4. Cassandra
Breaking the Breakers
Quarterback Diego Salazar’s latest ex, Hollywood A-lister Zoey Meyer, seems to have quieted down in the week after her bombshell interview where she publicly trashed Salazar. I have it on good authority that his “Finally Free” post had nothing to do with Meyer, but that hasn’t stopped Meyer fans from piling on Salazar.
I sighed,turning my phone screen off and picking myself off the couch. Becca and Cal only left a day ago, but already the apartment felt cold and lonely. I unpacked the two suitcases amongst the things they left behind.
While I needed the furniture, living in a house furnished by a car mechanic and a sports trainer didn’t exactly fit my aesthetic. I moved the weight set into the spare room and cleared the bookshelf of anything having to do with internals, car or human.
I dug into the tray of Oreos on the coffee table, stuffing one in my mouth, my eyes locked on the phone. I hadn’t spent the last five years stalking Diego. An occasional Internet search, sure, but only out of morbid curiosity rather than any form of jealousy or longing. I’d relegated my night with Diego as a pleasant memory, one that would easily fall apart if we spent any more time together.
He hadn’t been wrong when he’d guessed I had avoided him. While he was playing in Alabama and I was living in New England, it’d been easy enough. Then he showed up in my hometown. Not to see me, of course, or at least, I’d never tested that theory. He came back to Becca for off-season training following an injury, and I ran away. First to a spare room in Boston and then a couch in San Diego, convinced the memory of our time together was better without a reunion.
And judging by the impressively long list of exes that Diego had racked up in the intervening years, I had no reason to believe he’d thought twice about me.
I grabbed the cookies and stood up, stuffing them into a cabinet before I hoovered the entire bag. I needed to get out of the apartment, and since I hadn’t explored Norwalk yet, now would be the perfect time to start. It’s not like I could spend the next three months lying on Becca’s couch obsessing over Diego. Not without money for food, anyway.
Unlike my older sister who collected diplomas like stamps, I had a high school diploma, a resume the length of my arm, and a lot of charisma, which wouldn’t get me health care or a pension, but made it easy to put money in my pocket. If I stuck around a town long enough, I might have made my way up to management, but I preferred holding a bunch of small jobs rather than a single big one.
And in Norwalk, the bar scene was hot, and the inhabitants had plenty of disposable income. If I could slide into a good bar, I could make bank. Or enough to justify hanging out in Virginia for a few months, anyway.
Thankfully, I was nearly as thirsty as I was snacky. I walked away from the kitchen and into my bedroom, sifting through the open suitcase for an outfit that said both, “I’m here to have fun,” and “I can also handle myself in a packed bar.” I settled on a plain black dress that hugged my curves, showed a lot of leg, and was stretchy enough to maneuver out of the way of handsy patrons.
The salt air mixed with the oppressive humidity made my skin an odd combination of clammy and sweaty. As I stepped outside, I immediately regretted not choosing a more breathable fabric. But the downtown bar district was just a few blocks away from Becca’s apartment. Hopefully, I wouldn’t be a puddle of salt water by the time I ducked into a bar.
I walked past the high-rise businesses that surrounded Becca’s apartment building. The streets flooded with women in blazers and men in suits as workers funneled out of their cubicles. The migration made me queasy, my mind flitting back to New Hampshire and the earnest way my mom had offered to send me back to college. I didn’t mind the offer, but the brief glimpse of disappointment in her eyes nearly broke me. Made me glad to run away to Virginia for a thousand miles of space between a family that loved me deeply and didn’t understand me at all.
The bright gleaming metal and window gave way to cobbled streets and brick buildings, remnants of Norwalk’s colonial past. The fake lanterns and intricate wooden signs bespoke rich patrons and wide-eyed tourists. Big tippers and potential.
Of course, the historic district also didn’t have “help wanted” signs on the windows, but luckily, bartenders weren’t exactly the most dependable employees. Me included.
I’d combed through reviews the night before, settling on a top five list of bars. With a couple of hours before the evening crowds picked up, I hoped to charm a manager into hiring me for an open position.
I aimed for the first name on my list. The Crown Copper. The drinks were pricey, the music was live, and with a rotating menu of specialty drinks, at least I wouldn’t get bored. My fingers gripped the gilded copper pull on the wooden door when my phone vibrated against my hip.
I dropped my hand, pulling out the phone, surprised to see Diego’s name on the screen. I frowned, eyes skittering back to the empty bar before answering the call.
“Who is this?” I asked, wrapping my free arm around my waist and leaning against the column by the door.
“Uh,” he paused. “Diego?”
“Diego…?”
“Salazar.” The confusion dropped from his voice, replaced with mild scolding.
I bit back a grin. “Oh, right. Diego. Sorry, most of the guys I give my number to aren’t quite as eager as you. Haven’t you heard of the forty-eight-hour rule? Or does that not apply to football players?”
“Doesn’t apply. Half of us can’t count that high.”
“Two days, but I love the enthusiasm. You went five years without talking to me before.”
“That wasn’t for lack of trying.” His voice pitched low and seductive. My cheeks burned at his words, and I pushed off the column, pacing along the sidewalk to loosen the grip his words had on my chest.
“What are you doing calling me on a Thursday night, anyway?” I cleared my throat. “Don’t you have some fancy football parties to attend or, I don’t know, a yacht to carouse on?”
“I have practice tomorrow, so no. I’m sitting alone at home wondering how my favorite sports trainer’s sister is doing in Norwalk.”
I grinned. “Job hunting, so not great.”
“Job hunting? It’s almost dinner.”
“It’s also the perfect time to catch a manager at a bar. They’re open, but it’ll be quiet for another hour or so. I’m hoping to charm someone into employing me.”
Diego scoffed. “Where are you applying?”
“Anywhere that will take me, if I’m honest,” I sighed. “But I’m at the Crown Copper to start.”
“I know the place. The drinks are great.”
“Which means they need great bartenders, and I just so happen to be one.”
“Is that a fact?” he asked, a bemused tone to his voice that made my stomach flip.
“Once I get a job, I’ll have you come for a drink and find out.” I winced at my flirtatiousness, well aware I was being overeager. “Any chance you want to come out for a drink? After I’m done making the rounds, of course.”
The deafening silence over the other end of the line made my stomach flip in an entirely different way. I’d come on too strong, which wasn’t exactly my style, but apparently, around Diego, I couldn’t help myself. Which was exactly the reason I had avoided him for the last five years.
“I’ve got an early practice tomorrow, or I would.”
“Right, of course,” I forced a smile.
“But I actually called to see if you wanted to hang out soon. Maybe on my day off?”
“You get days off? I’m shocked.”
“I had an entire month off, but you missed that. Training camp is wrapping up and then pre-season starts, so I go back to Tuesdays off.”
“Wow, Tuesday? What kind of fun can you have on a Tuesday night?”
“Not to sound like a conspiracy theorist, but I’m pretty sure they schedule our day off specifically so we can’t have fun.”
“Well,” I pitched my voice lower. “Good thing I know where all the Tuesday night raves are.”
He chuckled. “I’d love to hear how you plugged into the local rave culture so quickly. How about Tuesday? I’ll show you around town and you can tell me all your secrets.”
“It’s going to take more than a tour around Norwalk to find out all my secrets.”
“Good. Then I’ll have an excuse to keep seeing you.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, glad I hadn’t completely turned him off with my enthusiasm. He was the only person I knew in Norwalk, and I could use a friend since dating probably wasn’t in the cards.
“Is ten too early?”
Okay, dating definitely wasn’t in the cards.
Dates didn’t happen at ten in the morning unless they were a holdover from the night before. I brushed away the faint flutter of disappointment when, really, Diego was doing me a favor. Foxy pro quarterbacks didn’t date girls like me. Guys with questionable jobs and girlfriends dated girls like me.
“Nope. That sounds perfect. Where should we meet?”
“I’ll pick you up,” he said, his voice slightly distant, distracted almost. Clearly, I’d worn out my welcome.
“Great. See you then!” I hurried to hang up the phone when Diego’s voice stopped me.
“Hey, when you go inside, ask for David.”
“David? In the bar?”
“Yeah, he’s the manager. I told him to expect you.”
“While we were on the phone?” I asked. “Wait, you know the manager?”
He laughed. “I know the owner. Congrats on the new job! We’ll celebrate on Tuesday.”