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Usually, I would happily let her sit here, but tonight I find the lack of respect for my personal space annoying. I slide her off to sit next to me instead. She introduces herself as Shoshanna. She’s hot, but it’s not doing anything for me.Why am I not into this?Shit, maybe I am turning into Conway.
Opposite the entry doors is the hotel restaurant. I still haven’t eaten anything since the plane. As soon as I see the dining area, the smell of food registers in my brain. I need food. I scoot Shoshanna out of the booth so I can get something to eat. I walk into the connected restaurant and place an order for a burger with one of the seating hosts and then I place a to-go order for a few hours from now. Nothing better than going home with a bag of food after having a couple of beers. Besides, my fridge is practically empty at home. I really should go grocery shopping more often.
As I turn to head back into the bar, my gaze catches on something that looks even better than a burger.Damn.There’s a hot-as-hell brunette, and she’s eating alone. She looks familiar, but I can’t place it. Shit, have I slept with her before and don’t remember? Nah, there’s no way I would forget a woman that looks like that. Besides, she doesn’t look like a groupie. My feet almost stop me at her table, but she doesn’t lift her head, so I keep moving.
I order another beer when I get back to my table and kick myself for not asking that woman to join me. Before long, my burger arrives, along with a few orders of fried appetizers for the table—I’m not that big of an asshole that I’d order food for myself and no one else. I scarf my entire meal down in a matter of minutes. Now I’m ready to for fun. Perhaps I was hangry earlier. Though I’m not any more attracted to Shoshanna on a full stomach than when I had an empty one.
A bunch of the guys have their hands full, so to speak. Shoshanna hasn’t given up, and she’s putting on the heat now. She invites her friend over because they “do everything together” and says neither of them have ever had a threesome. I have to choke back a laugh. She’s practically a goddamn three-musketeer. I know this because 1) She’s a shit liar, and 2) When I was taking a piss, Strassburg, our goalie, told me he took both her and another girl home during preseason.
The conversation with these two women is dull. They keep steering it back to going back to my place, and it’s clear that they only want a hit and run. I should be into it—typically, this horse and pony show would work for me, but it’s just not cutting it tonight. Am I tired? I don’t want to bring down the vibe if the other guys are enjoying themselves. Finishing my beer, I throw down some cash. I turn my head to peek into the restaurant to see if that woman is still there, but her table is now empty.That sucks.
As I reach for my jacket, she walks in. That’s what I’m talking about. Now,her,I’m interested in. I need to shoot my shot before some other asshole beats me to it, so I head to the bar where she’s taken a seat.
“What can I get started for you?” the bartender asks her.
“Do you have any specials going on?”
Damn.She has this sexy raspy voice that is going to haunt me for the rest of my life if I don’t talk to her. I imagine her using it to say my name.
“Depends on what you like?” he replies.
Here’s my chance.
“Make her a Bootlegger,” I interject.
“You got it, Burke,” the tender answers. Shit, I hope he didn’t just give away my identity. Maybe I’ll get lucky and she’ll just think I know the bartender because we’re friends, and not because I’m a defenseman for the Minnesota Lakes. If I can get a shot at having a normal conversation with her, that would be ideal. I am so tired of fake flattery.
“You from around here or just visiting?” I ask.
“Just visiting. This is my first time in Minnesota. What about you?” she asks.
Please, please, please, don’t let this one know who I am. Not this one.
“Local.”
Even sitting on a barstool, I tower over her.
“Nice. So, what is in a Bootlegger?” she asks, tapping the bar top.
“Honestly, I don’t know everything in it,” I say. “But it’s the official drink of Minnesota, so it’s sort of a requirement when you cross the state line. Imagine if lemonade and a mojito had a baby.”
“So, is that your job? You’re the local that’s been assigned to ensure I consume the Bootlegger upon arrival?”
“Something like that.” I smile.
And with that, the bartender sets the drink in front of her. It looks a little fruity and tropical. December generally isn’t Bootlegger season, but they are tasty year-round.
“This is the state drink of Minnesota? I would have expected something a little more... Canadian.”
“Hand to God,” I say, holding up my right hand. While I do that, I check her left hand.No ring.
She takes a sip, and her eyebrows pop up.
“Damn.”
“Right?” I smile, pleased that she likes it. So far, so good.
Behind me, the guys are calling for me. Can’t they see I’m working on something?Worst wingmen ever.
