He blinked and a strangled sound came out of his throat—a cry of relief muted by the release of a long, pent-up breath. I answered him with a nod and a silent tear, after which the wheels came off. He tugged me to him and crushed my torso to his, our twin black bodysuits turning us into one mass in the dark. His warm breath skimmed my ear as he folded me in his embrace, rocking us. “I know I should be mad, but I can’t not touch you. Not when you’re finally close to me. Why? Why did you shut me out?”
I whispered back against his cheek, “It’s a long story, but to be honest, all the reasons that made so much sense at the time seem insignificant right now.”
A horn blaring from the parking lot broke the spell.
“Shit. I need to get my mom home.” Renn glanced toward the door and then back at me. “Can I have your number?” I pulled away from him to find a pen. I gave him my new cell number, written on a napkin like it was the ’90s. No room for a bulky phone in my catsuit. He smiled. “I’m going to text you later tonight. Okay?”
“More than okay. I do want to explain everything.”
Renn stood and faced me, fully collected as he spoke in that deep voice I’d missed so much. “And I want to hear it. I need to hear it. You hurt me these past months—”
“I’m so sor—”
“Nope, let me finish. I don’t need an apology. And you know I’m not big on hashing out my feelings. I’m not saying I’m over it, or that I’ll forgive you instantly, but I want to hear you out. I want to get there. The reason it hurt so damn much is that we were amazing together. I’ve missed having you in my life.”
With that, Renn grabbed both of my cheeks and kissed me on the lips. Closed mouth, possessive, a possible promise of things to come, before he headed out into the parking lot. And I felt like Sleeping Beauty waking up from a hundred years of sleep.
The sound of a throat clearing in the hallway to the back room startled me from my reverie. Zach stood there, leaning in the doorway, munching on popcorn. He grinned at me before putting the bag down and doing a few slow claps. “That was quite the scene, doll. He looks even more delicious than before. And what do you know—he’s just as interested in you as he ever was. Thank God. Maybe you can stop being such an Eeyore now.”
“I’ll stop being Eeyore when you stop being the judgmental baby fromFamily Guy.” I threw a bar towel at him. “Also, where the fuck did you get popcorn?”
November 1, 2015
I went homefor what amounted to a quick shower and a cat nap since I had to be at Hal’s before noon. When I arrived, Zach was already there, getting set up for the day. I couldn’t believe the Halloween party had been last night, and I was back just six hours later. I was tired but running off the adrenaline high I’d gotten seeing Renn again so unexpectedly. He’d texted, asking to come by and see me later tonight. I’d replied that I was off around nine and would love to hang out after.
I was locking my purse up in the safe behind the bar when I noticed Zach using the electric air pump to blow up a large balloon-like decoration. He was cursing with his efforts as the mammoth inflatable kept collapsing on itself, different sections creasing and folding to prevent success. Finally, it rose, and I found myself face to face with some sort of giant, irritated-looking bird.
“What the heck is this?” I bopped its hooked beak.
“It’s Blitz.”
“It’s what now?”
“Blitz. You know—the Seahawks mascot.”
I groaned. Would the madness never end? Must we have a giant bird balloon in the middle of the bar?
I gave Blitz a poke in the nose.
“Okay—so angry bird here is the Seahawks mascot, but why exactly is he in the bar?”
“Well, I think I have my big idea for Hal’s.”
“Your amazing idea is to have a giant blow-up Blitz?”
“No. Hear me out. There is a massive Seahawks fan base in LA, lots of folks that live here and travel. People like me. There are bars all over Southern California for certain fandoms. I want us to be a Seahawks bar.”
I hadn’t been working at Hal’s too often lately, so this was the first I’d heard of this. “You want people to come to the bar from Seattle?”
“No, you’re not listening. There are plenty of local fans, and if we tell them this is the place where they can be with other Hawks fans—they’re called 12s by the way—they’ll make a special effort to watch the games here.”
“And you think that will work?”
“Yep. You’re aware I’ve been trying to figure out ways to make Hal’s more profitable.” Zach picked up the fully-inflated Blitz and walked to the front, placing the frowning fowl decisively by the door. “The Halloween party last night was successful—we just need stuff like that, specific reasons for folks to be here. I don’t have the money right now to really do up the bar, but if we can just get Seahawks fans here every Sunday to fill the place, that will go a long way.”
It wasn’t the worst idea I’d ever heard, and as Zach started droning on and on about how he’d already put out on social media that Hal’s was the official SoCal bar of Seahawks fans, while he ran around covering the bar in three-by-five neon green and navy flags with giant logos on them, it was impossible not to be charmed by his enthusiasm. It couldn’t hurt to try. And as I pulled on the snug-fitting number twelve jersey he gave me, I hoped it would work.
It worked.
