Page 49 of False Start

eleven

“Patti saidthe drinks are on her tonight, but we’ve got work to do so don’t let it go straight to your head,” I told my team as I settled in and straddled my chair.

Almost every player managed to break away and meet me at Banked Track to brainstorm how to save Crossroads. Of course, with everyone here, this left them squeezed into the corner booth made for ten.

They had a couple choices—keep their arms pinned next to them or arms resting straight out on the table.

And they had to choose wisely when they slid in.

One choice was a waste of perfectly good free alcohol. We couldn’t have that.

I made sure to pick a chair.

After sex-on-skates Priest whipped me into a tizzy with the way he commanded a roller rink, only to be plummeted off a cliff with a devastating blow an hour later at Crossroads, I needed to find my mellow or I wouldn’t sleep tonight.

The tears had broken free again when I left the youth center, so I called Patti from the road. I know, I know, hands-free laws, but I made sure to pull over before I dialed and put her on speaker. I had to pull over anyway because trying to see through tears was like trying to find the road in a downpour with no wipers.

Patti had mercy on my pathetic, sobbing, snotting soul and saved the corner booth and the surrounding tables so we could have an emergency meeting. She even helped me get ahold of the entire team, strong-arming them to be here at seven.

Free booze worked wonders. Her idea of strong-arming. The idea was brilliant, really.

“Look at her just handing out alcohol like lollipops,” Carmen said, raising a glass toward the bar. “She’s the first person to hit up for a donation.”

“Wait!” Rory screeched, shooting out of her chair and throwing up a hand between Carmen’s puckered lips and her first sip. “I know a bunch of you aren’t familiar with the tradition, but let’s not jinx this. Maisy…toast!”

“That’s just for games,” I said, waving off her suggestion. How I ever got into these toasts, I’d never know, but after five or so years, I was rapidly running out of material.

“And you don’t think this situation has epic battle written all over it?” Marty said with a snort. “You better toast us. Why risk the bad juju?”

“Fine…” I caught a glimpse of Priest hanging his jacket under the counter before taking a seat at the edge of the bar closest to the exit.

Another sweater.

Another pair of blue jeans.

Another pair of boots.

Another insistent throb of my c-bone.

Flaming asshole.

I really wanted to hold on to that.

But he wasn’t. Or he was, but just not in the certified 100% USDA beef kind of way.

I stood and held out my drink. “To fast skates, hard abs, great hands, powerful jaws…oh, and you know what, another shout-out to that straight piece in Tetris.” I gulped down a generous amount of my drink, hissed at the burn, and opened my eyes to find my whole team staring at me, their drinks untouched.

I froze. “What?”

“What the hell kind of toast was that?” Eve sneered.

“Hey! People still play Tetris.” I dropped into my seat again and glanced away from her. Not because she put me on the spot, but because the bulldog possessive energy coming from her had me dreading the confrontation looming on our horizon.

I had no intention of burdening the team with our shit. Hell, I didn’t think we had shit, but apparently if the first person I was interested in dat—nope.

If the first person I found hot—wow…really not better—set her off this way, we had a problem.

A big fucking problem.

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