Page 43 of Leave It On The Field (Grand Slam 3)
“Thank God,” Butch grumbles as he walks away with Nash.
We got back from the stadium a little more than an hour ago. We’re hanging out in the private cigar bar at Roman’s hotel. He reserves it for family, friends, and celebrities. It’s the hottest ticket in Miami. Everyone wants in, but very few are invited.
Roman styled it after his grandfather’s house in Havana. There are deep red, plush couches accented with bright yellow pillows scattered throughout the room. The only lighting comes from chandeliers that were handcrafted out of old hubcaps from classic Chevy Bel Airs—the car that his grandfather drove. The hand carved bar is made from deep mahogany that Roman imported—probably illegally—directly from Cuba.
Roman emerges from behind the bar, circling us with a fresh pitcher of his signature cocktail—Paloma’s Punch. He named it after his mother because just like her, it kicks your ass every time you get near it. I have no idea what’s in it, but it’s the most potent, delightful thing I’ve ever tasted. My head’s already spinning after the first glass.
“Ladies,” Roman says, a wicked grin covering his face. “Time for refills.”
Elle holds up her glass for more. “This stuff is delicious. It tastes like birthday cake mixed with sunshine. Will you teach me how to make it? I want to serve it at my wedding.”
“Invite me to your wedding.” Roman tops off her glass. “I’ll make it for you.”
“You’re absolutely invited. Would you really come?”
“Definitely. My husband, Michael, and I want to open a hotel out west. Maybe we’ll open something in Blitzy Bay.”
“Blitzen, like the reindeer.” I drain my glass and hold it up for a refill. He pushes it back down. I hold it up again. He pushes it down again. “Why though? Roman, more drinky, please.”
He ignores me. “This recipe is a well-protected family secret, but I promise I’ll make sure all of you are swimming in it every time you visit me in Miami.”
“Are we invited back?” Millie asks, tilting her head and smiling. “Or maybe we’ll never leave.”
“Nothing would make me happier,” he says, lifting her hand and kissing it. “Sophie didn’t tell me how delightful her new lady friends are.”
“I didn’t tell you because they’re taken, you’re taken,” I say, holding my glass up again, “and, oh yeah, you’re gay.”
“I appreciate beauty in every gender.” He pushes my glass back down. “No more for you, lightweight. I promised Seb after the last time.”
“Booooo. Booooooooooo.” I try to grab the pitcher from him.
“Stop,” he says, pulling it away from me. “You already have the Sloppy Sophie look in your eyes.”
“Just halvsies then. Please.” I bat my eyelashes at him. “Pretty please.”
“Half,” he says as he pours. “Drink it slowly. And eat something. We’re not repeating the pool party incident.”
“What pool party incident?” Elle asks.
“Michael and Sophie were trying to Riverdance after being over served. It took a bad turn—into the pool to be exact. Seb had to go in fully clothed and pull Sophie out.” He points at me. “And stay away from Michael tonight. He’s a Sloppy Sophie enabler.”
“Honestly, Sloppy Sophie sounds amazing,” Kit says. “What’s it going to take to get her there?”
“Believe me, she’s already there.” Roman points at Raine. “Come on, Raine. Don’t try to hide. I know you can hold your liquor.”
“What are you putting in this punch?” Raine peeks around Millie’s body. “It tastes so good, and it makes me feel all yummy inside.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Roman laughs as he grabs her glass and tops it off. “Let loose, Raine. Nothing but love here tonight.”
Raine looks at her phone. “Speaking of love, Alex just texted me. The team bus is almost back. Come on, Soph. I want to make out with him for a few minutes before his curfew.”
I slam the half glass of Paloma. “Do you want me to watch or something?”
“Oh god, yes. Do that,” Kit says, whistling. “Super hot. Can we all watch?”
“No one’s watching anything,” Raine say, pointing around the group. “Soph, I want you to come with me because that means your husband will be back too. You remember him, right?”
“Oh yeah,” I say, nodding as the liquor takes control of yet another section of my brain. “They play for the same team, don’t they? I forgot that for a second.”
