Sure Shot (Brooklyn #4)(81)

The rhyming gets—if possible—even more dubious. Anton rhymes “moron” with “score on” and “hockey with cocky.”

He’s a big goofball. I’m loving it. But then the last line knocks me for a loop.

“They’re a bunch of twits who traded Tankiewicz…” Clap clap clap clap. “Deep in this parrrrrt of Texas!” He lets out a whoop. “Welcome to Brooklyn, man! Except for the excellent cheese dip, you’re better off with us.”

Everyone cheers. I feel my face getting red, because somewhere over the last couple of difficult years I forgot how to take a compliment. “Thank you, Anton,” I manage to say, even though my throat is tight. “Who knew you were so multitalented? My only other gig is modeling underwear. Some night when we’ve had more tequila I’ll demonstrate.”

“YES!” Heidi Jo shrieks while every hockey player yells “Noooo” at the same time.

“That was awesome,” Becca says, grinning from ear to ear. She puts a hand on my arm. “It’s official, Tank. You’re one of us now. How come you don’t have a margarita?”

“I was just about to take care of that,” I assure her. “But first I was wondering if you saw Bess tonight?”

“Oh yes! She flew down to Dallas on the jet with us. We had a two hour meeting about my secret project. Then, after the game, she helped me set up this room.” Becca glances around. “Check the lobby? She said something about having to return a call.”

“Good tip. Thanks.”

First I stop by the bar and ask for two margaritas, which are served in heavy glasses. Then I carry both drinks toward the lobby, scanning the generous space for my favorite girl. I’ve almost given up when I step around a large potted plant and spot her on a sofa, hunched over, scribbling away in a notebook. I walk over to her, but she doesn’t look up. Whatever she’s doing, it’s deeply engrossing.

“Bess? Honey? Is something wrong?”

Her chin snaps up, and her eyes widen. “Tank! Hi!” She closes the notebook so fast it makes a slapping sound. Then she leaps to her feet and promptly winces. “Surprise!”

I laugh. “Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”

“No! I’m just having a small wardrobe malfunction.” She clears her throat. “Never mind that. Congratulations! I’m so excited about your win. You have no idea.”

“This is for you.” I hand her a margarita. When I get one of my hands back, I use it to pull her a little closer and kiss the top of her head. “Thank you, baby. I didn’t know you were coming to Texas. But I sure am happy to see you.”

“It was a sneak attack,” she says with a small sigh. “But then I had an epiphany and a big idea, and I have some things to discuss with you.”

“Everything okay?” I ask, suddenly worried.

“Everything is great.” She beams at me. “Cheers!” She touches her margarita glass to mine. “To big wins and important victories.”

We drink. “Now tell me your epiphany.”

“What about the party?” She points toward the bar. “Did you see the napkins?”

“The napkins are first rate. But you’re more fun than any party, honey. Any day of the week.”

Bess blinks. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all day.”

“I haven’t seen you all day.” I put an arm around her shoulder. “Do you have a suitcase?”

“It’s checked with the bellman.”

“All right.” I steer her toward the desk. “Honestly, you shouldn’t miss this queso. We just won a game because of this dip. So let’s see what I can do…” I stop in front of the concierge’s desk. “Excuse me, could you send up the lady’s suitcase to my room? And I’d love to order some room service as well.”

“Certainly.” The young man grabs a pad and a pen. “Do you know what you want?”

“The queso dip and an order of those fish tacos. And anything the lady wants. It’s going to room four-twelve.”

“Right away sir.”

God bless the Ritz.

Bess hands over her claim ticket and finalizes our room service order. I tip the concierge and then steer Bess toward the elevators. “You hitched a ride with Nate and Becca? That’s fun.”

“It was,” she agrees. “And hot damn, that game was incredible. You don’t know how happy it made me to see you come out on top.”

“Yeah?” I put my hand on her ass as the elevator doors open. “I’ll give you another demonstration of coming out on top. How long do you think room service will take?”

I don’t let her answer the question. I lean over—mindful of the drinks we’re holding—and kiss her. Finally. This is already one of the best nights of my life, and it’s about to get better. She smiles against my mouth and wraps me in a one-armed hug.

She’s strangely quiet, though. I plan to get to the bottom of that in a moment.

Ding. The elevator announces its arrival on the fourth floor. “Come with me,” I say, taking her hand. “I got big plans for you.” I lead her to my room and usher her inside.

She walks over to one of the chairs, kicks off her shoes, and sits cross-legged. Then she sips her drink and watches me remove my suit jacket.