Page 41 of Protector

Brooks: I think we both should stay away from the poker room.

I wait, and there’s nothing more, so I’ll just have to be patient. And keep myself busy until he arrives. Just as the thought comes to me, my phone rings. There are very few people who choose to call instead of text me, and though it is one of those people, I’m surprised to be hearing from her now.

“Tay!” I practically shout when I answer.

“Girl, I’ve missed you. Where are you?”

“Where areyou!” I didn’t say it to be vague but more because I’m hoping she’s back in the country.

“I’m here, in LA. And I just saw some of the stuff you shot. Fucking love it and Rio…we’ll have to talk about that.”

That’s Taylor for you. Always full speed ahead. “Thank you, but just so you know, there’s nothing to tell. We’re just friends now.”

“Whatever you say… Listen, we’ve got so much to talk about, so when can we get together?”

“I’m in Temecula for my mom’s birthday, but I’ll text you when I get back.”

“Oh shit. Well, have fun and give Adele my kisses. Bye.”

Her energy is infectious, and I’m so glad she’s back. Working with her has been only a small part of where my career has gone, but she feels like a sister to me, and with such little family, I need that.

I hop from the bed and grab my simple, black dress from the hanger and take it to the bathroom to get ready. If I’m being honest with myself, I chose it specifically with Brooks in mind. I want him to see me tonight in a different light—as someone more mature, someone he shouldn’t just dismiss as young and naïve. Maybe it’s pathetic after what happened. Maybe it won’t make a bit of difference to him, but it does to me. And I think it’s time I shifted my image some too—from model and party girl to a more serious businesswoman.

* * *

I excuse myself early from the dinner, and since Brooks still isn’t here, I go in search of a quiet place to call Dylan and hope he’s awake. Technically, it’s already my brother’s birthday where he’s at.

It’s my first time at this hotel/casino, so I’m just wandering around at this point, not wanting to go all the way back up to my room. It feels good to be in an environment where most of the people here—the average age is probably fifteen to twenty years older than me—don’t recognize me and probably never heard of me.

When I stumble upon a quaint little bar, something draws me near. It’s quieter than I’d expect, not too crowded, and upon closer look, I see it’s almost all elderly. I hesitantly step inside and make my way over to the bar where there are only two older gentlemen sitting but no bartender. Most of the other patrons are at tables or on the small dance floor, adorably dancing to a song that sounds like it’s from the sixties or seventies.

When I see the sign hanging from the back wall—Class of 1968—I wince and start to back away.

“Leaving already?” a gravelly voice says from the bar.

I look over and see both of the men looking at me curiously.

“I didn’t realize… I don’t want to intrude.”

“Stay awhile,” the man says again. He’s wearing a sapphire blue sport coat, and his friend is in a dress shirt of the same color. The decorations are also sapphire blue and white, which I’m guessing are the school colors since others are wearing it too, I now notice. “DJ’s wrapping up anyway, and people are already starting to leave.”

Something in his welcoming eyes has me moving toward the bar, slipping onto a stool next to them.

“I’m Tom, and this is Buddy.” He shoots a thumb to the man on the other side of him drinking a beer.

They both smile and Buddy gives me a nod.

I give a little wave. “Shay. Nice to meet you both. Are you sure it’s all right if I stay a bit?” Though I’m not even sure it’s what I want.

Tom drinks from a pint of beer. “We could use some new blood in here. Not many of us Arlington Lions left.”

Finally, Buddy speaks. “So how does a beautiful young girl find herself alone and hanging out with a bunch of senior citizens?”

I open my mouth to say who knows what when Tom calls, “Wait…” Then he leans over the bar, grabs a glass, and proceeds to fill it from a beer tap himself. I don’t even ask why or where the bartender is; I just enjoy the show. He sets it in front of me, clearly proud of himself. “I can tell this is going to be a good story, so let’s get you in the right mode first.”

I raise the glass and say, “Thank you,” then take a sip. “Well, it’s actually not that interesting. I’m here for my mother’s birthday, but it’s also my brother’s birthday, only he’s in Greece, so I was just going to step away to call him and found myself here.”

“Greece? See, thatisinteresting,” Tom says.

---