The man who’d hurled insults pointed at her and announced in a louder voice, “She’s the bitch who made Blake Cunningham retire.”
A few boos echoed in her ears. She stood frozen in place—unable to respond to the onslaught with any of the witty comebacks she’d normally hurl in the face of rudeness. His insults had picked at her raw place.
A comforting hand curled around her shoulder. “Hey, numb nuts!” Moira said to the man. “Why don’t you grow a pair and stop blaming someone for our QB retiring? I can tell you that Blake Cunningham has a big enough pair to make his own decisions, so I’ll ask you to shut your mouth, or I’ll call a police offer and have you charged for accosting a woman on the street.”
His eyebrows rose so high they reached his receding hairline.
“Now how about an apology?” Moira said, staring down the crowd.
“In your dreams, bitch,” the man snarled and walked off, giving them the bird over his shoulder.
She was embarrassed to realize she was shaking. Yes, the guy was clearly a jerk—the type she’d normally turn into mincemeat—but he’d made her realize something anew. The whole Raiders nation was suffering because of Blake’s retirement…and it was her fault.
“Are you all right?” Moira asked, shaking her slightly to help her snap out of it.
“What happened?” Caroline asked, breathing hard, as she rushed up the sidewalk toward them. “I heard you yelling at that nasty man, Moira, so I sprinted in my heels. Are you guys okay?”
Her sister tossed her head back so her hair could settle down her back. “We just faced down a rabid Raiders fan, no big deal. Natalie! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, adrenaline pouring through her system. People had stopped walking on the sidewalk and were staring at them, and she couldn’t shake the fear that everyone in the vicinity was talking about them—about her.
“Let’s get to the restaurant,” Caroline said, flanking her other side.
With her two sisters guarding her from further harm, they walked into TAG. With its unique continental flavor, anchored in the head chef’s Hawaiian roots, it was one of her favorite restaurants, but she could barely focus as her sisters led her to one of the smaller red booths nestled against a brick wall.
“Can I get you something to drink?” their female server said.
“Whisky,” Moira told the woman, who was eying them with concern. “Neat. For all of us.”
“I have to drive home,” Natalie said, trying to lock her muscles so she would stop shaking.
“One won’t hurt you,” Caroline said, “and if you need to stay over tonight, you can crash at one of our places.”
All the tense weeks since their fight seemed to slip away. They’d defended her so naturally—without even thinking about it. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry for what I said to you both, for how I’ve acted. That guy was right. I’m a bitch.”
Moira grabbed her hand. “No, that guy was totally out of line.”
The server came back with their drinks, and they all picked them up.
“To sisters,” Caroline said.
“To sisters,” she and Moira added, although hers was more of a mumble.
She only sipped the liquor, but it did the job. The fire raced down her throat and cut through the remaining haze in her brain. “I can’t believe that guy,” she said aloud. Sure, people had booed her before—recently, even—but for a stranger to call her a bitch on the street? Blake would lose it if he heard. All the more reason not to tell him.
“Have there been other incidents like this?” Caroline asked.
She told them about Hairy’s, which caused them both to frown.
“Yeah, we saw the pictures of you and Blake on social media. We—”
“It looked like you had a lovely time,” Caroline said, giving a pointed glance at their sister, as if to remind her the subject was forbidden. She handed out the menus the server had set on the table.
They both picked them up, studying them a lot more intently than needed.
“How about we share the taco sushi to start?” Caroline suggested. “It’s ridiculous. Where else can you have ahi tuna with sushi rice served with mango salsa and guacamole?”
“Sounds great,” Moira said, still not looking away from her menu.
Natalie pressed her hand to her aching stomach, realizing she wasn’t hungry. No, this was hurt, the kind of belly hurt that came when a person was at odds with the people closest to them.
The server came and took their orders. Moira chose the fish tacos, Caroline the chicken ones, while she selected the hanger steak, hoping a little protein might settle her stomach.
Except she knew it wouldn’t. The only thing that would do that was making it right with her sisters.
“I don’t know how to fix things between us,” she told them as they both traced the rims of the water glasses their server had brought them. “I mean, we talk, but we don’t talk.”