Page 47 of Draft Pick
I finish my coffee and muster up the courage to head home. There are plenty of things I can do to pass the time before my date. I could unpack the rest of the boxes for my kitchen or go pick out some outdoor patio furniture. I’ve been meaning to go shopping for that since the weather’s been so beautiful.
“See you later, Nonna. Bye, Jed,” I shout over the playing record and lay a stack of cash on the table.
I’m out the front door before they can respond, with a prospective plan in place.
As much as I want to be the type of woman who follows her list, and typically I am, the closer I get to home, the more those ideas sound less appealing.
Because all I find myself wanting to do is prepare for tomorrow morning—making pancakes with my new little friend.
And her hot daddy, of course.
Yeah. I think I’ll do that.
14
CREW
“Low on Kettle One.”
“On it, boss,” Troy says, closing the Dutch door to the bar as he takes off toward the liquor storage.
Boone is a madhouse tonight. Packed house with crowds here for all different occasions. We’ve got MMA fights on the big screen and hockey playoffs streaming from all the others, even a bachelorette party in the rental room out back.
No complaints here because all of this chaos means money in my pocket.
Fuck. I needed this. To put my foot back into my business and be reminded of everything I have outside of baseball. The commotion is the physical reminder of Boone’s success.
Maybe Icouldretire and do this. Not every night, of course; I’ve got employees for that. But running Boone from a close distance and getting more time with Addie sounds pretty damn great from where I’m standing.
Not to mention, it’s much easier on my arm.
It’s me and a barback, Mitch, handling the crowd until Troy gets back, when a group of women storms through the entrance doors en route to the bar. I recognize them almost instantly, wondering how in the hell they seem to know the days I’m here.
“Oh, Crew,” the tall blonde one coos, sliding onto the stool directly in front of me. “Where have you been? We’ve been here every Saturday and haven’t seen you in ages. It’s about time you showed that handsome face of yours.”
Her boobs are so far out they can be seen from space. I’m not sure she realizes I’ve got no interest in looking, my eyes everywherebuther chest. “I stay busy,” I tell her nonchalantly. “What can I get started for you, ladies?”
“I’ll take a vodka soda,” the short redhead speaks up with a raised hand, followed by another woman beside her, “Make that two, please.”
“You got it.”
There are times when I question whether putting myself in a public place while also being highly known in the public eye is a good idea. There have been a handful of times I’ve had to call 911—and by that, I mean Gus or really anyone who will answer—to come rescue me. Hell, we’ve all done it for each other a time or two.
It’s different at Boone. I’m here to make the customer happy. On the field, I don’t give a shit how happy anyone is about my performance besides myself. I play forme. ForAddie. And for all the other young bucks dreaming of making it big someday.
That’s what matters.
It’s not like that at the restaurant. Quite the opposite, actually. Like now, for instance, the whispers and flirty stares mean one thing and one thing only. They know who I am, or in this case,whatI do, and they want a piece of it.
A piece of me.
I should be flattered. But I’m not.
“Got to see you hit a pretty incredible homer last game, Crew. Impressive,” the blonde woman with a headband on giggles, over-enunciating her words.
I nod, rushing to finish up their drinks. “Thanks.”
Placing the finished glasses in front of them, my eyes scan the rest of the bar, searching for a waiting patron to give me an excuse to bail on mindless small talk.
