The Slot (Rochester Riot #1)(36)

Eloise chuckled. “I was going to say, a kick in the ass. Guys are like mules with blinders on. Slow, stubborn and can only see one path ahead. Usually, the one their mom paved along her road of good intentions.”

Sophia laughed. “I thought you said you’d given up trying to understand men.”

“I didn’t say I understood. I’m just reporting my observations.”

“Thanks, El. For being there for me and Hannah. Always.”

“Hey, you’d do the same for me. I’m sorry I can’t come to Ohio. Work is just too busy right now.”

“I understand. Love ya.”

“Love ya too. Bye.”

Eloise disconnected and took a big breath in, then let it out again. One problem solved. Next. She hit return on Kylie’s call.

“Where’d you go last night?” Kylie’s voice came across the connection in a rush.

Not even a hello from her trusty PA. She had a knack for getting straight to the point, Eloise gave her that. “Well, good morning to you too,” she teased.

“Good morning,” Kylie backtracked. “I assume it’s good? You left with Cole.” A pause, then her voice came back in a whisper. “He’s not listening right now, is he?”

“No. He’s not here.”

“Oh.”

“You sound disappointed,” Eloise commented.

“I’m disappointed for you,” Kylie said.

“Don’t be. Everything’s fine.”

A sigh. “When someone says ‘everything’s fine’ it usually isn’t. C’mon, you know you can’t hide anything from me. Fess up.”

“Later. How was your evening?” Eloise asked, changing the course of the conversation.

“Great! I actually sang on stage. I can’t believe I did that.”

Eloise laughed. “I’m glad I missed out on your Alanis Morissette impersonation.”

“I didn’t do her. I did Adele.”

“Oy. Even better that I left or else we might be Turning Tables on a new job for you.”

“Hey. Like you said, don’t knock it til you try it, she-who-sits-at-the-top-of-the-mountain.”

“Touché. I noticed you didn’t bring any of your ‘several’ boyfriends to the party,” Eloise said. “Meet anyone interesting?”

“Oh. Well. I guess I was exaggerating when I said several.”

“Uh-huh. Thought so.”

“And anyway, I think I’m into bald guys now.”

“Really.” Eloise smiled. “How odd.”

“Anyway, I had something to tell you before you left so rudely.”

“Right. Well, I’m all ears now.” And tears. Rhymes with ears.

“Okay, you know the guy that owns the place, you said his name’s Troy or something?”

Yup. I know him. A rose by any other name – still stinks and has thorns that will poke you in the ass.

“What about him?” Eloise asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Well, I overheard him and the bartender guy, and a few others talking about a petition against Murphy’s bar – or no, wait, a coalition, that’s it, of business owners, to try and have it shut down. Sounded like they are planning something sneaky for opening night. I thought you should know.”

Eloise frowned. Terrific. Solve one problem and two others sprouted up to replace them. If problems were plants, that’d be a happy circumstance. “Thanks for the heads up, Kyles. You’ve just earned your paycheck for the week.”

Kylie scoffed. “Paycheck? How about a bonus or a raise? Even a caramel macchiato?”

“Don’t push your luck, Mata Hari. See you at the office.”

“See ya. And when I do, you owe me all the deets from last night!”

Eloise ended the call and tossed the phone across the room. Her life was turning to shit right before her puffy, reddened eyes.

***

Shredder looked at his cards in disgust. “Fold,” he said, throwing them face down on the green felt surface. Cole kept his poker face immutable as always and glanced at Jones, the next player to Shredder’s right.

“Call,” Jones said. “Let’s see your hand, Fiorino.”

Cole laid down the cards. “Royal flush,” he said in a whiny, know-it-all voice. The two players to his left both groaned and threw their cards down, a collection of low pairs and straight flushes. Rubbing his hands together, Cole laughed like a pirate then scooped the chips from the center into his own pile.

“You lucky f*ck,” Jones said, a jealous grin on his face. “I’m out next game. I’m done being your pigeon,” he joked.

“Suit yourself,” Cole said, throwing Shred a knowing glance.

The game broke up, the players returning to their seats on the team bus as it rolled north on Highway 52 toward St. Paul. With Rochester only an hour and a half to the south, the team didn’t fly in for games at the Xcel Center. Shredder folded up the portable poker top they carried with them on road trips and put it away. “You are one lucky son of a bitch, Cole, gotta tell ya.”

“Ah, that’s just it,” Cole said. “Luck. I don’t have a monopoly on it. You can’t predict it, catch it, or keep it. It either comes your way, or it doesn’t.”