Page 13 of Score to Settle
“That’s so old-school.” Chase laughs. “This isn’t 1985, Dyl. The league is all about offense now. You keep the ball and control the game. Help me out here, Harper.” Chase nudges Harper’s arm. “If you’re on your final attempt to move the ball down the field and you’re about to lose possession, do you keep fighting or go for the punt?”
“Er… I think it depends,” she starts.
“Exactly,” Dylan jumps in. “You can’t say you’ll keep on fighting unless you’re there in the moment to make that call.”
I grin, throwing myself in. “You’re both wrong, anyway. If you’re in the fourth, you go for the field goal.”
Chase and Dylan groan in unison and we battle back and forth on different plays until we hit the outskirts of West Denver and turn into the parking lot for The Hay Barn. It’s still early, but from the number of trucks already here, Flic’s having a good Saturday night. It’s the only bar we drink at when we’re home. It’s got cozy booths and a small-town vibe to it. Plus it’s a Stormhawks bar and it’s owned by my best friend.
The cold night air hits my face as I jump out of the truck and walk around the hood to open Harper’s door. She slides out, murmuring a quiet thanks as I catch the scent of her shampoo—coconut and something fruity. Chase follows a beat later, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Bit late for the gentleman routine, don’t you think?” He flashes me a shit-eating grin as Dylan follows behind. I swing the door shut and make to punch my little brother, but he ducks away, throwing an arm around Dylan as the three of them walk inside.
The warmth and noise envelop me as I step through the door behind the others. I’m hit with the familiar scents of beer, sawdust, and barbecue. The walls are decorated with license plates, Stormhawks memorabilia, and a giant set of bull horns mounted over the bar. Country tunes drift from the jukebox in the corner, mixing with the chatter of the Saturday night crowd.
Flic is behind the bar in her usual black tank top and tight black jeans, long blonde hair pulled back in two braids that hang down her back. She’s a dead ringer for Angelina Jolie inGone in 60 Seconds, something she rolls her eyes at whenever anyone mentions it.
She grins as she sees us, already reaching for the bottles of light beer she knows we’ll order.
“Jake,” she calls with a wink. “I thought you were hiding from me.”
I give a rueful smile. “Just been busy.” It’s true but I feel a pang of guilt too. Flic and I were photographed having lunch together last month and it blew up in the media when two of my teammates, Billy and Gordon, decided to question me at practice, catching the whole thing on Gordon’s phone. It hit the gossip sites in under a day. My “just a friend” line not enough to stop Billy jokingly threatening to break my bones. Billy is a good friend and he was only messing around, but the leaked video caused a ton of ridiculous rumors hitting the gossip sites. The last thing I want is to drag Flic into the spotlight. She’s always valued her privacy and I respect that.
Flic keeps her eyes on me another moment, searching for more, but then Chase’s white Trailblazers baseball cap catches her eye and she’s yelling a, “Hell no, Chase,” and whipping it from his head.
“Come on, Flic,” Chase groans, rubbing at his now bare head. I still think of him as the shy kid with the Afro and overalls who joined our family when he was two and I was five, but theshaved look suits him. “You know I’m a Stormhawks fan, but Trailblazers are my team now.”
“And that’s why I still let you drink in here. That and because I love your sorry ass. But you know the rules.” In another second, Flic is reaching for the staple gun she keeps by the liquor and jumping onto the dark mahogany bar in her black cowboy boots, jamming Chase’s cap to her wall of shame on the beam that runs above the bar.
I chuckle and watch Harper take in the row of confiscated football team hats and tees and one piece of men’s underwear with the New York Steelguards logo all over them. I wasn’t here the night they got taken but I heard it was a good one. For a moment, my eyes linger on Harper and the way her jeans are tight in all the right places. Then I catch myself and look away. Harper might be objectively sexy, but I like my relationships like I like my life—uncomplicated and fun. Or at least I did when I was dating. Either way, Harper is none of those things. Plus, I can’t stand her.
A cheer erupts as Flic hops down and finishes serving the beers. I cast my gaze around the place, nodding to a few old-timers who knew my dad. They’re the type to buy me a beer and tell me how proud he’d be. Lately, comments like that make me think about my reputation and Coach Allen’s look of despair every time a new story breaks about me, and I feel like I’ve let a dead man down alongside everyone else.
In the corner by the jukebox is the younger crowd. I spot the blond head of my Stormhawks teammate and linebacker, Gordon. I sigh. Just what I need. Of all my teammates, Gordon Jenkins is my least favorite, and that’s putting it mildly. Maybe it’s because his squeaky-clean rep is far from deserved, and yet he gets away with treating women like shit. I’ve dated my share over the years, but at least I know how to respect women. Or maybe it’s just because I don’t like the guy.
He’s towering over a group of female fans in tank tops and denim skirts. I know a few of them by name and recognize the others. Cherry—a box-dye redhead and Stormhawks fan—catches my eye and I look away before she decides to saunter over. Cherry has made her feelings and her intentions for me clear. She’s not looking for anything serious. A few years ago, I’d have gone along with it, but I don’t want to be a notch on her bedpost or her on mine. I don’t want that life anymore—it’s why I’ve been single for over a year now. The truth is I don’t know what I want.
As Dylan and Chase get dragged into a conversation with a group of fans at the bar, I grab our beers and Harper follows me to our usual booth in the corner. She perches on the edge of the scuffed leather seat while I spread myself out opposite and we do a good job of ignoring each other. If Harper is bothered by the silence, she doesn’t show it. If she wasn’t out for my blood, I’d admire her patience.
The journalists I’ve met have one setting: rapid-fire questioning. She’s not what I expected, and as she draws the bottle of beer to her red-painted lips, I get a sudden image of all the places on my body those lips could be right now. The thought takes me by surprise and I shake it away, annoyed at myself. Whatever the reason, Harper Cassidy hates my guts and the feeling is more than mutual.
It’s a relief when Chase and Dylan arrive with another woman in a gypsy skirt and tight top I recognize as one of Chase’s old high school friends. She’s with a dude with red-brown hair wearing a pale pink shirt and glasses who looks like he took a wrong turn at a golf tournament and wound up here.
“Mia!” Harper exclaims, scooching around the booth to make space until she’s squeezed in next to me, our legs touching. I drink my beer and pretend not to notice the heat radiating up my leg. The other woman slides in beside Harper and the two hug.
“What are you doing here?” Harper grins. It’s hard not to notice how happy Harper looks compared to the version of her I’ve seen so far.
Mia’s skin shimmers with glittery makeup as she tilts her head and levels Harper with a knowing look. “I tell you what I’m not doing here, shall I? I’m not here because my best friend in the whole world decided to go out for the first time in forever and thought to invite me.”
“Hey, I go out,” Harper protests.
“Hitting the gym and browsing bookstores doesn’t count as out. But fortunately for you, Chase dropped me and Serena a message. And while Serena might be on a date tonight, my schedule was wide open.”
I look around the table. To Chase. Then Mia. Then Harper. I remember Mia from high school. Loud, confident, beautiful, and hanging off Chase’s arm for a few months—she’s hard to forget. And I know Serena. She’s been Chase’s best friend since high school and is now on the Stormhawks cheer team. And it’s clear from the way Mia and Harper are talking that they’re close. High school friends close. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t place Harper beside Mia in any of my memories. I was too busy playing football to notice the girls in Chase’s grade.
Everyone squeezes in and introductions are made. The guy in the shirt and glasses is Mia’s boyfriend, Edward. He’s wedged in between Chase and Dylan and looks out of his depth as he’s dragged into football talk.
Mia leans across Harper, fixing me with a fierce gaze. “Harper is my best friend,” she declares, “so you’d better be nice to her, Jake, and treat her like the queen she is or you’ll have me to answer to. And I’m no pushover.”
A smile pulls at my lips, but I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
