I have fond memories of being crammed into the single bedroom with my three older brothers, even though I’m sure my parents weren’t too happy about having to sleep in the dining room. But it was actually kind of fun, believe it or not, until we got too old to be sharing a single room. Thankfully, that arrangement only lasted a few years. It was pretty hard to get used to sleeping in my own bedroom in the new house, though.
Hell. I still didn’t like to sleep alone. Not that I’d had much choice in the matter these days. Sure, I could pretend my dry spell was due to some sort of moral awakening, but the truth was, I simply didn’t have time for a dating life.
The moral awakening came much later.
I tossed the black folder onto the coffee table and went to grab a bottle of water from my fridge. Avery was still working on her Vodka Seven, so I knew I had a few minutes before she’d need topping off. It was a little cooler up here, as my AC was reliant upon an old-fashioned window unit and not on the Kaiser down in the basement.
I was still sweating, though, but for an entirely different reason than the temperature in the room.
