AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Owen was impossible to miss when I stepped into Overtime.
For one thing, he was six-five so he towered over absolutely everyone.
For another, he had a head of wavy blond hair that, when he ran his hands through it—whether during interviews or on the sidelines after removing his helmet during a game, or now when he brushed it out of the way to focus on the beers he was pouring—he had the attention of every female within a twenty foot radius.
And lastly, he was a former pro athlete. He may have moved to Traverse City after retirement to lead a “quieter” life, but he was still easily recognizable everywhere he went.
Yeah, my buddy wasthatOwen. Owen Lawless, former Detroit quarterback and current bar and restaurant owner. I’d been to Lawless, his club here in Traverse City, enough times over the years that Owen and I ended up meeting and struck up a friendship. Now, I’d consider him mybestfriend. I didn’t have siblings, so Owen was the closest thing I had.
“Perfect timing,” Owen said as I slid onto a bar stool across from him, and he placed one of the beers in front of me. Then he grabbed the other and tilted his head to the back corner.
I chuckled, knowing he couldn’t stand to be the center of attention.
We caught up over idle chit chat while I practically chugged my first drink, Owen saying nothing as he raised a hand to signal for another one.
I savored my second one, taking the time to study the sports bar. When Owen caught my attention, he jerked his head and rose to his feet.
“Let me show you around.”
The storefront Owen had purchased downtown contained three levels, and I was impressed with the thought and the care my friend had taken in making this the kind of place all ages could feel comfortable coming to relax.
Downstairs was a game room of sorts, with pool tables, a shuffleboard, darts, and table games like cards and giant Jenga. Owen had affectionately named it The Locker Room. It had a separate entrance from the bar—though you could get there from the bar level—where kids could hang out without Owen getting in trouble for them being in an establishment that served alcohol.
The main floor was of course the bar. The bar itself was an impressive U-shaped monstrosity, the island in the center lined with shelves stocked with any liquor you could want, from the cheapest rail vodka to the most expensive bottle of Kentucky Bourbon. The floors were poured concrete, polished to a high shine I knew would wear down with traffic, and the walls were lined with tables and booths. Flat screen televisions were scattered around the place, offering an angle for every patron no matter where they sat. The back half was a large dance floor, and Owen routinely hosted DJs and open mic nights, and had plans to start offering line dancing classes.
The first time he’d told me that, I’d laughed in his face, but I could admit, the idea was growing on me. It would be something fresh and exciting for these Michiganders and tourists, and it was a nice little hat-tip to Owen’s Idaho ranch roots.
The third and final level, the upstairs, was named The Nosebleeds, and was really just another bar masquerading as a rooftop entertainment space. Up there, it was quieter and more…romantic than the main floor. It was a good spot to meet a blind date for a drink, or have a glass of champagne and watch the sun go down with your beloved—not that I’d ever experience those things.
My ass was stuck obsessing over a woman I wasn’t even surelikedme.
“So who is she?” Owen asked when we took a seat at the Nosebleeds’ bar. The open air and the fire-bright horizon were calming, and I sucked in grateful breaths of fresh air.
Now that I’d thought about her, I couldn’t help imagining Amara and I here, her back against my chest, my arm slung across her torso as we sipped our drinks and took in the sunset.
“Hmm?” I asked dumbly, taking a fortifying sip of my favorite IPA, mind a thousand miles away.
Owen, of course, wasn’t buying my shit. “The girl that’s got you spun out.”
“I’m not spun out,” I grumbled.
“Cal.”
“Amara Delatou,” I blurted, and I’d be damned if it didn’t feel good to get that off my chest. I could picture Amara now, curled up on her couch with her sisters around her as she told them—in explicit detail, surely—what happened between us this evening. The thought of her telling her sisters about us unexpectedly thrilled me.
Owen blinked slowly. “As in…your boss.”
“The very same.”
“Damn, I forgot how small this town is,” he said, slipping his hand through his mop of blond hair. My brows drew together in confusion, and Owen added, “I uhh…dated her for a time. ‘Dated’ actually isn’t the right word. It was more like—”
My arm flung out, fist driving heavily into his shoulder before I could stop myself. Then I gaped in horror. I’d justpunchedOwen Lawless. The man may have been retired for the better part of a decade, but I knew he could still kick my ass. Not to mention, when he winced and rubbed his flesh, I realized I’d punched him in his throwing arm—which he’d told me before still pained him sometimes thanks to the rotator cuff tear and subsequent surgery that had effectively ended his career.
“Fuck, man,” I said, scrubbing my hand over my face before picking up my pint and draining it again. “I’m so sorry.”
“You’ve got it bad, my dude,” he said with a grin and patronizing pat on my shoulder.
“So…you and Amara, huh?” I asked, grimacing at my tone. Now that I knew, images of them flashed through my mind unbidden, especially given the fact that I was newly but deeply acquainted with Amara’s flesh myself. Owen was such a good guy, and I could easily picture the two of them living a happy life together. He was the kind of guy Amarashouldbe with. Not me, the man who couldn’t decide whether he liked or hated her, who simultaneously wanted to rip her clothes off and rip my own hair out when she drove me insane.
