Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Unfortunately, as we entered the arena, I’d completely forgotten they would search my bag, and my little bottle of pepper spray was confiscated. That wasn’t worrisome as Baden would be taking us home, a plan we made last night, a gallant offer by him that I accepted.
Just as the waitress brings our second beers, I see Baden winding through the crowd following the same hostess who seated us.
His eyes meet mine, and he levels a broad grin as he approaches. I’m so excited about him having his first game under his belt that without thought, I jump off my chair and wrap my arms around his neck. Baden returns the embrace tightly.
“Congratulations!” I say loudly. There’s so much noise in here now that fans have funneled in from the arena. “One game down, hopefully hundreds more in your future.”
“Thanks,” he says, closer into my ear and with a squeeze that has me wanting to snuggle in closer. But I pull away and accept another smile from him. “I have to say, even though we lost, I was really proud of our guys tonight. The way we were able to get out there and be competitive—it was a win.”
“It absolutely was.” I take his elbow and pull him toward the table. Extending my hand, I introduce Baden to Frankie. “This is Francesca Dillard, otherwise known as Frankie. My best friend in the whole world.”
Baden offers his hand to Frankie. “It’s so nice to meet you. Sophie’s told me all about you.”
Frankie smiles, tips her head coyly. “I hope she hasn’t told you everything about me. That would be embarrassing.”
Baden’s eyes twinkle as he teases her. “Well, she did tell me about the time you got locked out of your dorm naked.”
Frankie’s eyes widen and she gapes, launching a backhand at my arm. “You told him?”
Laughing, I rub my arm, which doesn’t hurt at all. “Why not? It was one of the most hilarious things I’ve ever seen.”
Frankie shakes her head, and Baden pulls out my bar stool for me. He takes the one between us so that I’m on his left and Frankie’s on his right.
The waitress materializes for his drink order.
“What are you ladies drinking?” Baden asks, nodding down at our pint glasses of amber ale.
“Iron City Light,” Frankie replies.
“Is it any good?” His eyes flick between me and Frankie.
I push my glass toward him. “It’s a Pittsburgh thing.”
Baden accepts my offer and takes a long sip. I’m not sure why I find it sexy that he’s drinking from my glass, but admittedly… it is.
He swallows and then grimaces. Putting the glass on the table, he slides it toward me and orders a Heineken from the waitress.
“Snob,” I say affectionately.
“I’m sure it’s an acquired taste,” he replies graciously. “Like maybe I might acquire a taste in ten years or so of repetitive attempts. You’ll have to bear with me.”
I’m not sure if that was a message, a sign, or just a flippant statement. But I like the idea that Baden might still be in my life ten years from now so I can see if he develops a taste for IC Light.
CHAPTER 16
Baden
The Mario’s atmosphere is great, the place packed with fans who watched the game on the numerous TVs and those who straggled over from the arena after the game ended. Standing-room only and even though we lost tonight, the fervor and hope for a great future is palpable.
This hangout is vastly different from The Sneaky Saguaro in Phoenix. Not just in architecture and décor, but mostly because I’m a different person. When I would walk into The Sneaky Saguaro, I was a well-recognized player with the championship-winning Arizona Vengeance. Even though I was the backup goalie, I saw my fair share of games and was recognizable to the average fan. My jerseys sold well for the team, and I always had a cramp in my hand at the end of the evening from signing autographs.
Here at Mario’s, after my first game not as a player but as a goalie coach, not a single fan recognizes me. Or at least if they do, they don’t come up and ask for an autograph or a picture. A few of the players come in, having earned VIP seating, and wave at me as they move on by. I don’t bother calling them over for introductions because I don’t know them well enough to do so.
I kind of like sitting here in anonymity with Sophie and Frankie, shooting the shit without being interrupted. It’s definitely a different lifestyle within the same sport.
The three of us talk about the game first and foremost. Sophie drills me on my thoughts about Patrik’s performance. She’s an überfan—one of those who knows most of the players and their stats. We’ve had some good chats the past few nights, and her sports knowledge amazes me. She’s definitely not starstruck to have the Titans’ goalie coach as her roommate, but she does have a healthy appreciation for her privileged access to the inside scoop on everything.