“My agent. Our agent,” Kat corrected, motioning to Michael. “I’m not sure he’d totally love the idea.”
“Well, think about it. When you decide, this big lug knows how to get ahold of me. Actually, here.” She pulled a pen and a tiny notepad out of her purse—probably a hazard of the trade, always having something to write with on you—and jotted down her phone number.
“Now this is a number I don’t mind getting while I’m at work,” Kat joked, slipping the folded slip of paper in her back pocket.
Aileen slid off the barstool. “I’ll leave this open for someone who’s going to pay for more than I can drink in an hour and make it home safely.”
Kat waved to the other woman, conflicted on the idea. Aileen seemed like a wonderful person, and if so many Bobcats trusted her with sports stories, then it didn’t seem like the worst idea in the world. Maybe the publicity would work.
God knew she needed something positive out there to counteract the bad.
Or it could totally backfire and she’d be seen as a whiny little princess who didn’t have the chops to make it with the big kids and was now complaining about it.
“You’re thinking so hard I can see smoke coming out your ears.”
She flipped Michael off and started collecting empties from seats that had been abandoned.
Two hours later, Michael was silently debating other jobs Kat could get that paid decently, wouldn’t keep her out at all hours of the night, and would be less likely to get her hit on every ten minutes.
“Michael, hey. Didn’t think you came out to places like this anymore.”
Michael turned to find Sam England, one of the sophomore tight ends and a former mentee, sitting beside him in the bench he’d taken toward the back. Kat had finally convinced—rather, ordered—him to get off his ass and move out of the way of the bar, saying he was scaring off good, paying customers. But he wouldn’t go far. Not too far anyway. He wasn’t about to let Kat try to get a cab home at God knew what time of night she’d finally leave.
“Hey, Sam.” He scooted over a few inches until his shoulder was against the wall. “I don’t, not really. Why are you here?”
“Gotta get out of my head, you know?” The other man grimaced and knocked two knuckles against his temple. “You told me to find the rhythm that works before a game, and this tends to be it. Just juice,” he added when he held up his tumbler. “I get laughed at, but whatever. Some guys need the quiet the night before. The quiet fucks with my head, so I find a crowd and get lost in it.”
Since Michael was out at the bar himself—regardless of the reason—he couldn’t really argue. “Long as you’re ready to do us proud tomorrow, whatever, man.” He clinked his water glass against Sam’s and took a drink. And cringed when he heard the loud shriek of the audio system interference. “Christ, that hurt.”
Sam just shuddered. “Nails on a chalkboard.”
Then the redheaded bar owner stepped up onto the bar and began barking into the mic for people to shut up already so she could talk.
“Bossy thing,” Sam muttered. “What’s been on the entertainment menu thus far?”
“There was a chocolate pudding scavenger hunt earlier.” He grinned when Sam’s head whipped around. “Yeah, you’re too late. Clothing required, thank you very much to sanitation requirements. And before that, karaoke. Some good, some bad, some ugly.”
“That’s the thing about the Inn… always keeps you guessing.” Sam nodded toward the bar. “You sticking around for this bit?”
“Yeah, I’ll be here for a while.” He watched as the owner motioned for a girl to stand up with her on the bar from the crowd. With the help of two gentlemen, the female patron managed to half crawl, half step on up and stand beside the redhead. She was a cute thing, in tight jeans and a skimpy tank top, and couldn’t be more than twenty-two, tops. And nervous as hell, obvious from the way she bounced on her feet and played with her hair.
“Tonight we’re bringing back the not-so-silent auction, boys. Ladies who agreed get a month of free drinks on me. Gentlemen who bid get the chance to spend the rest of the evening with their lady of choice. That’s right, see something you like? Don’t have those pickup lines dusted off quite yet? Then take a chance and place a bet!”
“Archaic,” Sam said. Michael just snorted into his water glass.
“And remember, gentlemen, you’re buying time and attention, nothing more. It’s all in good, consensual fun. So let’s get started! This is Culvie.”
“Culvie?” Michael and Sam uttered together in disbelief, then snickered.
“Culvie’s a senior at St. John’s, a former gymnast, and…” Red leaned her head closer as Culvie whispered something in her ear. “Okay then. And she can still do the splits.”