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“Yeah, room 452, please.”
Summer is still studying me. “You know we’re in the wine capital of the country, right? Shouldn’t you try something local?”
“I’m sure the beer is going to be craft and from a fancy brewery nearby with a price tag to match.”
Summer gives me a little smirk. “You’re probably right.” She raises her wine glass. “They’re selling this for fifteen dollars a glass. Ridiculous.”
“Is it good, at least?”
“No.” She takes a sip, the hint of a smile curling her lips as she lowers the glass. “Good doesn’t cut it. This is easily the best red I’ve ever had.”
The bartender returns with her wine and my beer. The pint glass isn’t branded, but the ale inside looks richer and denser than any run-of-the-mill commercial brew I’ve had. I take a sip to confirm my suspicions.
Yep!
Summer tilts her head toward me. “How about your fancy beer?”
I swirl the liquid in my mouth, pretending to be an expert taster. Mmm. If I had to describe it with one word, I’d say buttery.
Still, I wrinkle my nose, as any respectable beer snob would do, declaring, “Acceptable.”
Summer gives me another playful smile. “Hard to please much?”
Four simple words that send another electric spark coursing through my body. All the hairs on my arms stand to attention.
I’m getting mixed signals here. Hot and cold. One moment she’s the ice queen, and the next she’s sort of talking dirty to me?
As if realizing she’s been flirting, Summer lowers her gaze and takes another bite of her burger then studiously stares at the TV screen, avoiding eye contact. The move doesn’t prevent me from me noticing the faint blush creeping up her cheeks.
Interesting.
This poses the question of which approach I should take. Should I be blunt, or subtle? Could I be both?
For now, I sense it’d be better to steer the conversation toward safer waters.
Something happens on screen and Summer groans. I stare at the TV; the camera is doing a close-up of a Kings player stuck in the penalty box.
“Did he deserve it?” I ask.
“Oh, yes, manual boarding.” She pops the last bite of burger in her mouth and licks her finger. “But sucks anyway.”
Finally, the bartender drops my food on the counter alongside a receipt. I sign the bill and take a bite out of a fry, asking, “Are you a fan of sports in general, or just hockey?” before digging into my burger.
“Only ice hockey. My ex-boyfriend got me into it and, well, he’s long gone, but after following the Kings for over ten years the love for the game stuck. You?”
I chew down the first mouthful of my delicious burger, swallow, and say, “I’m out of the country too often with no reception to follow any sport. But I enjoy all the classics: hockey, football, basketball…”
“What about baseball? Isn’t thatthemost classic sport?”
“Nah, baseball is only good for when I have jet lag.”
Summer polishes off the last of her fries and cleans her fingers on a paper napkin. “How so?”
“Whenever I put on a game, I fall asleep within the first ten minutes. Pretty handy when you travel as much as I do.”
She chuckles. “Guess you’re right; baseball can be less than thrilling. Anyway, the only other game I watch is the Super Bowl, but I do it more for the fun commercials than the sport. I don’t travel that much, so I don’t need a jet lag fixer, but tell Winter, I bet she could use the tip.”
“Hey, I never asked. What do you do for a living?”
