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There’s a guy on her other side who’s been glancing at her since she joined me. She pivots slightly toward him, smiling, and immediately he dives into conversation.
Beth has been my best friend since ninth grade. We survived going to different colleges in different states, then another two years while Beth got her master’s degree. She moved out to Denver four months ago. And now I’ve joined her.
New York was depressing. Cloying. I used to love the city, but instead of finding inspiration, I just found it small.
People think New York City is this huge place until they live there for a few years.
I slip off the stool. My legs are a little unsteady, and the floor tilts.
Okay, maybe I’ve had too much to drink.
I head the way Beth pointed, skirting the VIP section and going down a long, dimly lit hallway. None of the doors are marked, but two of the three are locked.
The third one swings open under my hand easily, admitting me into another hall. This one is brighter, which probably means I’m going in the right direction. I run my fingers along the wall. My cheeks are hot, my body in that weird sort of numb stage of drinking.
I press the backs of my hands to my face. I just need to quit while I’m ahead, or else I’ll forget everything that happened tonight. I’ve wondered how I got home before, and the thought of doing that again kind of makes me sick.
Voices drift toward me.
“…against the Colorado Titans.”
I stop, recognizing the name. The Colorado Titans is the NHL team here in Denver.
The door to my left is ajar, and the rest of the hall is empty.
“They’re a top team,” a man says. “You can’t guarantee a loss.”
“That’s the beauty of it.” The second voice is also male. “You wanted a sure thing, and you’re getting a sure thing. Against the Guardians, they’re the favorite to win by three.”
My brow furrows.
“Reading between the lines here, you’ve got someone…?”
The second guy scoffs. “Don’t worry about the how. In fact, the less you know, the fucking better. I just expect you to hold up your end of the deal.”
“I never said I wouldn’t,” the first murmurs. “I’ll get the money together.”
I touch the door. Just to steady myself, and because I’m desperately curious to know what the hell they’re talking about.
The thing is, I’ve done everything in my power to not think about hockey for the last six years. I gave up watching it, although Dad still sends me highlight reels that I watch late at night, racked with guilt.
I turned something that was ours and made it ugly.
My touching the door, however, was maybe slightly worse than I thought. Because I’m drunk, and my balance is shit in these heels, and suddenly I’m falling through the doorway and stumbling right between the two men.
They both look at me.
Then at each other.
“This isn’t the bathroom,” I manage sheepishly, running my hands down my shirt. “My bad.”
“No,” one says slowly. The gruffer first one, who seemed to be questioning the other. “It isn’t. Back the way you came, girl.”
I step back and bump into the second one. He grips my upper arm.
“Steady,” he murmurs. “Did you hear us talking?”
The first guy stiffens.
