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Itried every trick to get out of attending the Knicks game.
“Isobel, I’m ill. I feel all shaky. Look, I think I need to miss the game. Cough, cough.” I faked the splutter down the line at six-forty five pm as I rounded the corner of 31stStreet and 8thAvenue. “Isobel? Are you there?”
I felt the smack around the back of my head before I turned to face the scowl of Isobel and Chrissie linked arm-in-arm. She placed the cell down and slid it back into her small bag that was held across her front.
“What was that for?” I asked in surprise, sliding my cell into my tight denim jeans. Chrissie pulled the spare orange and blue scarf from around her neck with the Knicks name down it and put it around my neck. I couldn’t help but look down and raise my brow and cock my head to the side.
“You know what for Fred. You can try as much as you want, but there is no escape.” The girls rocked on the balls of their feet. “You’re going to the game. You’re going to sit through it and you know what, you may even enjoy it this time,” Isobel chirped up as Chrissie smirked, reaching for her phone and snapping a quick picture of me.
“Nope, attend. You said I have to attend the game.” I pointed at the two of them, who nodded. “Well, I’ll be at the bar for most of it, then. At least comatosed Freddie can deal with those chants better, plus I can never live this down. You got proof of me here.”
“I did.” Chrissie smirked. “Everleigh is loving it, too. She’s going to give you a call tomorrow. She has some news.”
“She does?” I was shocked. The distance between us both had grown and caused me to fall apart. I needed my girl back, and I wasn’t scared to admit it even if she had run to escape here. Dawson had thought he was helping, but maybe it was time they dealt with the demons of Tye in person where they currently lay.
“Let’s go find our seats,” Chrissie demanded, grabbing my arm. “Fred, you can have a drink after the first quarter but no showing us up.”
“How drunk do you think you can get in just over two hours?” Isobel laughed as we got to the turnstiles.
“This is Fred we’re talking about,” Chrissie said as I rolled my eyes.
“Thanks, guys. You have amazing faith in me,” I mumbled.
* * *
Imoaned and groaned in-between Isobel and Chrissie throughout the opening of the NYC Knicks and Philadelphia 76ers game. The crowd went wild as the music became louder and the sound of sneakers graced the hardwood floor, but all I wanted to do was escape. After the first quarter, the girls were true to their word as the interval sounded and they both mouthed to me the same word.
“Go.”
I’d never jumped out of my seat in block one-hundred-and-two so fast and up to the central concourse in search of a bar. Bingo. Bar at the Garden flashed out on a sign as if it had been illuminated in neon letters. Forget the fast food and what the other stalls had to offer. I needed alcohol, and fast. I followed the swarms of fans who’d come out in droves for refreshments and to hit the line for toilets and weaved throughout them until I saw the entrance. Isobel and Chrissie knew I’d be back at our seats before the end of the game. I wasn’t that much of a jerk. I wouldn’t be leaving them to find their own way home at that time of night.
I meandered my way to the front of my bar and lifted two fingers up, twizzling my identification in my fingers to try and grab the attention of the guy behind the bar. It didn’t matter how old you looked, these guys wouldn’t risk not checking your age even if you had a wisp of gray in your hair. It wasn’t worth losing the tips for. I knew my normal scotch was out of the question in a place like this, so it had to be beer. Bottled stuff, of course. Quick and easy to drink.
“Two bottles of 90 Minute IPA,” I shouted out above the noise of the gathering crowd as I flashed my identification at the bartender as he waltzed past. The elbow of a guy went into my side, causing me to turn around and see what was going on. The people at the bar had started to become four deep.
“Sorry man,” the man mumbled with a British tone. “I didn’t expect it to be like this… it’s a nightmare to get a beer.”
“It’s no problem, man,” I said, turning to my side to let him sneak a space next to me, holding my arm out as my crown tattoo peeked out from under my shirt. “Jump in here quick.”
“Freddie? Is that you?” The guy lifted his arm as I slid into the place next to him as the bartender headed back our way.
“Luke,” I stammered, my throat seriously parched all of a sudden as I took in the green eyes sparkling before me. “I didn’t take you for a Knicks fan?”
“I’m not—well, I don’t know—I maybe am,” he stuttered, as the bartender shucked the tops of the bottles and placed them down on two serviettes.
“Can I get you guys anything else?” He pointed between the pair of us, before I shook my head from left to right and he rang up the total. “Twenty-five dollars.”
I handed over thirty dollars and gave Luke a beer. “Fancy getting a table? You’ll have to let me know what you think?”
I watched Luke’s eyes flit around with uncertainty as he reached for the label on the bottle and picked it with his thumbnail. Was I really that intimidating?
Just as I thought I’d overstepped the mark with my big mouth, Luke uttered, “Yeah, why not, but on one condition.”
“What would that be?” I winked, indicating an empty table.
“The next round’s on me.”
* * *
