For research purposes only.
She placed the beers down. “Who is that?” she asked.
“The War Show,” one man said.
“Urgh?” she asked. “He’s an actor on a TV show? I’ve never heard of it.”
Not that she watched a ton of TV. Sometimes she did to get a little bit of real-life inspiration or to see what was going on in the world and what readers were into other than what she did on social media.
Both men laughed. The first one said, “No. That’s Warren Showers. He’s the quarterback for the New England Patriots. The best quarterback right now in many people’s eyes. He’s wontwo Super Bowls in the past five years with two different teams. The Patriots signed him last year for a three-year contract to get them to the Super Bowl.”
“Did he win one for them?” she asked, turning her head to look at the popular sports athlete again.
It made sense now. Kind of too bad because she had him as an undercover FBI agent for her next hero.
She could still model her hero after him though.
Killer looks, a panty-wetting smile, and great aim with a gun.
A metaphor or the real thing? Yet to be determined.
“No,” the second guy said. “They didn’t even make it to the playoffs.”
She wasn’t too familiar with football but had a sufficient understanding of the lingo.
“Then he didn’t do what they paid him for,” she said, grinning.
“He would have,” the second guy said. “But he missed four games with an injury and the backup sucks and they lost those games, taking them out of contention.”
“You are only as good as your weakest link,” she said cheerfully.
Which was why she liked working alone.
Both men looked at her as if scary clown paint suddenly appeared on her face.
She didn’t think what she said was all that bad, but she was probably wrong.
“Emma, want to take your break?” Marshall said, walking up behind her.
“Yes, I do,” she said happily and moved to the other end of the bar to get her purse and find some food.
She looked at her watch, saw it was four thirty, and all but ran to the outdoor cafe. There were a few restaurants on the grounds. The place had expanded greatly over the years.
She didn’t even bother to get a table, but snuck in the back.
She’d done a stint here two years ago to get some experience as a server. They knew who she was.
“Emma,” Trishelle said. She was the head chef of the cafe. “It’s nice to see you. What can I get you?”
“I’m working at the bar for the weekend. I’ve got thirty minutes. Could I get a burger and fries?”
“Coming right up,” Trishelle said. “It will be ten minutes, tops.”
“Can I wait over here for it?”
“Of course,” Trishelle said. She wasn’t really in the kitchen, just off to the side.
While she waited, she texted Hunter that there was a big sports player at the bar and she didn’t know who he was.
