Chapter 6 #2
jeans like he was doing them a favor. Or was that just Gabe Olson and not every man in their group?
She realized somewhat ashamedly that she’d been staring at his ass in front of her the whole time they’d been walking down
the street. She almost tripped when she glanced around to make sure no one had seen. Mortified and in need of a distraction,
she pulled out her phone. The little glowing screen danced before her eyes in a blur, but she immediately saw she had an unread
message from Axe Murderer. She hadn’t heard it ding inside the noisy bar.
Exciting Friday night?
Her face instantly split into a smile.
Meh. Out at a work thing. I’d rather be at home.
Hey, me too. To both.
Does your work thing involve guzzling booze to keep up with your co-workers?
Actually, yeah.
Ha! I thought that was only something women had to do to be one of the guys.
It’s all bullshit if you ask me. I’d never judge anyone for not wanting to drink.
Noble of you. Are you drunk right now?
Emmy bit her lip, wondering if that was too far. It felt borderline You up?
Unfortunately.
Why unfortunately?
Because I’m old and know I’m going to feel like shit tomorrow.
A laugh leapt from her throat. Loudly enough that Gabe and Pedro turned around to look at her. She wanted to climb a nearby tree and hide.
“What’s so funny, Jameson?” Pedro asked.
Emmy tucked back her hair that had gone billowy and frizzed in the humid night air. “Nothing.”
He frowned at her, his eyes glazed behind his glasses and his cheeks flushed. “With you and Olson grinning at your phones
like idiots, I feel like I’m being left out of a joke.”
She noted then Gabe had his phone in his hand too, the little screen casting a blue glow on his face. At least she wasn’t
the only one not fully present.
Gabe locked his screen and shoved his phone back into his pocket. He clapped Pedro on the shoulder. “You’re not missing anything,
Torres. Now, let’s keep this night going.”
The second bar was just as loud as the first, but it at least had couches. Pedro watched one like a hawk and swooped in when
a group got up to leave. Soon, the four of them sat crowded around a low table littered with empty glasses and juiceless lime
wedges. The game was, of course, on every TV.
“Aw, what are you thinking, skip? He’s got plenty left!” Silas bellowed at the nearest TV.
Emmy glanced up to see the manager jogging out of the dugout to make a pitching change. She had to agree with Silas: the guy
they were taking out for the guy they were putting in wasn’t the best move, at least statistically.
“Maybe he has a feeling ,” Emmy said snidely.
Gabe heard the remark that was intended for him and shot her an arrogant glare. “Feelings are valid, Jameson.”
They’d sat next to each other on the cramped couch, so when she turned sideways toward him, her knee brushed his thigh. All
the booze slowed her reactions. It took her a hot second to pull away and gain her bearings. “Okay, if they are so valid,
and we live in a quantitative world, how do you factor them in? Y equals mx plus b, plus your feelings ?” she said with a snort, proud of her supremely dorky joke.
Both Pedro and Silas laughed, and it made her heart fizz with satisfaction.
Gabe rolled his eyes. “It’s probably more of a moderation effect, but let’s not split hairs.”
“Oh, please , let us split hairs. I want you to write me an equation that accounts for your baseball spidey senses, since, as you have
pointed out to everyone”—she paused and gestured at the group—“ I don’t have them. As someone who’s never been on the field , I want to see evidence for how they factor into your models.” She found a fresh napkin on the table and the pen the previous
party had left sitting on their check tray and sloppily shoved both at his chest.
Gabe scoffed and let the bundle fall into his lap.
Emmy gave him a sad puppy dog pout. “Aww, do you not know how, Olson?”
Pedro snickered. “Drunk Jameson is sassy. I like it.”
Emmy looked over to see Pedro and Silas grinning at them, and a wave of embarrassment hit her. At the same time, a wave of
badly needing to pee also hit her.
“Be right back,” she said as she pushed herself up out of the low couch to stand. She slightly wobbled and noticed Gabe shoot
out his hand to steady her. He didn’t make contact, but he held it there like a safety rail just in case. “I’m fine,” she
said on a low breath with a flush in her cheeks.
She wound her way through the crowded room thick with hot air and bodies and turned the corner to find, of course, a line
for the bathroom. With a sigh, she leaned against the wall rattling with the bass line pulse of the music next door. While
she waited, needing to cleanse herself of the tang of Gabe’s arrogance, she pulled out her phone to continue her conversation
with Axe Murderer.
You can’t be old because we’ve already established we’re the same age, and that would mean I’m old.
He responded as if he’d been waiting for her.
Well, then I can at least take comfort in knowing you’ll feel like shit tomorrow too.
Chances are high.
What’s your favorite hangover cure?
Greasy food and reality TV. Preferably something spicy and trashy, respectively.
Isn’t all reality TV trashy?
*Gasp* How DARE you. But yes, most of it is, and that’s why I love it.
I’m not big on reality TV, but greasy, spicy food is my love language.
The thought of suggesting they meet for breakfast to cure their mutual hangovers temptingly swam through Emmy’s mind. The
opportunity to take their strange relationship to the next level had just leapt into their laps. Or perhaps they had subconsciously
put it there as they were both looking for a way to naturally take the next step and meet in real life.
Reluctance washed over her. What they had, as bizarre as it was, was perfect. Inside her screen, he was everything she didn’t
know she wanted: funny, sincere, understanding, thoughtful, honest. And she couldn’t help thinking he thought the same about
her. She didn’t want to risk ruining anything by disrupting what they already had. Even if a piece of her ached to make him
LOL in real life, to hear the sound of his voice. To touch him.
She was suddenly hot standing in the cramped hall. She squeezed her thighs together, but that only made the need to pee feel worse. She needed another distraction.
I haven’t heard any bird-band puns lately. Hit me.
I thought you’d never ask. *Ahem* The Beak Boys, Snoop Duckk, and The Pecksies.
Hmm. Not your best work.
Well, I did warn you I’m drunk.
Fair.
“Hey, are you going or what?” someone said, and pulled Emmy out of her reverie.
“Huh?”
A leggy woman with thick dark hair, a cat eye Emmy could only dream of, and a Tide jersey nodded at the bathroom door. “It’s
open.”
“Oh! Sorry. I was distracted,” she said, almost dropping her phone when she tried to shove it in her purse.
The woman laughed a warm, throaty sound. “You’ve got it bad, girl.”
Emmy wasn’t sure what she had, but she pushed open the bathroom door and locked it behind her. Her feet stuck to the floor
inside the small red room that was overcompensating with air fresheners to the point it made her eyes water, but it served
its purpose. She washed her hands after and made her way back out into the bar.
“Jeez, Jameson, did you fall in, in there?” Silas joked when she plopped back down on the couch.
She cast him a glare and reached for the beer that had been refilled in her absence.
“I was going to come looking for you if you didn’t get back out here and save us from Olson. This fool hasn’t stopped staring at his phone since you left.” He lunged forward and tried to reach for Gabe’s phone, but he yanked it away. “Who are you even texting, dude? Got a new girlfriend?”
“Shut up, Ish,” Gabe said, and shoved his phone in his pocket.
Silas only laughed. “She must be special if she can tear your eyes away from the game. You’re usually over here running stats
on a napkin.”
Gabe glowered at him and reached for his beer.
Silas let it go but only because someone hit a home run, and the bar erupted in delirium. Everyone was high-fiving and screaming.
The noise from the stadium shook the ground. An inning later, the game ended in a victory, and they shared another round.
And then another for good measure.
They eventually left the bar in pursuit of Pedro’s surprise. The game might have been over, but outside, the lively night
was just getting started. Spirits were high, inhibitions low. Everything sparkled and spun with the special communal joy that
only sports could incite.
Pedro had aimed them toward the ballpark. Halfway there, he drunkenly looped his arm around Emmy’s shoulders and attempted
to whisper but really just loudly slurred into her ear. “Listen, Jameson. Do us all a solid and beat Olson for this promotion,
mmkay?”
Emmy, surprised both that he was dangling off her like they were best friends and that he was apparently rooting for her,
turned her head toward him. “What?”
“I mean, I like the guy, but—” He glanced over his shoulder to where Gabe walked behind them. “He gets everything , you know what I mean?”
Emmy snorted a laugh. “Torres, I am the last person on earth you have to tell that to.”
“Okay, fair. I just mean it would be nice to see someone else get a chance for once. And if that someone can’t be me , then I would rather it be you. You’re pretty badass, you know?”
Emmy almost tripped. In shock and because his unsteady weight swiveling against her was like trying to hold up a drunk telephone
pole. She cast him a flat frown. “Who are you?”
Pedro chortled a belly laugh that made Emmy laugh too. “I am your very drunk co-worker who is being way too honest right now.
And since I’ve started, might as well keep going and tell you that you intimidate me.”
She arched a surprised brow at him.
Pedro glanced over his shoulder again and then stage-whispered into her ear. “And don’t tell him I told you this, but I think