A Guy Walks Into My Bar - Lauren Blakely Page 0,112
an answer. Thanks, but no thanks.”
I shrug. “He’s a sports snob. What can I say?”
“You can say you’ll play,” Logan says, clapping my shoulder then chanting, “Do it. Do it. Do it.”
“You know I’m always down for it.”
Bryn squeezes Logan’s arm. “But look, sweetie, if you can’t get it together for laser tag, you can just join the hula-hooping class that Amelia and I are taking.”
Logan shakes his head, but he’s smiling, and I’m sure he’s thrilled that his new woman loves doing sports with his daughter.
Summer comes in next with her hubs, Oliver. Dean and Oliver catch up on all things British, sliding quickly into talk of London and what’s going on there, while Summer and I chat about how her new fitness center is doing.
Soon, Leo joins the crew, and after quick hellos, he claps Dean on the back. “Check this out,” Leo says, then grabs his phone and shows Dean a picture. “This table is from the dark ages of the fifties. I picked it up last weekend at a garage sale.”
“That one needs a fuck-ton of work,” Dean says, studying the shot.
“I know, right?” Leo says, sounding ridiculously excited. “I’m thinking power sanders, protective goggles, the whole nine yards. You down with that?”
“Power sanders get me very excited, so yeah. Count me in. Your warehouse space?” Dean asks, and I try to contain my grin as they chat, but it’s hard as hell, since I love that these two bonded over the whole furniture restoration thing, and now they’re good buds.
“This weekend. Saturday. Be there early,” Leo says.
Dean shudders. “I can’t wake early. It’s against my nature. But noon sounds great.”
Leo laughs. “I’ll see you at noon.”
When the hostess pops over to tell us the table is ready, the whole crew heads away from the bar.
I grab Dean’s hand, holding him back for a second. “I told you that you and Leo would get along.”
“You were right,” he says.
“I’m glad,” I tell him. “I’m glad you like it here.”
Dean slides a hand along my back. “Ah, but that is where you’re wrong. I don’t like it here.”
I freeze. “What?”
He leans closer and whispers in my ear, “I love it here.”
That makes me hella happy.
He has his own friends, his own business, and his own life.
But my favorite part of his life is that he shares it with me.
51
Dean
That suit.
My fiancé looks fantastic in his suit a few weeks later.
It is dark gray, hugs his muscular frame, and makes me want to strip him down to nothing.
But I behave. I already had him in nothing, giving him his good luck charm before the game, and getting my own too. Pregame rituals are so important to follow.
Now, I help Fitz button his shirt, then I grab a purple tie for him from the closet. I fasten it around his neck, adjusting the length then knotting it. “Later, if you’re particularly good at that whole ice-defending thing you do, maybe you’ll get another reward.”
His blue eyes spark with dirty wishes. “Maybe? You’d never deny me, babe.”
“True.” I smack his ass. “Get to the arena. Playoffs start soon, and you need to continue hitting homers till then. I’ll see you there tonight.”
Fitz laughs as I walk him to the door. Before he leaves, though, he grabs the waistband of my jeans, bringing me against him. “You coming to my games never gets old.”
“I know,” I say with a smile. “But you need to go, or you’ll be late for kickoff.”
He rolls his eyes. “I fucking love you. That is all.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
A little later, I stop by The Pub, checking to make sure my employees have everything under control for tonight, then I meet up with Leo to head to the arena.
“I have a new book for you. It’s all about a Ponzi scheme on Wall Street. Totally brilliant,” I say, and as we walk across town, I give him my synopsis of the tale of greed and excess I just finished, since we have similar taste in books.
“I’ll check it out,” he says, but he sounds a little distracted.
He’s that way at the game too.
Normally, he’s all rah-rah, go, team, go, but when the good guys score, he doesn’t even cheer.
I sit back down, take a drink of my beer, and arch a brow. “What’s the story? You’re a little out of sorts.”
He drags a hand through his hair. “It’s Lulu.”
I blink, surprised to hear that name said that way. “Lulu? Your best friend’s wife?”