“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” he said back, a sexy smile forming on his unshaven face. “You look fabulous, babe. You’re gonna knock ‘em dead tonight.”
“Oh, no, BB, you’re not getting me up on that stage,” she said, reverting to the initials that reflected his nickname. Two could play at that game. “I’m a terrible singer. Just think dying cow and you’ll have the tune for your listening pleasure.”
He walked over and planted a kiss on her lips. “Oh, I’ll make you sing,” he said confidently, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Just maybe not on that stage.”
“Promises, promises,” she replied, kissing him again as he dropped a playful swat on her sweater-clad rump. “I’ll look forward to the day they cease to be empty.”
“I’ve never made an empty promise,” he whispered. “Especially to a woman.”
Over his shoulder, she spotted someone looking in their direction, and her stomach twisted. Ryder sat at the bar, nursing a beer, and glaring at them. It shouldn’t have surprised her to see him here, but it felt uncomfortable just the same. El hoped he didn’t start something that Cole would feel compelled to finish.
“Hello, Ryder,” she said as they approached the bar. His head snapped up, and his eyes narrowed.
“El,” Ryder nodded. Cole ordered beers, and Eloise glanced around the room, avoiding Ryder’s pointed gaze. Several players from the Riot gathered around tables near the back.
“Hey, Shred!” Cole called out. “You guys need more brews?”
Sheldon “Shredder” Politski, their starting goalie, waved in assent. “Yeah,” the guys all answered in unison.
Spud appeared behind the bar and started pulling pints and setting them on a tray. “Hi, Spencer,” Eloise said, still not comfortable with the penchant for strange nicknames.
“Hi, Eloise. Spud will do around here,” he replied with a wink.
She smiled and nodded. “Spud it is, then.”
“You gonna sing tonight?” he asked.
“You kidding? Trust me, you’d rather hear tomcats fighting in an alley than listen to me sing.”
“Aw, you’re too modest, I’m sure.” He finished filling the last pint mug and turned to serve another customer. Cole walked the tray of beers over to the guys’ table, leaving Eloise and Ryder alone. She tried to look fascinated by the label on the bottle of craft beer in front of her – a blonde ale called Death Rides a Pale Horse. Hopefully, it wasn’t a foreshadowing of her future.
“So how’ve you been, El? Haven’t seen you around much lately,” Ryder said, taking a swig. El watched the movements of his throat as he swallowed. Tension. It practically rifled through his strong body.
“No, you haven’t,” she answered matter-of-factly, sparing him a sidelong glance. Despite her animosity toward him, he still cut an impressive profile, his brown hair full and glossy, his pretty-boy face flattered by the ambient lighting. He’d be good-looking in any lighting, for that matter. But now… well, she no longer found him physically attractive in any way. His personality had chased away any yearning she’d ever felt for this man. “I hear you’ve been busy.”
Ryder spun his beer bottle like a top by the neck, his university grad ring glinting on his slender hand as he did so. “I stay out of trouble.”
“Hmm,” she acknowledged with a nod. “That’s wise. Too bad you don’t stay out of other people’s business.”
He threw her a suspicious gaze and pursed his full lips into a man-pout. “Something on your mind, Eloise?”
She worked her jaw, deciding on the most appropriate response. “Only that I’ll thank you for keeping your private opinions exactly that – private.”
Ryder shrugged. Dismissing what he’d done. Dismissing her. “I call them like I see them.”
“Well, you should make a date with your optometrist,” she said. “Because you’re not seeing very clearly. Just because I wasn’t interested in sleeping with you doesn’t make me an ice-queen, or a tease, or any other juvenile noun you have stored in your limited vocabulary.”
“You seemed impressed with my vocabulary when we were arguing,” he rushed in a defensive flow of verbal sparring. “Are all our conversations going to be restricted to knock down drag outs? Because if they are, I’d rather not waste the energy.”
Eloise opened her mouth to reply and felt a wash of relief as she heard a familiar voice. Saved by the bell. Tinkerbell.
“Hey, there you are,” Kylie Rose’s bubbly tones carried across the room. She flew in to roost beside Eloise, wearing tight red overdyed jeans and a rose motif print blouse topped with a sparkly red scarf. “Hi, Ryder,” she said with a wave, then turned and threw Eloise a secret, cross-eyed look.
“Hi, Kylie. Great to see you outside of work. Buy you a drink?” Ryder said brightly, as though his dialogue with Eloise had never happened.
“Sure,” she said and took the stool next to him. “I’ll have a beer, please.”
As Ryder signaled for two more beers, Kylie turned to Eloise. “What a cool place,” she commented, glancing around the décor. “Who did you say owns it?”
Eloise realized she hadn’t met the man or even heard his full name. “His name’s Trey, that’s all I know. A friend of Cole’s.”
“Speaking of Cole, where is Mr. Star Centerman? Hot as hell. Cutie patootie. Tall drink of water…”
“Enough already!” Eloise shrieked, even though the words filled her body with unfulfilled desire. Desire she hoped to act upon tonight. She’d waited long enough.
Cole returned to the bar just as the words left Kylie’s lips. “El,” he said, “meet Shredder, an old buddy from junior days and my temporary roommate. Shred, this is Eloise.”
Eloise knew that unmarried players were often boarded together until they decided on permanent residences, but Cole hadn’t mentioned that he and Shredder were roommates until now. And of course, she hadn’t been to his place. Yet.
“Pleased to meet you, Shredder,” Eloise said. He stood just behind Cole, almost as tall and wearing an expensive Lacoste dress shirt that flattered his broad shoulders. The muted lighting reflected a shine off his shaved-bald head. Eloise never particularly cared for that look, but on Sheldon, it seemed to fit.
“Likewise,” he said. His brown eyes twinkled in greeting and as he stepped closer, Eloise notice they were graced with the longest, most luscious eyelashes she had ever seen on a man. He reached out his large hand at the same moment Ryder and Kylie’s drinks were being served, knocking one of the bottles off the bar and straight into Kylie’s lap.
“Oh!” Kylie squealed, her quick reflexes snatching up the bottle but unable to prevent the flood of foam from spurting out.
“Oh, Jeez, I’m sorry!” Shredder said, taking the bottle from her and setting it back on the bar. “I’ve made a girl look as if she pissed herself. I’m usually not so clumsy, miss. What can I do to make it up to you?”
Spud quickly produced a stack of bar towels, removing the spilled bottle and replacing it with a fresh one. “On the house,” he said.
“Great hands,” Ryder said sarcastically. “What’d you say your save percentage was, Shred?” The small crowd of players that had gathered around the action started to laugh.
“I’ll say great hands,” Cole interjected. “Did you see that save? Kylie, we need to sign you to a three-year deal!”
Luckily, the beer only made a few splashes on her jeans, albeit in the vicinity of her crotch and Kylie laughed along with the group. Eloise knew how laid back her assistant and friend could be. It would take a lot more than an ounce of spilled beer to rile her. “No, thanks, I think I’m safer behind a desk, away from you ham-handed clods.”
“I’m really sorry,” Shredder said, offering her one of the towels. He seemed to want to reach between her legs to dab the liquid himself but then sighed in relief when Kylie snatched it away from him. “Next drink is on me.”
“Oh, it will be,” Kylie said, taking the towel and dabbing at her clothing. T
hen, she planted a lingering look at the fly of his jeans. “I’ll spill it on you personally.”
Eloise chuckled at the humorous exchange taking place between the two. They would make a great comedy duo, she thought. Too bad it was karaoke night and not stand-up. “Shredder, this is my assistant, Kylie Rose,” she said by way of introduction.
“Hi there,” he said sheepishly. “Name’s Sheldon Politski, but call me Shred. After what just happened, I strongly feel we should already be on a first-name basis.”
“I’m Kylie, and you can call me Kylie,” she said with a wry smile. “Because a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”
Cole scoffed and rolled his eyes. “That’s Shakespeare, Rose. You’d best leave that to the Beantown Bard.”
Sheldon flicked Cole away with a turn of his beefy wrist and smiled back at Kylie, a lopsided, completely charming grin that transformed his face from pleasingly pleasant to downright irresistible. “Well, I would call you by either name if you’d just give me your number.”
It was hard to tell between the dim lighting and Kylie’s bright clothing, but Eloise swore her assistant was blushing. Just then the emcee stepped to the mike and announced a welcome and the format for the sing-off. Everyone focused their attention on the stage as the first contestants queued up for their turn.
Cole took a seat next to Eloise, ordering her another Death Rides a Pale Horse. “Should be a fun night,” he said.
“Well, it’s certainly starting off with some excitement,” she agreed. “I see Spud working hard. Where’s your friend Trey? Shouldn’t he be here? I thought he organized this event.”
“He’s picking up some supplies, door prizes and stuff. He should be here any minute,” Cole said, taking a swig of his beer. “He wouldn’t miss a chance to get behind a microphone.”
“Oh? He likes to sing?”
“Yeah, it’s how we met. I used to go to these open mike reggae nights back in Milwaukee; Trey was a regular. So hot he’d melt your heart. Or your panties.”
“I didn’t know you wore panties.” Eloise laughed and shook her head. “Reggae. How do you stand that stuff?”
Cole looked crushed. “It’s great music,” he insisted. “It’s relaxing, it’s soulful. It’s truly the music of love, if you understand its roots.”
Eloise gave an amused shrug, wanting desperately to connect with him since it seemed so important. Tonight, she’d give it the old college try. “If you say so.”
The first contestants took the stage, some of them laughably horrible and others remarkably good vocalists. Eloise applauded each of them in turn and couldn’t remember having such a good time since her carefree college days. The beer was cold, and her date was hot. She and Cole held hands and kissed in between watching the performers and talking about their families and backgrounds. He confessed his love of Italian food, “just the way mama makes it,” he’d joked, and again mimicked his mother’s authoritative voice.
“Hey, buddy, you’re up next,” a voice called from behind the bar. Cole turned to the sound and broke into a wide smile.
“Hey, man, where you been? It’s about time you showed up! There’s someone I’ve been hankering for you to meet. Someone important.”
Eloise looked over as she heard Cole speak, still clapping for the last contestant. Her hands suddenly froze together as if time had shrieked to a shit-screeching halt and stared at the man behind the bar. He and Cole clasped hands in an urban-style handshake.
“El, this is Trey Reynolds,” Cole said, breaking away. “Proud owner of Blues & Brews. Trey already knows you, from the Town Hall meeting.”
He sure does. El felt her blood turn to ice inside her veins. She gasped for breath as the room started spinning. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not when everything she’d never known she’d wanted was dancing just at the tips of her fingertips. This was the guy in the ginger beard? He’d shaved it off since then, and underneath was a face she couldn’t forget.
“Eloise? Something wrong?” Cole prompted, a worried look on his face as she teetered, almost falling over.
Speak, you chickenshit. If you don’t, he wins.
“Hello,” she murmured, not recognizing the painful grit in her own voice. Her heart felt as if it had been ripped from her chest cavity without the benefit of anesthesia.
Trey nodded, swept his obsidian gaze over her body in appraisal and dismissed her as insignificant in the same glance.
“Hi.” He turned to Cole, handing him a fuzzy-looking bundle. “Your wardrobe, man.”
“Hey, respeck, mon!” Cole said, unraveling the bundle and rising from his seat. Eloise kept her eyes on Trey. He acted as if he didn’t recognize her at all, and she felt torn between relief and bitter resentment. Twelve years, a gold stud in his left earlobe and a new-age nickname didn’t alter his true identity. Trevor Reynolds stood not five feet away from her, alive and well and apparently oblivious to the past.
She flicked her gaze over to Cole as he shook out the bundle, revealing an oversized knitted cap in stripes of yellow, black and green, with two-foot long fake dreadlocks sewn into the brim. He placed it on his head and made a great show of stroking the dreads into place. She laughed nervously, desperate to mask her discomfort. Now wasn’t the time. Supporting Cole was all that mattered in this moment.
“S’iree,” he said, adding a pair of sunglasses to the mix. “No problem.”
He smiled and strode to the stage in his makeshift Rastafarian gear as the sounds of mellow reggae chords began to play. The crowd cheered as he took the microphone, bobbing his head and swaying back and forth through the intro.
Kylie slipped into Cole’s vacated seat and put her hands on Eloise’s shoulders. “You gonna be alright? Relax, boss lady, and you’ll live through this!” she laughed. “Even if he sucks, at least he looks good.”
Of course, Kylie had no idea of the real reason behind El’s obvious distress. She managed a pained expression and let out a groan just as Cole started to sing.
“Noooo woman, no cry,” he crooned, and the audience roared in delight. After a few choruses, Cole began to ad-lib his own lyrics to the Bob Marley classic, things like “I remember when we sat…in da penalty box on Broadstreet…observin’ da hy-po-crite re-fer-ees…”
Eloise laughed and cried at the same time, her stomach knotting with anxiety. She sat with her back turned to the bar, not daring to acknowledge the man who’d hurt her so deeply all those years ago. Wounds she’d once thought she’d never recover from until Cole. And now? Now, she didn’t know because slivers of doubt had crawled back inside her brain and remained wedged there.
So instead of having the nervous breakdown she so richly deserved, she watched Cole strut and sway on stage, thinking that his version of the number actually made more sense than the original she’d watched on YouTube. Despite his amazing rendition, she still thought reggae sucked. She cheered for him as he concluded the song, or maybe because he concluded the song, and he took a bow, tossing his fake dreads over his shoulders.
Kylie made room for him as he returned to his seat. Eloise gave him a big kiss in front of everyone. “Let’s get outta here, you big Rastafarian wannabe,” she said, feeling an overwhelming need to escape the room.
“No problem,” he said, maintaining his mock accent. “Love is da most important ‘ting, mama.” He doffed his costume and put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her in for another kiss before moving them toward the exit.
Kylie tugged at Eloise’s sleeve. “I have something to tell you,” she said, a troubled look on her face.
Eloise held up her thumb and pinky to her jaw as she moved away. “I gotta go. I’ll call you.”
Chapter Eleven
The interior of the Lincoln Town Car felt warm and cozy as Cole and Eloise hopped in outside Blues & Brews. She’d barely slid onto the plush seat before Cole slid his massive hands alongside her cheeks and pulled her forward for a sweet kiss. Eloise warred with herself. On one hand, Coles soft, full li
ps sent sensations tumbling through her she’d never felt before. On the other, remnants of useless memories of Trevor plagued her, keeping her from being fully present.
Her mind raced, unwanted flashes of Trevor exploding like land mines in her brain. They made her feel used. Dirty. They tainted the beauty of Cole’s feather light caress on her face. She wanted it to be so good between them, yet couldn’t let go of the memories that haunted the moment with a vicious reverent of the past.
But something else tugged at her heart strings. Something more. Like if she made love to Cole, all of the sins of the past would somehow wash away. He could be her own personal holy water. Baptized at the altar of the Beantown Bard and born again.
Eloise found she wanted nothing more than to forgive herself. And forget.
It was time.
“Where to?” asked the driver, clearing his throat to get Cole’s attention.
Reluctantly, Cole disentangled his lips from hers only to hold her in the magnetic gaze of his luscious blue eyes. “Your place?” he asked. “Shredder will likely stumble home in a few hours. Who wants a drunk goalie mumbling about the crease?”
“Yes, take me home please,” she said, giving the address to the driver. Cole hit the button to slide the privacy screen in place.
“I want you,” he said, nuzzling her neck, his right hand moving to clasp her waist. Eloise breathed rapidly, her heart thudding. His mouth worked its way up her throat and to her earlobe, sucking on it briefly before his tongue ventured into the shell of her ear, licking and exploring.
“Stop,” she said, giggling. Grateful that everything he did felt right. Things were playful between them, and it seemed to be just what she needed. “That tickles.”
“Perhaps I should tickle you somewhere else then,” he whispered, his voice dropping. Low and urgent. The first sign of deadly seriousness she’d sensed in him since they’d entered the vehicle.
God, would he not wait until they got to her condo? Would he be so bold as to try and take her right here in the limo with the driver only feet away? Eloise had never been one for public displays. Her conservative nature simply didn’t allow it. But every nerve ending in her body screamed out for his touch with wanton abandon. The tousled bristles of his hair rubbed her chin as his mouth moved across her collarbone. He pushed the neck of her sweater open and her bra cup aside. His warm lips found her nipple as it popped free of her black lace bra, hardening in arousal like a diamond bit.
The Slot: A Rochester Riot Sports Romance Page 9