plate, and licks barbecue sauce off her fingers. “Hi?” she says.
A question more than a greeting.
“Hockey fan?” I ask, sitting down and signaling to the bartender to come my way.
“Yes,” Summer replies curtly.
We’re interrupted by the guy behind the bar. “What can I get you?”
“A bacon cheeseburger with fries and a beer, please.” I look at Summer’s half-empty glass of red wine and ask, “You want another one?”
She studies me for a long moment and then nods almost imperceptibly.
I turn to the barman with a bright smile. “And another of the same for the lady.”
“Will you be charging this to a room?” the barman asks.
“Yeah, room 452, please.”
Summer keeps looking at me. “You know we’re in the wine capital of the country, right? Shouldn’t you try something local?”
“I’m sure the beer is going to be craft and from a fancy brewery nearby with a price tag to match.”
Summer gives me a little smirk. “You’re probably right.” She raises her wine glass. “They’re selling this for fifteen dollars a glass. Ridiculous.”
“Is it good, at least?”
“No.” She takes a sip, the hint of a smile curling her lips as she lowers the glass. “Good doesn’t cut it. This is easily the best red I’ve ever had.”
The bartender returns with her wine and my beer. The pint glass isn’t branded, but the ale inside looks richer and denser than any run-of-the-mill commercial brew. I take a sip to confirm my suspicions.
Yep!
Summer tilts her head toward me. “How about your fancy beer?”
I swirl the liquid in my mouth, pretending to be an expert taster. Mmm. If I had to describe it with one word, I’d say buttery.
Still, I wrinkle my nose, as any respectable beer snob would do, declaring, “Acceptable.”
Summer gives me another playful smile. “Hard to please much?”
Four simple words that send an electric spark coursing through my body. Every hair on my arms is standing to attention.
I’m getting mixed signals here. Hot and cold. One moment she’s the ice queen, and the next she’s sort of talking dirty to me?
As if realizing she’s been flirting, Summer lowers her gaze and takes another bite of her burger. But not before I note the faint blush creeping up her cheeks.
Interesting.
Poses the question of which approach I should take. Should I be blunt, or subtle? Could I be both?
For now, I sense it’d be better to steer the conversation toward safer waters.
Something happens on screen and Summer groans. I stare at the TV; the camera is doing a close up of a Kings player stuck in the penalty box.
“Did he deserve it?” I ask.
“Oh, yes. Manual boarding, but sucks anyway.”
Finally, the bartender drops my food on the counter alongside a receipt. I sign the bill and take a bite out of a fry, asking, “Are you a fan of sports in general, or just hockey?”
“Only ice hockey. My ex-boyfriend got me into it and, well, he’s long gone, but after following the Kings for fifteen years the love for the game stuck. You?”
I chew down the first mouthful of my delicious burger, swallow, and say, “I’m out of the country too often with no reception to follow any sport. But I enjoy all the classics: hockey, football, basketball…”
“What about baseball? Isn’t that the classic?”
“Nah, baseball is only good for when I have jet lag.”
Summer polishes off the last of her fries and cleans her fingers on a paper napkin. “How so?”
“Whenever I put on a game, I fall asleep within the first ten minutes. Pretty handy when you travel as much as I do.”
She chuckles. “Guess you’re right; baseball can be less than thrilling. Anyway, the only other game I watch is the Super Bowl, but I do it more for the commercials than the sport. I don’t travel that much, so I don’t need a jet lag fixer, but tell Winter, I bet she could use the tip.”
“Hey, I never asked. What do you do for a living?”
“I work in a skincare company, in the lab. I’m a chemical engineer; I’m responsible for the formulation and development of the company’s foundation line.”
And just like that, an image of her in a doctor’s white coat and nothing else but sky-high stiletto heels pops into my mind. I take a sip of beer and swallow. “A lab rat, uh? I wouldn’t have imagined.”
Pinning me with a stare, she asks, “And what would you have guessed?”
I can’t voice any of the dirty, dirty thoughts swirling around in my head, but say, “I would’ve pinned you down as