“It was your sister calling, right? And you have a nephew who’s about to turn three?”
“Yeah. My sister Jackie has… Oh, shit!” I forgot about his birthday. I’m the worst uncle ever. “Could you possibly help me—”
“I’m a step ahead of you,” she says.
Of course she is.
Out of her very large bag she pulls a Brooklyn Bruisers toy hockey stick. “Every little boy needs a hockey stick.”
“Good call, Heidi.”
“There’s more.” She beams at me. “I hope you like it, because I talked them into doing a rush job. Tonight was my last shift in licensed apparel.” She pulls out a brown teddy bear wearing a Brooklyn jersey. It’s adorable. And when she turns it around, I see the bear has CASTRO and my jersey number on his back.
“Holy crap,” I say, laughing. When she hands me the bear, his fur is soft and cuddly. “This is amazing. I think I need one for myself.”
“No, you don’t.” Heidi snatches the bear back from me. “This is going in a FedEx box tomorrow. I just need your sister’s address. Oh—and I need to see a photo of your nephew.”
“Why?”
“Because toddlers are cute!” She rolls her eyes. “You’re in a mood.”
I really am. I pull my phone out of my pocket and open up some photos. “Here he is.” The picture of my sister and her oldest makes me grin.
“Aw!” Heidi coos. “Such an attractive family. I hope he turns out nicer than you.”
“What?” I squawk.
Heidi sips her soda. “That’s all the business I have for you,” she says, waving a hand at me. “You’re excused.”
“Thank you.” I blink. “Did you just dismiss me?”
“Yes, I did.” Yes, ah did. Her Southern accent is very subtle, but it softens her in a way that really gets to me.
“If I stay here on this barstool, are you going to bill me in six-minute increments for your time?”
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t bill you for services rendered and you already know that. But you’re cramping my style right now.”
“How’s that?” This is a hockey bar. Our hockey bar. There’s not a woman in here that would chase me off. As a matter of fact, there’s two of them already giving me the fuck-me eyes.
“Maybe I’m hoping a great guy will come along and chat me up,” Heidi says, stirring her soda with a straw. “He sees you sitting here, he’ll just move on.”
“Which guy?” As a reflex, I look over one shoulder and then the other. The place is full of guys, of course. Half of them are my teammates. They won’t pick up Heidi.
Will they?
And here I thought I couldn’t get any grumpier.
“Or—here’s a plan. You could take me home yourself,” she says. “It’s not like you don’t want to.”
She’s right, of course. “You have a key to my home,” I point out.
“That is not what we’re talking about, Mr. Castro,” she whispers. “I still want my chance.”
I swallow hard. “You know that’s not going to happen.” Although the way we’re staring at each other right now, I’m feeling less sure than I should be, damn it. So I force myself to look away.
“Right.” Heidi clears her throat. “So get lost, then.”
And I’m speechless.
“Hey, Jason?” Pete asks. “Do me a favor and bring this over to your pals in the back corner? I’m short-handed.” He sets down a platter of chicken wings.
“Um, sure,” I grumble. I grab the wings and a stack of napkins, and carry the whole thing away before I say something to Heidi that will get me in trouble.
Growing up with two sisters taught me a thing or two about keeping my trap shut. Although if she thinks she’s going home with some random stranger, she’s got another thing coming.
I take the chicken to my pals and help myself to a couple of wings. Swear to God, it only takes about ninety seconds until some college guy wearing a backward baseball cap takes the barstool I’ve just vacated, and starts chatting up Heidi.
“Your girl is making friends tonight,” Bayer says with a chuckle.
“She’s not my girl,” I grunt.
“Just keep telling yourself that,” Silas whispers.
“Hey, Drake?” I say, snapping my fingers at the rookie. “I need a favor.”
“Yeah?” The kid wipes buffalo sauce off his mouth. “What is it?”
“Go order us a pitcher of beer. And say hello to Heidi while you’re waiting.”
The rookie looks over at the bar and then chuckles. “You don’t like that guy?”
“I don’t know that guy,” I correct. “And our little friend has a way of getting herself into situations. She’s kinda sheltered.”
“But they’re just talking,” Bayer points out. “How much trouble could he be?”
“He’s a frat boy,” I grumble.
“So were you,” Silas says gleefully.
“Exactly! I know how they think. Drake—you don’t have to chase him off. Just let him know that Heidi has friends in the bar.”
The rookie shakes his head. But since he knows he has no choice, he takes our empty pitcher of beer and lumbers toward the bar. He puts one hand on Heidi’s shoulder as he reaches over to hand the pitcher to Pete.
Heidi pats his hand, greets him, and then shoos him away.
But I don’t miss it when the college boy glances in our direction with widening eyes.
About two minutes after Drake returns with the beer, the frat boy shakes Heidi’s hand and then gets the heck out of there. He exits the bar through the front door, leaving Heidi by herself.
She looks down into her soda glass and sighs. Nobody else sits on the vacant bar stool, and my rusty conscience gives a little burp of discomfort. But then, as I watch, Heidi straightens her spine. She shoulders her bag and gets up.
Then she walks straight towards me.
“Uh-oh,” O’Doul says under his breath. “Incoming.”
“You think that’s funny?” Heidi squeaks as she arrives at our table. “I can’t have a conversation in a bar without you interfering? You can’t mind your own business for a few minutes?”
“I’m sorry,” I say immediately. “I won’t do it again.”
“Too late now!” she yells. “I know I’m funny to you. My dad has made sure of that. Rich kid with a shitty job and no money. Couch surfing and feeling like I’m underfoot all the time. So if you could kindly avoid ruining my fun for one evening, I’d appreciate it.”
“Sit with us,” Bayer says. “Drake, get the girl a chair.”
“No, thank you! I can’t, anyway. Someone will take a picture and write that I’m boinking the whole team.” She turns on her heel and goes back to her barstool.
Now I’ve really fucked up, so I follow her to apologize. “Hey,” I say, chasing her. “I’m sorry.”
Heidi ignores me. “Pete, I’d like a glass of champagne, please.”
The older man puts both hands on the bar and shakes his head. “We’ve been over this. How about a virgin margarita?”
She tosses something on the bar. It’s a driver’s license.
Pete picks it up and squints. Then he checks his watch. “Miss Heidi Jo Pepper of Tennessee! Let me be the first to say happy birthday. And your first legal glass of champagne is on me.”
“Wait. It’s your birthday?” My voice rises and breaks, like an adolescent’s.
“It is now,” she says as Pete pops the cork out of a bottle of Krug.
“Pour two,” I tell him. “And one for yourself.”
“I usually say no.” Pete chuckles, lining up three champagne glasses on the counter. “But this is a great bottle.”
“Didn’t I tell you to get lost?” Heidi asks, turning her regal chin away from me.
“Nobody drinks alone on her twenty-first birthday.” Heidi deserves better.
“Guys” I call. “We’re making a toast.” I snap my fingers in the air. “Silas, come here.”
Pete pushes a full glass toward Heidi and then pours a bunch of smaller portions for the rest of our crew. I pass them out, and Heidi watches with a mixture of embarrassment and curiosity.
“Ready, boys?” I lift my glass. “As Charles Dickens once said…” There are a few good-natured groans, which I ignore. “He said, ‘Fan the sinking flames of hilarity with friendship, and pass the rosy wine.’ We all know that Heidi gets high marks for friendship as well as hilarity…”