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Combing my fingers through my slightly damp, long raven-black hair, I blow out a breath and head for the entrance.
When I walk in, my eyes are immediately drawn to two big-screen TVs up on the wall behind the bar. Both are tuned in to the Thunder-Lightning game.
I smile.
I’ve chosen wisely.
I’ll get to see some of my brother’s game, after all.
I head to the bar and pull out a stool. The bartender, a good-looking guy with wide shoulders and caramel-colored hair, who appears to be around my age—twenty-three—strides over.
Wiping down the bar in front of me with a rag as I take a seat, he asks in a low drawl, “What can I get you, sweetheart?”
Okay, I know he’s just trying to be nice and do his job, which I totally understand because, up until recently, I was waitressing at Applebee’s all summer long while preparing to start law school.
Still, I’m not big on guys I don’t know addressing me with terms of endearment.
I’d rather he just use my name, so I tell him, “Hey, I don’t mean to be a jerk, but my name is Ellie, not sweetheart.”
I smile so he knows this is nothing against him personally.
I think he gets it, as he raises his hands in a placating manner and says, “I’m sorry, miss. Er, I mean Ellie. I meant no offense.”
“None taken,” I assure him. “It’s just a pet peeve of mine. But now that that’s out of the way…” I let out a long sigh. “As for what you can get me, I’ll have an iced tea and a menu, please.”
Reaching under the bar, he slips out a glossy menu and, as he hands it to me, asks, “Would you like sweet tea or a Long Island iced tea?”
Wincing, as I’m really not trying to be difficult, but I think I’m coming off as such, I say, “Definitely nothing with alcohol. I have a long drive ahead of me still. Tea sounds good, but do you have any that’s unsweetened?”
He shakes his head. “Nah, we only keep the sweetened stuff on hand. Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “Just go ahead and give me that.”
Rapping the bar once, he says, “You got it. One sweet tea coming up.”
“Thanks,” I murmur as he walks away.
Glancing up at the TV above the bar, I check out the game. The second period has just ended, and the score is 2-1.
That’s good.
We have the lead.
Since it’s intermission, I look away from the TV and down at the menu.
Apart from the few energy bars I had stowed away in my car for this trip, I haven’t eaten anything since I left Chicago early this morning. To say I’m famished would be an understatement.
Unfortunately, food was the last thing on my mind for most of this drive. I’ve had plenty of other things to occupy my thoughts. But now that I’m perusing the selections on the menu—just look at the accompanying mouthwatering photos!—my stomach starts rumbling.
When the bartender returns with my glass of sweet tea, he asks me what I’d like to order.
Laughing, I say, “Can I have one of everything? It all looks so good.”
That gets him to smile. “Hungry, are we?”
I nod vigorously. “Very. But in all seriousness, I’ll go with a cheeseburger and fries.”
He jots my order down on a notepad, and then asks, “Anything else? Our wings are really good. Nice and spicy. They’re big too. They’ll fill you up.”
