by Tiffani Lynn
I sling my duffle bag onto the back seat of my truck, shut the door, and press the button on my keys to lock it up. After the tell-tale beep of the lock, I stride to a bar about three blocks down. I’m not going to stay anonymous in this suit for long, but I forgot to bring a change of clothes. It’s a league rule we arrive and depart from the arenas in a suit and tie. With my height and build, wearing a suit makes it hard to remain inconspicuous in a bar, especially near our home ice.
Buddy’s Bar is one of my favorites and I drop in every chance I get. I don’t drink much, especially during the season, but I like the staff, the kind of clientele they draw, and the enormous televisions all turned to different hockey games during the season. Also, in the off season it’s just a nice place to relax.
As I approach, a petite woman with long blonde curly hair catches my attention. She’s standing on the street corner in front of Buddy’s like she plans to cross, yet hasn’t moved. In fact, she’s like a statue as people crowd behind her and step out all around her.
Why isn’t she moving?
As my gaze runs the length of her, I freeze. A black, thigh length, pea coat is wrapped around her and tied with a red sash in the front, leaving her toned and shapely legs visible. The last thing I notice is the sexy high heels on her little feet. Something about this woman has me like a duck in an oil slick, completely stuck in place. She continues to stare straight ahead as the windy Chicago air toys with the ends of her hair, lifting and twisting the strands. It’s hypnotizing to watch.
Almost as if she knows I’m staring at her, she turns her head toward me, her eyes locking on mine. Her lips part, but she doesn’t say anything. Her eyes sweep me from head to toe and then meet mine again. I smile at her, unable to help myself. Her features are delicate with a small and slightly upturned nose, plump rose-colored lips, skin a soft alabaster, and cheeks pink from the cool air. She’s simply stunning. Classy and beautiful in a way I haven’t seen in a long time.
Her face lights up with a playful smile and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. She looks back to the street. Neither of us say a word but the connection is instant, and I know I can’t let her leave.
“Wait!” I shout, surprising myself. “Wait!”
She pauses and glances back as I approach from the side.
“Hey. Are you busy now?” I ask.
I should probably introduce myself, but I can’t seem to make my mouth say what I believe needs to be said. She shakes her head but doesn’t actually speak. She just gifts me with another dazzling smile.
“Want to join me for a drink?” I blurt, suddenly feeling like an adolescent boy rather than the grown man I am. I reach my hand out toward her like I expect her to say yes.
Her eyes search mine with the hint of smile in them and finally she nods and places her hand in mine, which is tiny and surprisingly warm. I grin at her and gently pull her inside Buddy’s.
Once seated, I wave the barkeep down to us and say, “Molson bottle tonight for me, Frank, and for the lady….” I turn waiting for her response. She grins and before she can reply, Frank answers for her with a chuckle, “Diet and rum with a twist of lime? Hey, Darcy. Good to see you.”
“Yes. Hey, Frankie. Good to see you too. Sorry I haven’t been in for a while.” The old guy chuckles again and wanders off to get our drinks. Twisting the upper half of my body as I lean against the bar, I shake my head and smile. “Regular here… Darcy?”
“Not anymore. I’m too busy. Been coming here for years though. Even with all the bars in the area, this one’s still my favorite.”
“I see. So what do you do that has you so busy?”
She smiles an I’ve-got-a-secret smile while looking at her clasped hands on the bar and responds, “Hmmm. Let’s not go there. Let’s avoid the usual small talk bullshit and come up with the most bizarre questions possible to ask the other person.”
One side of my mouth kicks up, as I consider her proposal. This could be very interesting. Why the hell not? No telling what she’ll say, and she’s already surprised me enough that I want to see what’s next. “Sure, that sounds good. I’m Finn by the way.”
She giggles a little and says, “Nice to meet you, Finn. I’ll go first, since this was my idea. Would you rather be attacked by a mountain lion or a bear?”
Not what I expected her to ask. What does that even mean? My surprise is obvious as my eyebrows rise to my hairline. “What?”
“Mountain lion or bear?”
“Can I answer neither one?”
The playful smile firmly in place, she shakes her head. This woman smiles a lot and I find it refreshing.
“I guess a mountain lion, because I’ll be taller. I’ll have a better chance that way.”
She busts up laughing, the sound infectious. What a bizarre question.
“How tall are you exactly?” she asks.
“Six foot six.”
“I guess that’s why I have to crane my neck back to look up at you since I’m only five foot six.” She grins and holds her hand out, palm up, ushering me to take the next question.
“What makes you laugh the most? Slap stick, sarcasm, or subtle humor?” I ask, unable to come up with something as bizarre as the mountain lion vs. bear one she threw at me.
“Slap stick when I’m watching a movie. I watched the Three Stooges non-stop as a kid and couldn’t stop laughing. Sarcasm in conversation, I guess. Subtle humor goes over my head, more often than not.” Without even blinking, she rolls right into the next one. “Whips or chains?” she asks with a naughty grin. I practically spit my drink out. I really wasn’t expecting her to go that route. It’s rare that a woman will surprise me, but she’s succeeded already.
“Um…”
She busts up laughing before she shares her own answer to the question. “My preference is chains. Rather be chained up than whipped. Pain is not my thing”
My eyes are enormous as I get the impression she isn’t kidding. We go back and forth for an hour with more goofy questions, and it’s the best and strangest conversation I’ve had in a while. Her forward nature, mixed with high self-confidence, and a body that won’t quit, leads me to yell down the bar to Frank and request the check. Before I can get a word out, she invites, “Come back to my place?”
Under normal circumstances, forward women turn me off. As a hockey player, women tend to throw themselves at me and expect a response. It’s not something I care for anymore, but there’s something different about Darcy, and she hasn’t mentioned the hockey player thing. I’m not sure if she knows who I am. She doesn’t come across as sleazy or cheap. She’s fun and charming and hasn’t acted like anyone I’ve met.
“Sure. Sounds good. You want to ride with me or do you have your own car?”
“My place is walking distance from here. You can move your car to my street, but parking is limited so we’ll be lucky to find a spot. It’s up to you.”
“I can just leave it where it is now.” I almost mention it’s at the arena, but I decide I don’t want to reveal my profession if I don’t have to. Let’s see how this evening turns out without hockey player status.
“Alright, follow me.”
As we pass through the glass doors of the bar entrance, I follow closely behind her until she reaches back and slides her small hand in mine and pulls me up next to her. Her head doesn’t even reach my shoulder. She doesn’t say a word as we walk through the deserted streets; the only sound is the cadence of our footsteps. Ten minutes later, we’re riding an elevator up to the top of a nice downtown apartment building. It’s not fancy by any means, but it’s nicer than most and seems quiet.
As she pushes her way into the apartment, pausing to flick on lights in the place, an explosion of color smacks me in the face. I’m not expecting it, so it’s more shocking than it should be. The walls are sunshine yellow and there are colorful paintings all over the place. Her bright, multi-colored furniture is all solid patterns. This is the exact opposite of my black and white apartm
ent. What the hell have I gotten myself into?
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