water. A long shower. Time." Was it his imagination, or was Val's voice just a little sharper?
Justin closed his eyes and tightened his hand around the phone. Shit. He shouldn't have snapped at her like that, no matter how her words had surprised him. No, not surprised. Upset. He didn't want to think too hard about why. "Val, I'm sorry—"
"It's okay. Listen, I have to get going. Good luck tonight, okay?"
Justin straightened, something close to panic seizing him. He didn't want her to hang up, not just yet. Not like this. "Val, wait."
For a terrifying second, he thought he was too late, that she had already disconnected the call. But then he heard her breathing. Not exactly a sigh, not really. He took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"
"I know."
"Oh. Okay, good. Uh, listen, I was wondering, tomorrow night. Did you want to get together, have dinner or something?" Smooth, real smooth. Why was he having such a hard time with this whole conversation? From the second Val answered the phone, every remaining intelligent brain cell had completely succumbed to the pounding in his head.
"Tomorrow's Friday, we're usually pretty busy—"
"Yeah, no, that's okay. I didn't realize—"
"No, I want to. Maybe a late one? You could pick me up here."
"Yeah, perfect. That'll be great." Justin winced at the words, wondering again why he couldn't seem to form intelligent sentences.
"Sounds good. See you tomorrow night then?"
"Absolutely. Yes."
"Great." A few seconds of dead air, then he heard Val clearing her voice. Maybe he wasn't the only one having trouble talking tonight. "I have to go. Good luck tonight, Justin. I'll be watching."
He opened his mouth to say something, to tell her to watch for something special when he scored, but he waited too long. The call disconnected, leaving nothing but silence.
Shit.
He stood and tossed the phone onto the counter then stripped out of his clothes. As far as conversations went, it definitely could have been better. But maybe it wasn't as bad as he first thought, now that he had something to look forward to tomorrow night.
Yes, he was definitely looking forward to tomorrow night. And maybe, just maybe, he'd have something to celebrate after tonight's game.
Chapter Six
Val leaned against the hostess podium, her head turned back to the bar, squinting to see the large television along the back wall. The volume was turned down, not that that meant anything, not with the noise of the late evening crowd. And for once, just once, she wished the bar and restaurant wasn't quite so busy, that she had the leisurely option of just staying home and watching a game in the quiet comfort of her own place.
That's when she knew she was in trouble. Because yes, she may occasionally wish she had more time to herself, but that's all it was—empty wishes. She loved working, loved the crazy hours and constant bustle of running—of owning—a successful business. That's why she rarely took off. This is where she belonged, what she wanted to do. What she had worked for all those years of school and long hours of working for someone else. This was the payoff.
Except for tonight. Tonight, for the first time since before The Maypole opened, she didn't want to be here.
A discreet cough from behind her jerked her attention from the television and she turned, surprised to the see the group of four women standing there, waiting. From the impatient glare of two of them, Val had no doubt they had been waiting for more than just a few minutes. She pasted a bright smile on her face and muttered an apology, then grabbed four menus and led them to a table.
She didn't miss the rude comment about guest service from one of the women, someone she recognized as a semi-regular. Val bit the inside of her cheek and forced her smile to grown even wider as she handed the woman her menu.
"Your waiter will be over in a few minutes to go over the specials. Hockey players won't be featured tonight,
Justin closed his eyes and tightened his hand around the phone. Shit. He shouldn't have snapped at her like that, no matter how her words had surprised him. No, not surprised. Upset. He didn't want to think too hard about why. "Val, I'm sorry—"
"It's okay. Listen, I have to get going. Good luck tonight, okay?"
Justin straightened, something close to panic seizing him. He didn't want her to hang up, not just yet. Not like this. "Val, wait."
For a terrifying second, he thought he was too late, that she had already disconnected the call. But then he heard her breathing. Not exactly a sigh, not really. He took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"
"I know."
"Oh. Okay, good. Uh, listen, I was wondering, tomorrow night. Did you want to get together, have dinner or something?" Smooth, real smooth. Why was he having such a hard time with this whole conversation? From the second Val answered the phone, every remaining intelligent brain cell had completely succumbed to the pounding in his head.
"Tomorrow's Friday, we're usually pretty busy—"
"Yeah, no, that's okay. I didn't realize—"
"No, I want to. Maybe a late one? You could pick me up here."
"Yeah, perfect. That'll be great." Justin winced at the words, wondering again why he couldn't seem to form intelligent sentences.
"Sounds good. See you tomorrow night then?"
"Absolutely. Yes."
"Great." A few seconds of dead air, then he heard Val clearing her voice. Maybe he wasn't the only one having trouble talking tonight. "I have to go. Good luck tonight, Justin. I'll be watching."
He opened his mouth to say something, to tell her to watch for something special when he scored, but he waited too long. The call disconnected, leaving nothing but silence.
Shit.
He stood and tossed the phone onto the counter then stripped out of his clothes. As far as conversations went, it definitely could have been better. But maybe it wasn't as bad as he first thought, now that he had something to look forward to tomorrow night.
Yes, he was definitely looking forward to tomorrow night. And maybe, just maybe, he'd have something to celebrate after tonight's game.
Chapter Six
Val leaned against the hostess podium, her head turned back to the bar, squinting to see the large television along the back wall. The volume was turned down, not that that meant anything, not with the noise of the late evening crowd. And for once, just once, she wished the bar and restaurant wasn't quite so busy, that she had the leisurely option of just staying home and watching a game in the quiet comfort of her own place.
That's when she knew she was in trouble. Because yes, she may occasionally wish she had more time to herself, but that's all it was—empty wishes. She loved working, loved the crazy hours and constant bustle of running—of owning—a successful business. That's why she rarely took off. This is where she belonged, what she wanted to do. What she had worked for all those years of school and long hours of working for someone else. This was the payoff.
Except for tonight. Tonight, for the first time since before The Maypole opened, she didn't want to be here.
A discreet cough from behind her jerked her attention from the television and she turned, surprised to the see the group of four women standing there, waiting. From the impatient glare of two of them, Val had no doubt they had been waiting for more than just a few minutes. She pasted a bright smile on her face and muttered an apology, then grabbed four menus and led them to a table.
She didn't miss the rude comment about guest service from one of the women, someone she recognized as a semi-regular. Val bit the inside of her cheek and forced her smile to grown even wider as she handed the woman her menu.
"Your waiter will be over in a few minutes to go over the specials. Hockey players won't be featured tonight,
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