JENNA RILEY HATED SPORTS.
Which was ironic, considering she owned and operated her family’s sports bar. Doubly ironic, considering one brother was an NFL quarterback and the other brother was a Major League Baseball player. And triply ironic, considering her entire family loved sports of all kinds.
Personally, she was fed up with sports, having grown up with them shoved down her throat her entire life. And now she lived with it twenty-four hours a day, hearing about it every damn night at work. The bar was constantly filled with nothing but sports, from football to baseball to hockey to basketball to racing and everything in between.
She was in the wrong line of work. She should quit her job and be a roadie for a rock band. She snickered at the thought. Like she could ever be free from the chains of familial responsibility. Ever since her father semi-retired from the bar, Riley’s had become her responsibility, which meant, like it or not, sports had become her life. Big-screen televisions broadcast every sporting event, blaring out the excited voices of obnoxious announcers calling plays right behind her, in front of her, and to the side of her. Excited fans filled the bar after every game, so not only did she have to listen to the games on television, she also had to hear the patrons’ recaps after the game.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, there were the sports networks rehashing player stats and player drafts and all the game replays with analyst commentary.
For someone who hated sports, she had a head full of statistics on every player who had ever played any sport.
Which meant every patron at Riley’s loved her.
“Hey, Jenna.”
She glanced up from wiping down the bar. Steve Mahoney, one of her regulars, signaled for another beer. She grabbed a bottle, popped off the top and slid it over to him, then added it to his tab.
“You see the game tonight?”
She smiled and nodded. “Of course.” As if she had a choice.
“Two goals for Anderson. The Ice scored a winner by picking him up last year, didn’t they?”
“Yeah, he’s great.”
Dick Mayhew got into the action, sliding onto an available barstool someone had vacated. He lifted one finger and Jenna grabbed a beer for him.
“He and Boudreaux make a hell of a team at center,” Dick said. “I think they’re unbeatable.”
Steve nodded. “I think we have a serious shot at the cup this year. What do you think, Jenna?”
Jenna thought she’d like to extricate herself from this conversation and go refill some of her customers’ drinks down at the other end of the bar. Instead, she did what she always did when talk of sports came up. She grinned and leaned her elbows against the bar and did her best PR. “I think you’re right. Anderson is quick on his skates and he’s magic with his shots. It’s like he knows right where to put them. I’ve never seen anyone who can shoot a puck like he can. And we already know Boudreaux is a proven winner at center. That’s why the Ice have held on to him as long as they have. Together they make a hell of a duo. Their combined stats on goals are off the charts.”
“Not to mention power plays. When one is down, the other picks up the slack,” Steve said, and he and Dick launched into their own conversation, which freed Jenna up to grab a few drinks for her other customers and see to the bar orders from the waitresses who served the clients sittings at tables throughout Riley’s.
Rileys always got packed after a game, which meant Jenna lost all track of time. She’d been here since before noon and it was now midnight. Her feet hurt, she smelled like food and alcohol and she was ready to go home, fall into bed, and sleep for twenty-four hours.
Too bad she had to be here tomorrow and start all over again.
It was midweek. Maybe people would start clearing out soon. After all, it was a work night.
But the sounds of raucous cheers made her cringe. She took a quick glance at the door and her worst fears were realized when she saw a half dozen of the St. Louis Ice players stroll through the front door.
Crap. Now no one would leave until closing time, which meant almost three more hours for her and her team. And the players were probably hungry. She headed into the kitchen.
“Players just walked in,” she said to Malcolm, her head cook.
Malcolm, who had the patience of a saint and always took things in stride, just nodded. “I’ll get out the steaks.”
She laughed, shook her head and went back to the bar, refilled a few drinks, and decided to let her waitresses handle the players. She’d go over there and say hello when she had a free minute. Right now she was slammed filling drink orders. Something about players coming in made everyone thirsty.
It was good for business, though. She loved having the players frequent Riley’s. She had Mick and Gavin—and Elizabeth—to thank for that.
“You look busy.”