Chapter 5
CHAPTER
FIVE
FARRAH
Amber is so excited to have a sitter for the game tonight, she manages to organize a dinner for all of us at a local bar and even made a reservation earlier today. I guess the bar owner is a big Eagles fan and was willing to put tables together at the last minute.
Harrison, Mel’s older brother, is joining us. He’s kind, handsome, and has a successful job in Philadelphia as a physical therapist…but I’m not attracted to him. At all. Maybe it’s the dark hair; he reminds me too much of my ex-husband—but only in looks, not in demeanor.
I’ve always loved blond guys. My little sister, Felicity, was surprised when I was attracted to Connor, whose hair is dark. When I was a teenager, my bedroom boasted posters of Chad Michael Murray, Cary Elwes, and Brad Pitt. Forget tall, dark and handsome and give me muscular and blond with a chiseled jawline. My dream man is Kristoff from Frozen…a simple man. He works hard harvesting ice and looks good doing it.
But Harrison is nice enough, and it’s good to get out of my comfort zone and think about possibly dating again.
I ride to the bar with Remy and Amber and when we pull into the parking lot marked by a well-lit sign that says George’s , my heart stops inside my chest. This is the bar where I met Bruce that night long ago. The bar where we kissed, and he cradled my face in his hands. No, no, no. I do not want to be back here…it makes me feel too many things.
My brother parks and gets out of the Land Rover, walking around to the passenger side and opening the door for Amber. I don’t realize I’m sitting in the back seat perfectly still until I hear Remy call my name.
“Farrah, you okay?”
I shake my head and blink. “Oh, yeah.” I huff a laugh. “I just forgot about something I need to do. Maybe I should get an Uber home.”
“Farrah!” Amber pouts. “We never get to hang out outside of the house. Please?”
I sigh. It’s just dinner. It’s not a big deal. So, what if the single most sexy thing in my life happened within these walls? “Okay, fine.”
As I climb out of the luxury SUV, more cars begin pulling into the small parking lot. One of them is a beat up, old Chevy that I know just by the creaky door. Bruce’s truck. Remy says he refuses to get rid of it because he thinks it’s a lucky charm or something.
I cozy up beside Amber. “I didn’t know everyone was coming.”
Oblivious, my sister-in-law smiles at me. “Oh of course! This might be my only night out with adults for months. We had to invite the whole gang.” She loops her arm through mine and drags me along with her and my brother.
Footsteps sound on the ground behind me, but I don’t look, because I’m not sure I can keep my expression under control if I make eye contact with Bruce McBride.
When we enter the bar, it looks exactly the same as it did that fateful night a year and a half ago. Wood floors, wood-paneled walls, a polished bar, and a big stone fireplace. Last time I was here it was December and the fireplace was blazing, giving the place a romantic vibe. But tonight, the lighting is brighter and there’s a different bartender. It’s busy, much like last time, except for the table the owner held for us. It’s the same table Bruce and I sat at as we shared wings. The same large corner booth where our knees pressed together, and we leaned in to talk to each other. The same booth where I noticed the piercing in one ear that made him seem a little dangerous. The same booth where I realized there was something familiar about him…but I thought it was just the fact that he resembled Kristoff from Frozen.
Cover the man in furs and give him a reindeer, and BAM. Kristoff.
An extra table has been pushed up against the booth table so we can all sit together. I hang back, suddenly unsure how to act or where to sit. Finally feeling brave enough to glance behind me, I find Bruce a few steps away. He gives me a knowing glance, one that tells me he feels as weird about this as I do. His spine looks stiff, and his hands are in the pockets of his pants. I believe that’s a faint blush on his cheeks as well…
If walls could talk—and thankfully, they can’t—they’d tell all our friends that Bruce McBride had his tongue in my mouth right in this very booth.
And my, what a talented tongue. I think it moved just as fluidly as Bruce does on the ice when he’s in net. Knowing exactly where to go and what to do at precisely the right time.
I shiver, but it has nothing to do with the temperature in this bar. It’s actually quite warm in here thanks to the bodies filling the space.
Remy and Amber slide into the booth first, sitting close to each other in the center. Colby Knight and his wife, Noel seating herself by Amber. Then Mitch Anderson—who’s painfully serious—slides in and sits beside Remy, and his wife Andie follows. Mel and West sit next to each other at the table that’s been pushed against the booth, and Harrison sits beside his sister at the head of the small, rectangular table. That leaves two seats. Right next to each other. Bruce strides over and slumps down in the seat next to Andie, and now I’m left with one empty seat right between Harrison and Bruce.
If I’d had the time to think up a worst-case scenario…this would’ve been it.
Swallowing, I pull out my chair and sit down. The bar is loud, and our group is adding to the noise, everyone talking animatedly about the game and how they barely came away with a win. Much thanks to Bruce for that; the last period of the game he was on fire.
Andie leans over to look at me, her shoulder length blonde hair falling around her face as she does. “Farrah! I haven’t seen you in ages. You need to come to our next WAG night.” WAG is what they call wives and girlfriends of athletes.
I laugh. “It feels weird since I’m not a WAG.”
Noel, across the table, shakes her head. “Then let’s stop calling them WAG nights. We’re all just friends hanging out,” she points out, ever the logical one. Colby brings a hand up and playfully pulls one of her short, blonde curls. She bats his hand away but leans in and kisses him on the cheek. He smiles so big his dimples pop.
“Po-tay-to, po-tah-toe,” Andie says with a wave of her hand, then rests that hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “But hey, if you ever want to be a WAG…I happen to know a guy on the Eagles who’s still single.” She gives me an exaggerated wink.
I look at Bruce and his eyes meet mine. A moment passes, neither of us knowing what to say, when he opens his mouth.
But a voice on my opposite side pipes up first. “So, Farrah. What are your hobbies?”
I close my eyes briefly, turning to look at Harrison—whom I’d completely forgotten about.
Turning all my attention to the man I’m going on a date with tomorrow evening, I smile politely. “I love baking. Especially cakes and cupcakes.”
Harrison smiles, he has a handsome smile with straight white teeth. The corners of his eyes crinkle telling me he’s not that much younger than I am. “That’s amazing. What’s your favorite fla?—”
“And they taste incredible,” Bruce says from my other side. “Her favorite flavor is blueberry with lemon frosting. If that’s what you were about to ask.”
I turn and gawk at Bruce. Behind him, Andie covers her mouth so I can’t see her laughing. Too late, though. I narrow my eyes at my friend then look at Bruce. “How do you even know that?”
He shrugs one of those big, sexy shoulders. “I notice things.”
“Well, that’s only my favorite flavor of cake. You don’t know my favorite cupcake flavor.”
He tilts his head the way a happy dog would and smirks. “Wrong.”
I cross my arms. “What is it then?”
“You like your cupcakes simple. Classic. Vanilla cake with vanilla buttercream frosting.”
I gape at the man.
Harrison clears his throat. “Wow. You two must spend a lot of time baking together.” He huffs an awkward laugh.
I answer his statement with a “no” at the same time Bruce says, “I’ve tasted her cakes. Many times.”
Briefly, I close my eyes to refrain from slapping my hand against Bruce’s big mouth. Everyone is watching our strange trio, even my big brother, whose gaze bounces between me and Harrison and then Bruce and then repeating the pattern. Watching him watch us is making me dizzy.
Bruce manspreads beneath the table and I feel his knee fall against mine. I scoot over but bump Harrison’s leg in the process, then scoot back. Bruce doesn’t move his leg, and it stays firmly pressed against mine. Better Bruce’s than Harrison’s, though. Wait, no… I have that backwards.
Bruce leans an elbow on the back of my chair as he turns and faces Harrison. “I can’t remember, do you eat cake?”
I don’t remember much of what Mel has told me about her brother, but one thing I know for certain is that he’s really into healthy eating, much like his sister.
Harrison shifts, visibly uncomfortable, as he answers, “Not really. I eat a pretty clean diet,” Harrison’s leg bounces up and down beneath the table in irritation…or maybe it’s anxiety. His eyes widen and he turns to me. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with indulging once in a while. I just feel better when I don’t consume a lot of sugar.” The man is nearly sweating as he waits for my reaction.
I place a hand on Harrison’s shoulder. It’s not a flirtatious move; I just want to reassure him that I’m not upset. “No, I get it. There’s nothing wrong with healthy eating. Tasting cake flavors is part of my job, though. Possibly my favorite part.” I smile.
Mel leans in. “And they’re always delicious!” She bumps her brother’s arm with her elbow. “You should ask Farrah what she’s making for our first wedding event next weekend.”
Harrison smiles and turns his attention back to me. “Well?”
I laugh. “I’m making a three-layered wedding cake and get this.” I pause for effect. “It’s S’mores flavored. It has marshmallow cream on the inside with chocolate chips. Then there are graham cracker crumbs layered between each cake.”
His eyebrows raise. “Wow, now that sounds amazing.”
“Is this your first S’mores cake?” Bruce asks. “I didn’t know you made S’mores cakes.”
I turn to look at him, my gaze lingering on his pout. “I guess you don’t know everything, huh?”
He purses his lips.
“But this is my first one, yes,” I admit. “The couple loves camping so S’mores are kind of their thing.”
“Oh, I love camping too. Do you?” Harrison asks.
I turn back to face him. I hate camping, but I don’t want to say that. A crick in my neck makes me bring a hand up to rub it. Wow, I’m really getting a cramp in my neck from all this back and forth.
“I have to admit, I’m not a big camper.” I laugh and a larger, warmer hand moves mine aside and begins to gently rub the sore spot there. It’s a great massage, top notch. Bruce is as good with his hands as he is with his mouth. Realizing where my thoughts are headed, I brush his hand aside, even though it feels really good. Too good.
“But I’d try glamping,” I add.
Harrison wrinkles his nose slightly, forgetting himself. He carefully morphs his face back into a congenial expression. “Yeah, glamping might be fun.”
An awkward silence passes between us, and I wonder what Harrison and I will talk about during our date tomorrow. It will hopefully be much less awkward without an audience.
“Mitch took me camping once,” Andie says. I look over at her and see her glaring at her brute of a husband. He shrugs and then wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her closer against him.
Andie settles her hand over Mitch’s and smiles at Bruce. “Brucey, do you like camping?”
Bruce snorts a laugh. “I’m more of a five-star resort kind of guy.”
“Really?” I ask, genuinely surprised. “But you drive that beat up truck. I took you for a real outdoorsy type.”
Harrison snorts a laugh from behind me. “During West’s bachelor party a few years ago, Bruce took the master suite for himself and used the giant bathtub every night. He’s indoorsy for sure.”
Bruce scoffs in mock outrage. “That’s not true. I enjoy drinking my old fashioneds on my balcony. As long as the mosquitos aren’t too bad…and my outdoor lighting is hooked up.”
An old fashioned. That’s the drink he ordered last time we were here together.
Not wanting to encourage his possessive behavior tonight, I don’t tell the man I agree with him and would much rather be only a few steps away from modern conveniences such as heating and air conditioning.
The waiter finally comes and quickly takes our orders. The guys all get water because they have another game tomorrow night, but their wives partake in fruity cocktails. I stick with a Coke Zero tonight since alcohol causes my joints to ache and makes my insomnia worse—two annoying PCOS symptoms.
Our food and drinks come out quickly. I got wings again and so did Bruce. He smirks at me as he takes in my order, and I quickly look away. If I look at him any longer, I might remember how the sweet wing sauce tasted on his lips. Whoops, too late, already thinking about it.
Harrison excuses himself to the bathroom and the couples are all immersed in conversation in between eating their wings and nachos. Unable to abate my curiosity, I nudge Bruce’s knee with mine under the table.
“How do you know all my favorite cake flavors?”
He leans in close, and I sneak an inhale of him. He showered after the game, and he smells like fresh man soap. It’s a spicy smell with a hint of nutmeg. It’s different than whatever my ex used. Better.
“Yeux bleus, I collect facts about you like a sodding idiot.”
Another chill runs down my spine, my stomach doing a flip. Nervously, I swallow. “Are you ever going to tell me what yeux bleus means?”
He considers this. “Next time you kiss me, I’ll tell you.”
“Next time?” I arch a brow.
“Next time.”