6. Offside
Offside
B eaming at her success, Haley closed the file and snapped shut her computer. Vlogger extraordinaire. Look out Chip and Joanna… without Chip. Now she had to work up the courage to post it.
Changing into fresh jeans and a breezy blouse, she found her favorite heeled boots and even touched up her eyeliner, reapplying her strawberry guava lip gloss. Not that she was dressing up to have dinner alone, sort of. Again. She wasn’t sure if flirting with the bartender counted as a dinner date.
Divorce was a lonely business. She’d already roped Grady and Claire into inviting her for dinner several times since returning. Patricia was busy six nights of the week, of course, as her neurosurgical practice and philanthropic efforts came first.
Not to mention, Haley was still recovering from their girls’ trip.
There had been several attempts at praise, which were awkwardly delivered but well meant.
Whatever weirdness she’d had with her mother over the years, she could tell the uptight woman was trying, and almost felt sorry for her.
Patricia continually seemed to trip over herself, reeling as she recalled how to dethrone herself.
She dropped her keys in her purse and swung open the door to the garage.
It was oddly relieving to come and go as she pleased.
No husband to question her, as he couldn’t possibly fathom why she would want to take a walk in the park on a drizzly day.
No staff to inquire after the menu for the week or if Mr. Salsborough’s suit was pressed to her liking.
And no one to ask how Haley Salsborough had become a regular at the pub and why she grinned the whole way out the door.
Her phone buzzed with a call from a number she didn’t recognize. San Francisco number. Could be her lawyer. Or the bank. Or… well, not a friend, as those had all slept with Nate and should know they’d better piss off or she’d bite their heads off.
Fine. Picking up the phone, she answered, “Hello?”
“Please don’t hang up.” His grating tone set her teeth on edge.
“Nate. You can’t call me. Don’t make me put something in writing.”
“Hear me out. I miss you. This new house is bleak without your creative touch.”
“Fuck off.” She pulled the phone from her ear to end it.
“Wait. There’s an offer on our house.”
Dammit, she’d been waiting on that. “That’s great.” She wanted every last tie to that despicable man severed.
“Actually, we have a bidding war. The realtors included samples of your blog in the pamphlet.”
“Wow, that’s fantastic.”
“I miss you, Haley.”
Hang up. Hang up now before you say something stupid. “Not enough to keep your dick in your pants. Oh, wait, I’m sorry, that’s right, it was because you missed me so much that you fucked all my friends.” Too late.
“As if you were a saint that cherished our marriage. You can’t tell me you weren’t banging my partner. I didn’t believe him when he told me, but he knows a lot about you. Even that birthmark on your—”
Click. She hung up before he could say anymore. What a slime-bag, sleaze-bucket, lying son of a bitch. Pinning it back on her? Claiming he missed her? Her attorney had put out enough fires thanks to Nate’s pathetic excuses to turn things around on her.
Fuming, she slammed the car door shut and stormed out. Ripping open the car door, she chucked her purse inside and knocked her head into the steering wheel.
Ow. Shifting into gear, she backed out of the drive.
Dammit, Nate. She was not about to let him ruin the life she was building for herself. Just a few more weeks. How had she let herself—
No. Don’t do it. He’s the narcissistic asshole.
Shaking off the vile encounter, she headed for Halseth’s. If Finn’s arms didn’t distract her from her shitty phone call, nothing would.
The guy was a puzzle. How was a former professional football player tending bar? Duh, she smacked herself on the forehead.
Ow. Again? She really needed to get a grip.
His name matched the name on the door. Halseth’s was either his place or his family’s. Couldn’t be his; it was way too established to be new. He can’t have been home more than a few months.
Downtown Foothills was packed for a weeknight.
It was a cozy small town, where everyone knew everyone, but the tourists almost tripled their population on weekends in skiing and hiking seasons.
Since her return, she’d found its tourism load had increased the population by at least another third, even on weekdays.
Parked across the street, she hopped out, smoothed her jeans and checked that her top was nonchalantly half tucked.
One last seat at the bar. Not at her usual corner, but right in the middle by the taps. Well, that was okay. She’d get to watch those corded arms working all night.
From behind her, that heavenly voice vibrated the air, sending a thrill down her spine. “Hey,” Finn said.
Turning on her stool, she discovered him spinning a tray in his hand, an apron filled with notebooks and checks stuffed in the pockets. “Hey,” she whispered breathlessly. “Busy in here. I didn’t know you waited tables, too.”
“Not usually. Tara called out sick. Our other server and bartender are both busy tonight. Evan, my little brother, is out of town. My dad worked his ass off all day covering for Evan. Zoe’s overworked in the kitchen and our back-up chef just arrived.
I have no idea what’s with the midweek rush tonight.
Something about an adventure tour that recently added Foothills to their itinerary.
And half the damn town is ordering takeout tonight. So, I am working double duty.”
Another group walked in. Snagging a trio of menus, Finn greeted them and quickly cleared a table that had just emptied. Without pause, he breezed into the bar and poured a few drinks. Two orders up, he delivered dinners.
Behind the taps, he poured another round for the folks at the end of the bar and asked, “Want to try that IPA?”
“I’d love some… but would you rather have a hand? Not that I’ve ever waited tables, but I have eaten out a lot. Not much of a resumé, but, quite frankly, I have nothing else to do tonight.”
He paused, the beer he was filling overflowed. At the chill, he set down the overfilled glass and wiped the spill with the bar towel at his side. “You kidding?”
“No, really. I need a distraction.”
“Rough day?”
“Divorce sucks. Seriously, my soon-to-be-ex called and pissed me off. Accused me of… anyway. Not relevant. I need something useful to do. And hard.”
He visibly winced. “I’m so sorry. Are you sure? I mean, you’re here to relax.”
She nodded with renewed enthusiasm, refusing to let Nate ruin her night as he’d clearly intended.
“Seriously. Please. I’ll just stew and replay that stupid phone call in my head over and over.
And that will lead to flashbacks of his cheating ass banging my ‘best friend.’ Sorry, wow, I didn’t mean to throw all that at you. ”
“No, I’m sorry. What an asshole.” Finn nodded his head toward the side of the bar. She grabbed her purse and followed him over. “Hang on.” He popped his head in the kitchen and shouted, “Can one of you guys cover the front for a few? I found help and need to bring her up to speed.”
Movements as smooth as her brother’s, Zoe slipped off her chef’s apron and picked up a notepad. “Gotcha.” If she was puzzled at Finn’s choice of sub, she didn’t let it show past a quick grin and a wink before she disappeared.
Finn tipped his head toward the back, grabbing a black Halseth’s t-shirt off the shelf as he passed the register. Following him down the hall past the bathrooms and into a breakroom, Haley swallowed her last-minute anxiety. She hadn’t worked a real job a day in her life.
Ouch, she sounded so pathetic.
Nope. Not dwelling.
But what if she messed everything up and they lost business because of her?
The room bordered on cramped and was little more than a heavy-duty wooden desk with equally antiquated office chair that took up the near wall. A folding table for four sat in the middle of the room, and shelves of labelled boxes covered the longest wall.
Extending the folded t-shirt, Finn asked, “This fit okay?”
Setting down her purse on the office chair, Haley pulled off her blouse.
F inn’s tongue rolled out of his mouth and his eyes bugged out of his head like a horny cartoon character as Haley slipped her top over her head. She wore a lacy silk tank top underneath that clung to every curve. Groaning to himself, he bit his tongue and looked at the ceiling.
Once her head was clear of the top, she snagged the shirt from his hands.
Perfect fit, the Halseth’s logo rested on one of her marvelously perky breasts.
The vee of the top was not quite low enough to offer a cleavage window, but thanks to the silk-tank-top vision permanently imprinted in his brain, he could imagine well enough.
Straightening the jersey cotton over her torso, she pulled her hair up in a messy bun, letting out a few rebellious tendrils that seemed designed to taunt him.
Clearing his throat, he untied his server’s apron and handed it to her. She secured it around her waist and pulled out the notepad and a pen. “Ready.”
Shit, she was fierce. Or foolish, not having a clue how much she was going to be hurting later.
His first day behind the bar a few months back, he’d had to cover himself in icepacks the next day.
Not to mention it had taken a solid week for his brain to recover.
He ought to call his old coach and have them add waiting tables and tending bar to their training routine.
Her hip cocked out with arrogance, his gaze followed her legs down to her heeled boots. “You sure about this? It’s not too late to change your mind.”
She followed his gaze to her impractical shoes. “I’ve hosted parties for three hundred in stilettos. These are cross-trainers by comparison.”
Shaking his head, he grinned. “Is there anything you don’t tackle with attitude bigger than a quarterback’s?”