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“Having said that, I’m sure you will find plenty of familiar faces here tonight,” I add nonchalantly, knowing she has at least one other friend.
“Oh, really? Who?” Charlotte asks.
“Well, for one, Lawrence Preston III is here. I was under the impression you two were close friends,” I say, pointing to the man in question.
“Something like that,” she retorts vaguely, but unfortunately, I have no reason to care.
Now that I know Piper isn’t here, I might as well return to where I was—at the bar, drinking myself numb.
“Well, enjoy your evening tonight,” I say, ready to leave. However, before I go, I turn to look at my player one more time, admiring the transformation he managed to do on himself. “And Wilder?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Good game today. Keep doing what you’re doing. It’s working for you,” I tell him, with a genuine smile this time, before walking away and letting him enjoy the spoils of his hard work and recent achievements.
Hmm.
If Piper were here, I’d never hear the end of it.
Me complementing one of my players?
Unheard of.
But maybe Wilder isn’t the only one who could benefit from a change.
Maybe I would, too.
But alas, the only change in the cards for me is switching bar stools.
“Whiskey. On the rocks,” I order, making myself comfortable on the seat since I don’t intend to leave it for the rest of the night. I should be shadowing Rex tonight as he does his thing of smooching potential buyers, but I just don’t have it in me.
If Piper isn’t with Lawrence, then why hasn’t she been answering my calls?
Trying to figure that out is doing my head in, and not in a good way.
“Leave it,” I tell the bartender when he returns with my drink and the bottle. When he hesitates, I lift off the stool and snatch the damn thing out of his hand. “I said, leave it.” I scowl at him.
He hurries away, sensing that I would have no problem fighting him for it.
Smart man.
I’m not sure how much time passes. While I’m drinking myself into oblivion, it must have been long enough for Rex to have finished his rounds and find me to say he’s calling it a night.
“Oh, boy. If you keep this up, kid, then next year your invite will get lost in the mail,” he tries to joke, concern plastered all over his face.
“Fuck it. I’ll probably be out on my ass next year anyway. No need to send an invitation to an out-of-work general manager,” I mumble, taking another shot.
“What are you on about? Who says you’ll be out of work?” Rex asks, sounding offended.
“Hate to break it to you, old man, but Lawrence and I didn’t exactly hit it off. At least not as well as you would have liked us to.”
“Then it’s his fucking loss,” Rex defends, taking a seat next to me. “Is that what this is all about? You worried that Preston is going to fire you if he buys the club?”
“Honestly, he’s not even on the top of my list of problems.”
“Well, a problem shared is a problem halved. Tell me what problem has you drinking yourself into a coma, and maybe I can help.”
“Leave it, old man. It’s past your bedtime anyway.”
