Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
The bar echoed with the sound of stools scraping on the tile floor. Every single guy stood from his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “Nope.”
This was why new customers didn’t last long. At least this time, I’d be glad they didn’t come back. I pointed to the fishbowl on the counter. “That’s the tip jar that goes to the Parkinson’s Foundation. Maybe stick the apology you owe in there.”
* * *
A few hours later, things had slowed down a bit. Dad was still hanging around, though most of his cronies besides Frank had gone, and it looked like even Frank was getting ready to take off, too. Dad didn’t like to leave me alone here, which was silly, because with our patrons, this place might’ve been safer than the police station. I went to the back to grab glassware out of the dishwasher, and I figured I’d try to convince him to go home while I restocked, once his buddy was gone for the night. I could tell he was tired, because he was sitting on a stool behind the bar, rather than standing.
I used a hip to open the swinging door leading from the back, a plastic bin full of clean glasses in my arms. Frank was gone, his seat now filled by what looked like might be another new patron. The man had his back to me, so I didn’t pay him much attention. At least not until I got closer and he turned.
Then I did a double take. “Wilder? What are you doing here?”
8
SLOANE
I was so confused. Wilder and my father were laughing and smiling like old friends.
Wilder lifted his chin to me. “Hey, Sloane.”
“What are you doing here?” I repeated.
He shrugged. “I came in for a beer.”
Dad pointed to Wilder. “You know this guy?”
“We met a couple of weeks ago at a wedding I covered for work.”
“Why didn’t you didn’t tell me you knew Wilder Hayes?”
My nose wrinkled. “Why would you care that I know him?”
“Because he’s a legend.”
“Uh … a legend at what?”
Dad shook his head. “You really don’t know who this is?”
“My boss’s boss’s boss’s son?”
“He’s Wilder Hayes, Sloane, one of the best players to have ever played pro rugby.”
I looked to Wilder. “You played professionally?”
For the first time, he didn’t seem cocky. He looked a little modest even as he nodded. “Yeah, for eight years.”
Dad thumbed over at Wilder. “Honey, he’s the David Beckham of rugby. He’s going to do for rugby what Beckham did for soccer in the US. He’s starting his own team, and with his fan base, it’s gonna get a lot of attention.”
“The team isn’t a done deal yet,” Wilder said. “The commission votes in less than two weeks on the expansion.”
“They’d be idiots not to do it,” Dad noted.
“Thank you. That’s very kind.”
“What can I get you to drink?” Dad asked. “It’s on the house.”
“I’ll just take a beer,” Wilder said. “A stout on tap, if you have it.”
I needed a minute to let everything sink in. “Excuse me. I need to put these glasses away.”
I walked to the middle of the bar and worked on hanging the glasses from the overhead gantry. But every few seconds, my gaze wandered back to Wilder. He was famous? A rugby player? David Beckham? Most perplexing of all, my dad had offered him a free beer. Whenever anyone who wasn’t a member of the NYPD or FDNY wandered in, he charged them double to discourage hanging around. No civilian got free drinks from Dad.
I finished hanging the glasses just as Dad finished pouring Wilder’s beer. His hand shook a lot more when he was tired, and I watched Wilder hone in on it. Unlike the guy earlier, Wilder’s eyes softened, and he smiled. Damn it. I don’t want to find things to like about you.
Dad walked over. “I need to hit the head. Be back.”
“Okay.”
I checked in with a few patrons to see if they needed refills, then walked down to Wilder. “So what are you really doing here?” I asked. “You didn’t just wander in for a beer. There’s probably a thousand places to get something to drink between here and the office, most of them with friendlier people and glasses without dishwasher spots.”
“You said this place was a legend in New York—third-oldest bar, was it?”
“Are you sure it’s not because I turned you down and you can’t handle that? You seem like the type who always gets his way and might not take it so well when he doesn’t.”
“I do like to get what I want. But I’m willing to work for it.”
I shook my head and sighed. “So you’re famous, huh? How come you didn’t mention that little fact?”
Wilder shrugged. “Was hoping you’d like me for my personality.”
“Your personality?” I laughed. “Really?”
He grinned. “I’m not that bad.”