Page 8 of Playoff
Two glasses of wine, a mouthful of bourbon, a walk in the cold, and the warm room swept over me. I slumped onto my elbows on the bar. My phone buzzed but I ignored it. Parents, brother, whoever. I didn't want to deal right now.
"Are you drinking that or watching it?"
Was that question for me? I twisted on my stool to see the speaker and almost fell off. While I'd been looking for the secrets of the universe in a glass of bourbon, a very attractive man had taken the seat beside me.
He was around my age and looked tall, even sitting on a stool. He was wearing a T-shirt under a leather jacket, not nearly warm enough for this cold night. His dark hair was buzzed to his skull, but he was lucky enough to look good that way. He was clean-shaven, but his head and jaw were pale, as if he'd gotten the cut after he'd been on vacation.
The shirt and jacket were stretched over a muscled chest and well-developed arms. At work, the men I saw were business types. They might run or play tennis or go to the gym, but they weren't built like the guys on Justin's team. This guy resembled the hockey players.
Oh shit. I ran through my mental rolodex. No, none of the Toronto players from either team looked like this guy.
I shrugged. "Mostly watching."
He cocked his head. "Not a fan of—" He reached a hand over and picked up my glass, bringing it up to his nose. "Bourbon?"
“Someone I knew died today. This was what she liked to drink."
He set the glass down. "I'm sorry for your loss. A relation?"
"No, a client. But we became…friends, I think." I didn’t have many of those.
He lifted his hand to get the bartender's attention. "Another bourbon, please." He turned back to me. "What was her name?"
Warmth spread inside me. This stranger was taking enough of an interest in my problem to join me in remembering someone he'd never met. It didn't hurt that he was good-looking as well. "Mrs. Garvin."
When his glass of bourbon arrived, he held it up. I lifted mine and touched the glasses together.
"Mrs. Garvin," I repeated. The bourbon went down better this time.
"So why is a pretty woman sitting alone in a bar to remember her friend?"
I did my best not to react to the pretty comment. "It's been a day. I've got other problems to face, and, well…" I looked around the bar, slightly noisier now but still full of people I didn't know. "I'm avoiding them."
"Avoiding people, problems, or both?"
As if on cue, my phone buzzed again. "Both."
He lifted his glass again. "Sounds a lot like my day. To avoidance."
"To avoidance." The bourbon was smooth this time. My drinking buddy finished most of his in one long swallow. I pulled my glance away when I realized I was staring at him, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his neck as strong and appealing as the rest of him.
Perhaps that was enough bourbon for me.
I focused on my neighbor again. "How long will you be able to avoid real life?"
He let out a long breath. "Tomorrow is going to be a shit show."
I thought of my mother, and the messages that were probably piling up in my voicemail. Justin, who was who knew where. "Same."
The man's long fingers swiveled his glass on the bar. "Are you local?"
"Not originally, but I've lived in Toronto for five years now. You?"
"I haven't been here for ten years except for flying visits."
I looked at his jaw and hairline again. "You look like you've just come back from vacation." His eyebrows raised. I waved my hand at his head. "You have a tan, except for where your beard would be, and if your hair was longer."
Why was I commenting on his appearance? It was more personal than was appropriate with a stranger in a bar. I should have just watched Mrs. Garvin’s drink.
