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I don’t hear their answers, don’t care, but do have mind to thank the waitress when she sets my new bottle in front of me. Sipping on it slowly, since two’s my self-imposed limit, I’ve almost managed to completely tune out the trio’s babble, when the brunette scrapes her talons down my bicep, forcing me to pay her some attention.
“You played great, Brewer, as always.” She thinks it’s a flirty coo, but I hear a pitchy whine. She moves in closer, her tits now resting on my forearm. “But you don’t always wink at me. Tonight though, you finally noticed me. I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited for that!”
I manage not to growl in frustration and move my arm out from under the hard, no pliancy whatsoever, weight of her fake melons—even more annoying, after being reminded of my wasted wink. I shoot Lance a telling glare, scratching the hell out of my nose, but the bastard’s too wrapped up in blondie to notice. Fuck this whole night. I toss back the last of my beer, seconds from leaving, when whiny, concrete-tits chick says something I actually want to hear.
“I was starting to think that stupid bitch in the front row, same. seat. every. damn. game, was never gonna sit her fat ass down long enough for you to see me!”
I only heard the good parts… Front row, same seat every game. That can only mean one thing—season tickets. All the ticket holders’ information is tracked in the team’s system; I’m sure of it.
Well I’ll be damned, this night just turned on a dime. Not the exact serendipitous meeting I’d hoped for… but close enough. I stand, pull out my wallet, and throw a handful of bills on the table. “Gotta go, man,” I yell at Lance, who doesn’t respond, and all but run for the door. I’ve got work to do… and I can’t wait to get started.
You can run, but you can’t hide. I’ll find you, my beautiful doe-eyed ginger.
