Beautiful Player
Page 20
So I stayed away until around ten, wanting to push her to socialize and spend time with friends from her lab. When I arrived, I spotted her at the bar without too much trouble, and slid up next to her, bumping her shoulder with mine. “Hey, lady. Come here often?”
She beamed at me, eyes lit with happiness. “Hey, Player Will.” After a pause pregnant with some strange, mutual inspection, she said, “Thanks for com . . . showing up.”
Biting back a laugh, I asked, “Did you have dinner?”
She nodded. “We went to a seafood place down the street. I had mussels for the first time in years.” When I made a face, she shoved me playfully. “You don’t like mussels?”
“I hate shellfish.”
She leaned closer, whispering, “Well, they were delicious.”
“I’m sure they were. All floppy and chewy and tasting like dirty ocean water.”
“I’m happy to see you,” she said, abruptly changing the subject. But she didn’t shrink away from the proclamation when I looked over at her. “Outside of running, you know.”
“Well, I’m happy to be seen.”
She looked at my eyes, my cheeks, my lips for a long moment before meeting my eyes again. “Your smoldering might eventually kill me, Will. And the best thing is I think you have no clue that you look at women this way.”
I blinked. “My what?”
“What can I get for you?” the bartender asked, startling us both when he slapped two cardboard coasters down in front of us and leaned closer. It seemed like Ziggy’s lab friends had left, and the Ding Dong was uncharacteristically quiet; usually the bartenders here took my drink order from halfway down the bar, while pouring someone else’s beer.
“Guinness,” I said, then added, “And a shot of Johnny Gold.”
The bartender looked to Ziggs. “Something else for you?”
“Another iced tea, please.”
His eyebrow rose and he smiled at her. “That all you want, sweetheart?”
Ziggy laughed, shrugging. “Anything stronger and I’ll be asleep in fifteen minutes.”
“I’m pretty sure there are plenty of strong things back here that could keep you up for hours.”
What he said made me draw back, look over at Ziggy to assess her reaction. If she looked horrified, I might have to kick this guy’s ass.
She laughed, oblivious and embarrassed for having been called out on being square in a bar, and spun her coaster in front of her. “You mean a coffee with Bailey’s or something?”
“No,” he said, resting on his elbows right in front of her. “I had something else in mind.”
“Just the iced tea,” I cut in, feeling like my blood pressure had gone up about seven thousand millimeters. With a smirk, he stood and left to get our drinks.
I could feel Ziggy watching me, and I grabbed a cocktail napkin in order to have something to studiously shred.
“What’s with the stern tone, William?”
I blew out a breath. “Did he not see me sitting here with you? He was all over you. What a dick.”
“Taking my drink order?” she asked, giving me a baffled stare. “What a jerk.”
“Innuendo,” I explained. “Surely you speak it.”
“Surely you’re kidding.”
“?‘Something strong behind the bar that could keep you up for hours’?”
Her mouth formed a tiny O as she seemed to figure it out, and then she grinned. “Isn’t that the point of our little project? To get some more innuendo in my life?”
The bartender returned and set our drinks in front of us, winking at Ziggy before walking away.
“I suppose,” I grumbled, sipping my beer.
Beside me, I saw her sit up a little straighter and turn on her stool to face me. “Not to change the subject, but I watched some p**n last night.”
I coughed, putting my beer down on the rounded edge of the bar, then barely catching it before it spilled all over me. Even so, some of it slopped over the lip of the glass, and onto my lap. “Christ, Ziggs, you have zero filter.” I grabbed a small pile of cocktail napkins and wiped my pants.
“Don’t you watch p**n ?”
I stared at my shot of whiskey and downed it, before admitting, “Sure.”
“So why is it weird that I did?”
“It’s not weird that you watched it. It’s weird that it’s the start of a conversation. I just . . . I’m still getting used to this. Before Project Hot Chick, I just knew you as the dorky little sister. Now you’re this . . . p**n -watching woman who had a breast reduction and develops theories about hymen restoration. It’s an adjustment.”
She beamed at me, eyes lit with happiness. “Hey, Player Will.” After a pause pregnant with some strange, mutual inspection, she said, “Thanks for com . . . showing up.”
Biting back a laugh, I asked, “Did you have dinner?”
She nodded. “We went to a seafood place down the street. I had mussels for the first time in years.” When I made a face, she shoved me playfully. “You don’t like mussels?”
“I hate shellfish.”
She leaned closer, whispering, “Well, they were delicious.”
“I’m sure they were. All floppy and chewy and tasting like dirty ocean water.”
“I’m happy to see you,” she said, abruptly changing the subject. But she didn’t shrink away from the proclamation when I looked over at her. “Outside of running, you know.”
“Well, I’m happy to be seen.”
She looked at my eyes, my cheeks, my lips for a long moment before meeting my eyes again. “Your smoldering might eventually kill me, Will. And the best thing is I think you have no clue that you look at women this way.”
I blinked. “My what?”
“What can I get for you?” the bartender asked, startling us both when he slapped two cardboard coasters down in front of us and leaned closer. It seemed like Ziggy’s lab friends had left, and the Ding Dong was uncharacteristically quiet; usually the bartenders here took my drink order from halfway down the bar, while pouring someone else’s beer.
“Guinness,” I said, then added, “And a shot of Johnny Gold.”
The bartender looked to Ziggs. “Something else for you?”
“Another iced tea, please.”
His eyebrow rose and he smiled at her. “That all you want, sweetheart?”
Ziggy laughed, shrugging. “Anything stronger and I’ll be asleep in fifteen minutes.”
“I’m pretty sure there are plenty of strong things back here that could keep you up for hours.”
What he said made me draw back, look over at Ziggy to assess her reaction. If she looked horrified, I might have to kick this guy’s ass.
She laughed, oblivious and embarrassed for having been called out on being square in a bar, and spun her coaster in front of her. “You mean a coffee with Bailey’s or something?”
“No,” he said, resting on his elbows right in front of her. “I had something else in mind.”
“Just the iced tea,” I cut in, feeling like my blood pressure had gone up about seven thousand millimeters. With a smirk, he stood and left to get our drinks.
I could feel Ziggy watching me, and I grabbed a cocktail napkin in order to have something to studiously shred.
“What’s with the stern tone, William?”
I blew out a breath. “Did he not see me sitting here with you? He was all over you. What a dick.”
“Taking my drink order?” she asked, giving me a baffled stare. “What a jerk.”
“Innuendo,” I explained. “Surely you speak it.”
“Surely you’re kidding.”
“?‘Something strong behind the bar that could keep you up for hours’?”
Her mouth formed a tiny O as she seemed to figure it out, and then she grinned. “Isn’t that the point of our little project? To get some more innuendo in my life?”
The bartender returned and set our drinks in front of us, winking at Ziggy before walking away.
“I suppose,” I grumbled, sipping my beer.
Beside me, I saw her sit up a little straighter and turn on her stool to face me. “Not to change the subject, but I watched some p**n last night.”
I coughed, putting my beer down on the rounded edge of the bar, then barely catching it before it spilled all over me. Even so, some of it slopped over the lip of the glass, and onto my lap. “Christ, Ziggs, you have zero filter.” I grabbed a small pile of cocktail napkins and wiped my pants.
“Don’t you watch p**n ?”
I stared at my shot of whiskey and downed it, before admitting, “Sure.”
“So why is it weird that I did?”
“It’s not weird that you watched it. It’s weird that it’s the start of a conversation. I just . . . I’m still getting used to this. Before Project Hot Chick, I just knew you as the dorky little sister. Now you’re this . . . p**n -watching woman who had a breast reduction and develops theories about hymen restoration. It’s an adjustment.”
