The New Guy: An Excerpt
On the screen, Brooklyn has the puck. But not a lot is happening. Nothing good, anyway. Boston is all over them. This is an away game, and the Boston fans are loud.
Not to contradict the bartender, but I’m not sure Brooklyn feels like winning tonight.
Just as I’m having this thought, a guy sits down on the stool beside me. Like, right beside me, even though there’s a whole row of stools available.
It’s been a million years since I was a single guy sitting alone in a bar. But somehow the old reflexes kick in, and I turn my head to check him out. And hello. He is a fine specimen. Broad shoulders. Sandy brown hair and deep brown eyes. And a handsome face with the kind of strong, scruffy jaw that might leave beard burns on my thighs.
Whoa. That fantasy escalated quickly. That’s what happens when your dry spell is two years long.
Just as I remember to keep my tongue in my mouth, the hunk slowly cruises me, too. My pulse quickens, and our gazes lock.
“Hi,” I say, because I’m brilliant like that.
He blinks. I swear his eyes dilate, too.
But that’s when the bartender arrives in front of us, and the guy shuts it down so fast that I might already have whiplash.
“Hey, Pete,” he says, his attention fully on the bartender.
“Evening,” Pete returns with a chuckle. “Here to watch the game?”
“Of course. Can I have a lager and my usual?”
“Any time, kid.” Then he turns to me. “Any interest in a menu?”
“Heck yes,” I say. “Let’s have it.”
The older man slides it onto the bar, and I skim the offerings.
My new friend stays quiet until the bartender moves away. “Sorry to crowd you, but you have one of the best seats in the room.”
I almost make a joke about how nice my seat is. Almost. But I rein it in.
Want to read on? [Hint: they leave the bar together.] Make sure you preorder your copy: