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I sigh with exasperation. “I’m so sorry about that. I had to take my son to the doctor. I was hoping since I was only three minutes late—”
My boss puts up a hand, stopping me mid-sentence. “Late is late, Mindy. I guess you’ll have to try harder to be at work on time, too.”
“I will.”
He turns to walk back to his office and my coworker, Angie, looks up at me from the table she’s wiping down by the front door. She points in Virgil’s direction, rolls her eyes, and makes a jerking off motion with her hand.
I don’t laugh out loud because I don’t want Virgil to turn around and catch her. I just smile. At least I’m not the only one who thinks Virgil is a douchebag.
For now, though, I have to keep this job because I desperately need the money. I glance at the clock, practically begging the time to go faster. I’m eager to get home to Nolan, and I’m also expecting payment from an auction house just outside of Vegas that I took Dean’s prized sports memorabilia to.
Whatever the signed baseballs and baseball cards brought in from their sale will help Nolan and I stay on our feet for now. I’m sure if my deadbeat husband had remembered we had those souvenirs, he would have taken them too.
Now, other than my grandma’s ring, I truly have nothing left of monetary value. She left the ring to me in her will, and even though her sapphire and gold ring isn’t worth a lot of money, it’s precious to me. I’ll go hungry and scrub toilets to feed my son before I part with it.
A customer approaches the register and I say, “Hi, what can I get you?”
“Just a large black coffee,” the woman says. “Cream and sugar on the side.”
“Would you like to add a bakery item to your order?”
She glares at me. “No.”
“Okay, that’ll be…two dollars and eighty-six cents,” I tell her.
She glances over at the case of baked goods as she passes me her debit card. “Eww. That stuff doesn’t even look good. How old are those cookies?”
“I don’t know, but I can ask my manager.”
The cookies have been there for at least three days, but I know better than to say so. I’d love to see that woman ask Virgil about it, though. I’m silently begging the customer to question him when she waves a hand and says, “No, I just want my coffee.”
The small stuff isn’t going my way today. But if I get to my sister’s house after work to find Nolan feeling better, I’ll call this day a win.
Chapter Two
Pike
* * *
“Hey, wake up.” I think someone is talking to me, but I keep my eyes closed and try to go back to sleep. Right after, though, I feel a nudge against my shoulder. “What’s his name? Bike?”
“Something like that. I honestly don’t remember.”
The two female voices sound distant. I’m fucking tired, so I tune them out again.
“This is ridiculous,” someone says. “I can’t miss my flight.”
Suddenly, I’m doused in what I’m guessing is cold water. I yell and jump to my feet in a second flat. Everything is out of focus and my head feels like someone took a jackhammer to it. I reach out in search of something to lean against and stabilize myself.
“What the hell?” I mumble, stumbling until one of my hands finds the corner of something sturdy.
I squint, trying to bring it into focus. It’s a desk. I look to the side and see two beds.
I’m in a hotel room.
“You have to go,” a dark-haired woman says, her lips pursed and her arms folded over her chest.
“Did you just pour water on me?” I croak, my throat painfully dry.
“We had to wake you up. Come on, it’s time to go. We’re checking out.”
It all comes back to me in a flash. I was partying on the Strip last night with my teammate Kingston and we encountered a bachelorette party. We partied with the women for a while and then I came back to their hotel with them.
“You’re the one with the tattoo on your ass,” I say to the brunette.
She rolls her eyes and one of the other women snickers.
“Get. Out. We had some fun, but it’s time to go.”
Damn, my head. I don’t remember how much I drank, which explains why I want to dig a grave and crawl into it right now. Good thing it’s not a game day.
“Oh, shit.” I groan out, remembering that it is a practice day. “What time is it?”
“Time for you to get your ass out of here,” the brunette snaps.
“It’s 7:40 a.m.,” another woman says.
I grab my jeans and pull them on, then pick up my phone and open the Uber app. I have to be on the ice at a quarter past eight. If I hurry, I can make it on time.
