Page 46 of Hits Different

Parker shoots me a bemused glance. “Didn’t you live near Cassidy? You’re not being veryneigh-bourly”. Emphasis on neigh. Someone’s funny when they’re three beers in.

We both take another swig. “Maybe I should hit her up. See if she has a take on my theory”.

“You didn’t hear?” Parker looks up sharply, then leans in. “She died, Brandon”.

“What?” I spit-take my beer. “Oh my God. I had no idea”. I feel awful. I’m a terrible person. I will never say anything bad about anyone for the rest of my life. Ever. “How did it happen?”

“She fell off her horse”.

My jaw drops to the floor. Then I see the corner of his mouth twitch slightly. “You bastard!”

He bursts out laughing. “Nowthatwas sophisticated comedy, my friend. Set you up. Knock you down”.

“You have a sick sense of humour”, I smile grudgingly, although I still feel awful. “To be clear. She’s definitely not dead?”

“All life signs arestable”.

I groan, and he ruffles my hair. It’s been ages since anyone’s done that. I’m kinda glad that I passed on the wax and left it fluffy at the front. Just then, the barman places two fancy looking cocktails down in-front of us. “We didn’t order these”, I say.

“They’re from Table 14”. We follow his gaze to where a crowd of girls sit, a couple of years older than us. There are a couple of empty seats at their table. The meaning couldn’t be clearer “With compliments”.

Parker nudges me. “Do you think they know that 14 is your jersey number?”

I don’t reply, kinda surprised thatheknows that 14 is my jersey number.

“We should send these back”, Parker grins. “It’s like we’ve got them under false pretences”. The bartender pricks up his ears, but Parker’s oblivious.

It’s obvious that he wants to go over there but isn’t, out of some weird respect to me. I guess I should be appreciative of the fact that he’s not expecting me to spend all night in wing-man mode with no pay off at the end. “Why don’t you invite them to join you and the boys at Carlucci’s?”

“Do you think?” His eyes dart between me and them.

“A hundred percent”, I say brightly, swallowing the wave of disappointment at his eagerness. “Go and enjoy yourself. Tell me all about it tomorrow”.

“You”, he plants a huge kiss on my cheek, “Are a goddamn legend. Get home safe, okay?”

A moment later, he’s waving as he, Archie, Will and the girls bundle out of the door leaving peals of laughter in their wake.

I clutch my glass tightly, forcing down the illogical pang of rejection. I drain my beer, and another one appears in-front of me. It’s the bartender. “Non-alcoholic, don’t worry”.

“I was actually thinking about taking off”. I take out my wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

“On the house. On one condition”. His eyes are an astonishing shade of green. “You save me from a night talking penalty shoot outs and deciphering the offside rule with the soccer crowd. There’s only so much one guy can take”.

“Soccer isn’t your thing?” I ask innocently.

“It’s good for business. But bad for my mental stimulation”.

“Sounds tragic. Mental stimulation is incredibly important”. He’s cute. Cute enough to waste a couple of hours with. “All stimulation, really. Don’t you think?”

Before he can answer, Archie bounces back through the door. “Forgot my wallet”. He claps me on the back. “Brandon! Great practice today. I was just telling Will that your ball control is like none I’ve ever seen. Not that he was particularly interested, but still”.

I turn back to my new friend, who looks suitably abashed. It’s kinda sweet, I have to admit. “Well”, he says, “Now you have to let me buy you a drink. As an apology, if nothing else”.

“As long as you’re sure I’ll be mentally stimulating enough for you”, I settle back into my chair. “I’d hate to see such a dedicated bartender fall asleep at his post”.

“You seem worth staying awake for”.

“Even for a soccer player?”

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