The Game We Played (The Steel City Seals #2)

Chapter 1

Alaia – a woman finding it hard to be taken seriously at Mermaid Karaoke

Alaia

“No.”

“But I have this great story idea I want to discuss with you. It’s about—”

“No.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

Mike, the editor-in-chief of the Smuggler’s Gazette, sighs. “Because I’ve heard all of your story ideas. No one on Smuggler’s Hideaway cares about the sea-level rising or rapid erosion or tidal flooding.”

“Increased tidal flooding,” I correct.

He grunts. “No one cares.”

“Because they don’t understand the issues. If they understood how the flooding and stronger storms are causing damage to infrastructure and property, they’ll care.”

Mike yawns. “I’m bored.”

I growl. “Not funny. I can write an interesting piece.”

“Your writing is comedic, which is great for pieces about sheep causing traffic jams or Plank the parrot needing to be rehomed.”

Now it’s my turn to sigh. “I don’t want to write fluffy, funny articles anymore. I want to be a serious journalist.”

“Not going to happen on Smuggler’s Hideaway.”

Which is why I want to leave the island. But I can’t leave without a job offer. And I can’t get a job offer without a portfolio of serious journalistic pieces. And apparently blogging doesn’t count. Especially when you have under one hundred followers.

“Please, Mike.”

“I’m sorry, Alaia, but it is what it is. People read the Smuggler’s Gazette to learn the gossip on the island, have a laugh, and find a new recipe for clam chowder. It’s hard enough to keep a newspaper going in this day and age. Serious pieces about environmental issues will not help.”

“I disagree.”

“I didn’t want to tell you this way,” he pauses and my heart begins to race. Is this the moment he tells me I’m not good enough for serious journalism? “But we’re considering closing down the Gazette.”

“What?” I screech. “You can’t.”

The Smuggler’s Gazette is my only chance to build a portfolio. If it’s gone, my dream of becoming a journalist will never come true.

“Sorry, Alaia. But if things don’t change before the end of the summer, the Gazette will be gone.”

“What if—”

“I’ve got to go.” He hangs up before I have a chance to argue.

I drop my phone on the desk. I’m never going to be taken seriously and get off this island. I’ll be stuck here bartending at Bootlegger during Mermaid Karaoke for the rest of my life. Talk about boring.

Unless I let my dad help. Nope. No way. The great Dan Jackson will not be the reason I succeed. I’m doing this on my own. I’m not letting Dad control my life and my decisions. He’s done enough already.

“Alaia!” Julian, my fellow bartender, barges into the office. “We need you out there. It’s crazy busy.”

I push to my feet. “It always is during Mermaid Karaoke season.”

I lock the office behind me and follow him down the hallway to the bar. I nearly groan at the sight in front of me. Women dressed up in seashell bras and not much more. There’s a reason the event is called Mermaid Karaoke after all.

The natives of Smuggler’s Hideaway love mermaids. Don’t you dare try to tell us mermaids are fantastical animals. We know the truth. Mermaids are real.

We also love pirates and smugglers. During Prohibition, the island was used by smugglers to store their illegal hooch. Tours of the tunnels they dug under City Hall are one of our most popular tourist attractions. The natives of the island proudly refer to ourselves as smugglers.

“Who’s next?” I shout as I settle behind the bar.

The next hour passes in a blur as I pour beer, mix fruity cocktails, and line up shots. I’m sweating and smell of a brewery by the time there’s a lull in the line.

The door bangs open and I glance over as six oversized men enter the bar. I immediately recognize them as members of the Steel City Seals. The football team is staying on the island during training camp this summer.

Hudson, the owner of Hideaway Haven Resort and a former member of the Seals team himself, did his best to keep the arrival of the team at his resort a secret. Ha! As if it’s possible to keep a secret on this island.

Especially from me. There’s a reason why I write The Siren’s Spill gossip column every month. No one can keep a secret from me.

Five of the men veer off to claim a table in front of the karaoke stage. The other man swaggers toward me.

I can’t help myself from drinking him in. He’s tall – well over six feet – with broad shoulders and – based on how his t-shirt is straining – a strong chest and biceps. But he doesn’t resemble a chicken. His thighs are strong. This is not a man who skips leg day.

His brown hair is tousled, and his skin is tanned. As he approaches, I notice his eyes are green and sparkling. Too bad, I know exactly who this man is and how much trouble he can cause. Otherwise, I might enjoy getting to know him.

He reaches the bar and slaps his hands down before aiming a smile my way. I barely hold back my eye roll.

“What can I get you?”

“Six beers and your phone number, darling.”

I don’t bother to hold back my eye roll now. “Darling?”

He smirks. “Women line up for me to call them darling.”

I bark out a laugh. “Are these real women? Or inflatable ones?”

He scowls. “I don’t use inflatable women.”

I snort. “Sure, you don’t.”

He puffs out his chest. “Don’t you know who I am?”

“I know who you are, all right. Tanner Long. Wide receiver for the Steel City Seals.” He grins but I hold up a hand.

“And the biggest player on the team. Not to mention a troublemaker whose name is in the newspaper more often for his shenanigans than for his ability to catch passes or score touchdowns.”

“Fake news.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You didn’t get fined for livestreaming from the locker room? Or what about the time you ruined a charity gala by turning the silent auction into a drinking game?”

“The fine was bullshit. I covered all the private parts of the men.”

“But did you ask their permission to livestream them showering all over the internet?”

The livestream went viral. I confess I might have watched it a time or a thousand. His team members are sexy. Who knew they were hiding all those muscles under the uniform padding? Thanks to Tanner, the world does now.

“They should have thanked me. Several of them got underwear endorsements as a result.”

I giggle. “You truly believe they should have thanked you, don’t you?”

He nods. “And the charity gala raised more money last year than ever before. They should definitely thank me, too.”

I shake my head. “You’re trouble in all caps and backlit with neon light.”

He bows. “Thank you. I do try.”

Two can play at his game. I snatch a bottle of moonshine and set it in front of him. “You’re the kind of man who deserves the best moonshine this bar has to offer.”

His eyes light up. “Moonshine?”

He has no idea. Moonshine on Smuggler’s Hideaway is not the moonshine you can buy in the rest of the country.

It’s distilled on the island at Buccaneer’s Whiskey & Distillery using a recipe from Prohibition.

Drinking it won’t cause you to go blind, but it will make you wish for heated flooring in your bathroom.

I set the bottle and six shot glasses on a tray. “Have fun.”

He picks up the tray but doesn’t move. “You forgot to give me your telephone number.”

“I didn’t forget.” I wink.

His eyes fill with confusion. Someone’s not used to being rejected. He blinks and the twinkle returns to his eyes. “Not a problem. I know where you work.”

He swaggers away and I don’t bother to pretend I’m not staring at his perfect ass. Just because I’m smart enough not to get involved with a player doesn’t mean I can’t look.

“Sorry I’m late.” My friend, Addy, says as she barrels into the bar. She’s a singer whose talents are wasted at Mermaid Karaoke. But, unlike me, Addy isn’t interested in leaving the island. She’s here to stay.

And, apparently, so am I. I thought convincing Mike to let me write an article that isn’t a puff piece was my biggest problem. I didn’t realize the Gazette might close by the end of the summer.

I need a plan. Some way to ensure the Gazette stays open. My gaze catches on Tanner sitting with his teammates. I could write a sports piece. With as much trouble as Tanner usually gets into, there must be a story there I could sell.

I perk up. Good plan. Maybe I should give him my phone number after all.