Victor (Chicago Blaze 3)

We look at each other in awkward silence as I try to figure out how to say what I need to say, but fuck, there’s no easy way.

“So…I like you, Lindy. You’re just great in every way, and I like spending time with you.”

Her cheeks turn pink as she says, “Okay,” in a tone that clearly indicates she has no idea where I’m going with this.

Fuck it. I’ve got to rip the Band-Aid off and do this.

“I didn’t ask you to come over here because I’m trying to get you into bed,” I say.

Poor Lindy’s face flushes bright red. “No, I didn’t think—”

“I know. I’m not saying this because of anything you did or didn’t do. I just want to make sure you know I want us to be friends and I’m not trying to get into your pants or anything. I really like you, and I’d like us to spend more time together. As friends.”

“Yeah…yeah, me too.” Lindy clears her throat, somehow flushing an even darker shade now.

I feel like an epic asshole. I embarrassed her. That’s the last thing I wanted to do.

“Hanging out can be code for hooking up, and I just…I want you to know, I like you and respect you too much for that.”

She closes her eyes for a second, then says, “Should I go?”

“No!” I put my hand out, unconsciously trying to stop her. “Please don’t go. There’s Chinese on the way, and I thought we’d watch a movie. Look…” I put my hands on my knees, trying to figure out how to get back to our usual dynamic. “I’m not a bullshitter. I say what I mean. I really like spending time with you. You’re funny and easygoing and genuine. This is not some effort to blow you off, okay?”

She takes a deep breath and smiles, the redness in her cheeks fading a bit. “Okay.”

“Good.” I stand and offer her a hand, but she gets up on her own. “So whenever Lily’s services are, do you want to come with me?”

“Sure, that would be nice.”

“Any movies sound good to watch? What do you like?”

“Slasher movies and comedies?”

I quirk a brow at her, surprised. “Seriously?”

“Yep. The cheesier the slasher movie, the better.”

“Okay. So we’ll…eat some chow mein and watch people get murdered.”

Lindy grins happily. “You ordered chow mein? That’s my favorite!”

“Chow mein, lo mein, egg rolls and a wide selection of craft beers, if you want any. I’m probably just gonna have water, but I keep a supply of beer here for friends.”

“You don’t drink?”

“Not since I stopped playing like shit. I figure not drinking can only help.”

“Speaking of playing,” she gives me a concerned look, “how’s your shoulder? It looked like it hurt when you hit the boards last night.”

Instinctively, I reach up and rub my left shoulder. “Yeah, it’s sore. I iced it after the game. It’ll be okay.”

The doorbell rings and I tell Lindy to pull up the Netflix menu while I pay for our food.

The awkwardness is gone as we pass the takeout containers back and forth and watch a B-rate horror film about stupid teenagers getting picked off one by one.

It’s good, though. Relaxing. It makes me realize I’ve never had much of a friendship with any of the women I’ve been with. It was always extravagant dates and hot sex.

But this thing I have with Lindy? It’s easy, and it feels great. It’s something I don’t want to lose.Chapter FifteenLindy“What can I get you?”

The man on the other side of the counter answers. “Four beers.”

“May I see your ID?”

He glares at me. “Really? I’m thirty-six, honey.”

“I’m required to check ID. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

Swearing under his breath, he gets out his wallet and shows me his driver’s license. He does not weigh 190, but whatever.

I pour the beers and set them in a carboard carrier on the counter. “Forty-four dollars, please.”

“Forty-four bucks?” His eyes bulge. “For four beers? Are you fucking kidding me?”

I shake my head, even though obviously, I’m not kidding.

“This is fuckin’ ridiculous! This place used to be nice, but it’s a rundown shithole now. And you gouge people for everything. What, like the tickets weren’t enough? I paid eighty bucks for those. Now you need…” He pauses as he does the math. “Twelve bucks for a beer?”

“It’s eleven, moron,” the guy behind him says with a growl. “Now pay or piss off. I’m missing the concert to listen to you bitch.”

The moron sizes up the guy behind him, decides against arguing and tosses three crinkled twenties on the counter.

I hate working during concerts. Blaze fans come here all the time, and they know how much concession food and drinks cost. Concertgoers are overall more impatient and belligerent.

“Break time,” my coworker Dwayne says to me, sliding into my place behind the register.

Finally. It’s been a crazy busy night. I walk back to the employee break room and get a paper cup of water, then sit down across from Ari at a table.