Taking A Shot by Jaci Burton
ONE
JENNA RILEY WANTED NOTHING TO DO WITH 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 baseball, hockey, football, NASCAR, basketball, tennis, or anything having to do with a ball or a fast car—unless she was the one behind the wheel driving it. Her distaste for anything sports related likely had something to do with having sports of all kinds 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 sports.
She was in the wrong line of work. She should quit her job and be a roadie for a rock band. Now that’s something she could get behind in a major way. 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 event, blaring out the voices of obnoxious announcers calling plays 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 bear witness to the patrons’ recaps after.
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 everyone 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, slid it over to him, and 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 Eddie make a hell of a team,” 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 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. He has no fear going to the boards. He’s as tough as they come. And we already know Eddie is a proven winner at right wing. That’s why the Ice have held on to him as long as they have. Together they make a hell of a duo. With Victor at left wing, they’re an unbeatable trio. Their combined stats on goals are off the charts.”
“Not to mention power plays. When one is down, the other two pick up the slack,” Steve said, and he and Dick launched into their own conversation, which freed up Jenna to grab a few drinks for her other customers and see to the bar orders from the waitresses who served the clients throughout Riley’s.
Riley’s always packed in people like sardines 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 mid-week. 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 hockey 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.