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“I’m doing great, dickbag,” he threw back. “Still making those millions, so I got no complaints.”
“Glad to hear it. And Carmen?” I asked about his wife. They were high school sweethearts that were still going strong to this very day. I was convinced their relationship was as good as it was because she didn’t put up with any of his shit, and loved to razz him even more than I did, keeping his ego in check. “She doing well?”
“Oh hell yeah. She’s actually at a spa in Sedona with some of her girlfriends for a long weekend, so I got the place to myself. Figured I’d check in, see how you were doing. How’s retired life treating you? Spending your days lounging on the beach, sippin’ fruity cocktails?”
I shook my head good-naturedly. I really had missed this asshole, and it felt good to be able to give him shit again while he shoveled it right back. “You know it.” I looked around at the mess of boxes still cluttering my office that needed to be gone through. If only he could see this place and the disaster it really was. “Living in the lap of luxury over here.”
“Hey, I’m kind of jealous, man. I haven’t been that close to water since I left Tampa. I’ve been missing it.” Romero was a Florida native, and like me, moving to the Arizona desert had been a bit of an adjustment.
Grabbing the sketchbook, I tucked it under my arm and moved through the house and up the stairs to my bedroom as I talked. “Yeah, well, you’re welcome here anytime, man. I’ll get you your fix.”
“Glad to hear that, ’cause I booked a charter this morning, actually.”
I froze before tucking the sketchbook in the drawer of the nightstand on my side of the bed and rose to my full height. “What do you mean? You’re in Oregon?”
“Sure am. Just landed about an hour ago. Got a couple days before preseason and figured you were probably missing me like crazy. I’m here to put you out of your misery, because I’m such a good friend. So, what do you say? You up for a visit?”
“Hell yeah, man.”
“Excellent. GPS says I’m about an hour and a half out. You know your Podunk town isn’t close to a single fucking airport? Had to rent a car.”
I clicked back into motion, dropping the pad into the drawer and sliding it closed. “It’s worth it, trust me.”
“I’m taking your word for it. I just hope this place has some nightlife.”
“We do,” I assured him, a smile stretching across my face. “In fact, I know just where to take you.”
It had been two days since that shit went down at the Sand Dollar, and it was high time I paid my pretty blonde bar manager a visit. Romero didn’t know it yet, but he’d just given me the perfect excuse to make that happen.
“Wow.”Romero’s eyes traveled through the Dropped Anchor as he took it all in. “Okay, this place isn’t half bad.”
“You say that like you were expecting one of those rundown hole-in-the-wall joints we used to hit up after away games.”
He chuckled, checking my good shoulder with his. “Christ. You remember that place in Michigan? The one with an ice-filled trough instead of urinals? I think that had to have been the worst place I ever set foot in.”
It wasn’t unusual for the team to go out to blow off steam after an away game. Sometimes we’d hit up a well-known joint if the single guys were looking to score. But if we weren’t feeling the crowds and just wanted to relax, we’d find ourselves a ratty dive that not a lot of people went to. They served booze, which was good enough, and were usually relatively quiet. Some of my best memories with the guys from my team were in shit-hole bars all around the country.
I let out a bark of laughter as we moved deeper into the bar. “Jesus, I forgot about that place. I was so terrified of that thing I held it the whole damn night. Felt like my eyeballs were floating by the time we made it back to the hotel.”
Romero clutched his stomach as he cracked up, placing a hand on my shoulder to keep his balance. “I remember that! You waddle-runnin’ through the hallways with your legs pressed together, trying not to piss yourself.” He finally stood to his full height, which was a couple inches shorter than me, and let out a fondahhas we continued to make our way through the crowded tables and booths.
We bellied up to the bar and commandeered two barstools. I braced my forearms on the bar top, clasping my hands together, while Romero swiveled in a circle. “So this is Whitecap’s local watering hole. Like the rest of the town, I’m pleasantly surprised.”
“Told you I didn’t live in some bum-fuck town, man. Whitecap’s a tourist hotspot. Wouldn’t be that way if it was a dump.”
“True enough.” His eyes were laser-focused, taking everything in as he lifted a hand to scratch at his chin. “So where is she?”
My head jerked back in shock. “Where’s who?”
He gave me a look that saidyou damn well know who I’m talking about. “The girl, man. Where is she?”
I lifted a hand to grab one of the bartenders’ attention, getting the universal signal forone secondin return. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s no girl.”
And there certainly wasn’t. Presley Fields was all fucking woman.
Romero spun back to face the bar just as the bartender stopped in front of us. “Two Buds, man. Thanks,” he told the guy, who took off a second later to pull our drafts. As soon as we had our beers in front of us, my friend hit me with a no-bullshit stare. “Don’t play, man. You know what I’m talking about. I barely set foot in your pad before you were hustling my ass out the door, talking about the bar I justhadto check out.”
I lifted my beer, drinking deep. It wasn’t a local craft like I would have preferred, but it was ice cold and hit the spot. “That’s just ’cause you’re only here for a day and a half. There’s not a lot of time to waste.”
