Page 17 of Guys Can’t Write Romance
Chapter twelve
Home Runs, Beer Snorts, and Uber Therapy
Game days at The Salty Siren got loud and rowdy.
Between the overlapping roar of commentary from a dozen flat-screen TVs hung from the ceiling, the buzz of chatter from lively patrons, and the faint clinking of pint glasses, Daisy felt like she’d been dropped into a chaotic cesspool of beer, testosterone, jerseys, and chicken wings.
“I hate you for letting me agree to this,” Daisy said to Chloe as they stood in the entrance and scanned the crowd for Chad and his friends.
“No, you don’t,” Chloe grinned as she smacked her gum, looking completely at ease in her tank top and jeans.
Unlike Daisy, she was in her element, already sizing up the room like a predator selecting its next meal.
“You love me. Because this, Chad’s ‘Sports 101 for Complete Newbies’, is exactly what your snoozer of a sports-themed novel needs. ”
Three men at a nearby table erupted in shouts at one of the screens. Someone at another table spilled his beer, causing the others at the table to scoot their stools back, and a harried-looking waitress to rush over with a wad of towels.
“I’m changing it to a quiet country romance,” Daisy said.
“Too late. Now breathe, roomie,” Chloe said, scanning the crowd. “I see them.”
Daisy groaned as they squeezed through the crowd to a back table where Chad and Rhino sat with two other guys right out of a fraternity movie.
“Fields. Chloe. You guys made it,” Chad said, rising from his bar stool and scooting out the one next to him. He turned to his friends. “Guys. This is Daisy and Chloe. Daisy’s helping me with my book.”
“She’s the neurotic chick who organizes her sock drawer?” said one of the boys, wiping his fingers on a napkin before extending his hand.
Daisy shot Chad a glare that could have melted steel. The mental list of ways she could murder him and dispose of the body had just grown exponentially.
“Er, we’re not calling her that anymore,” Rhino quickly cut in. “Trust me. I’ve seen her in action.”
“You must be Rhino,” Chloe said, giving him the once-over, her eyes lingering appreciatively on his arms. “I expected a Viking helmet.”
Rhino grinned, flexing slightly. “You must be the crazy roommate.”
“Good. Chad prepped you already. Chloe Reeves. Professional troublemaker.” Something about the look in Chloe’s eyes made Daisy worry about Rhino’s future safety, though he seemed utterly delighted by the potential danger.
“What kind of trouble?” he asked, leaning slightly closer.
Chloe’s smile was pure mischief. “It escalates with beers.”
His grin broadened. “Awesome. You’re sitting next to me,” he said, scooting out the stool next to him for her to have a seat.
Chloe plopped right down, while Daisy stared tentatively at her stool with the cracked vinyl cover. She could see the stuffing poking out from one side, and what looked suspiciously like a stain pattern of something that had died on it years ago.
“Is it safe to sit on?” Daisy asked, picking at the edge with one finger as if it might bite her.
“I haven’t caught anything yet,” Chad said with a shrug. “But if you feel something move beneath you, you might want to move.”
She shot him a horrified look, already calculating the distance to the exit.
He broke into a grin. “I’m kidding, Fields. Sit. These other two derelicts are Brett and Troy. We went to school together.”
Troy, the one with chicken wing sauce on his fingers, gave a two-fingered salute.
Brett, who had been munching on a basket of fried calamari, nodded with an easy smile.
Both had the same comfortable, lived-in look as Chad, like guys who had spent more time in surf shorts than business suits and considered a backwards baseball cap appropriate attire for most occasions.
“My condolences,” Daisy said as she gingerly sat down on the stool. “You deserve survivor medals.”
The guys smiled and nodded in agreement.
“Agreed,” said Troy.
“Chad said you’ve never watched sports before,” Brett said.
“Partially true,” Daisy said, arranging her napkin precisely on her lap.
“Watching Boring Banker play checkers doesn’t count,” said Chad.
She snorted and shot him a look. “Okay. True.”
“I heard there were people like you out there,” Troy said, regarding her with the fascination of a scientist discovering a new species, “but always thought it was an urban legend. You know, like Bigfoot.”
“Nope. We’re real,” said Daisy, adjusting on her stool. “We walk among you, completely unaware of why grown men paint their faces and weep openly when someone throws a ball through a hoop.”
“Well, buckle up, Fields,” Chad said, pouring her a beer and handing it to her. “Your ‘Beginner’s Guide to Sports for Clueless Newbies’ officially begins. Bonus points for loud burps.”
Daisy rolled her eyes. “I’ll pass on the burps,” she said, taking her beer. She looked at it for a moment, then raised it. “To new experiences?”
Chad grinned and raised his. “To ‘A League of Her Own’ finally getting a pulse.”
She looked at him thoughtfully for a brief moment, surprised (and even impressed) that he remembered the title of her novel and didn’t snicker when saying it. Perhaps there was more to him than the frat-boy persona he cultivated so carefully. “To not killing Chad when he burps in my ear.”
He grinned and clinked his glass against hers. “Cheers.”
The beer was cold and not entirely terrible, though Daisy would still have preferred a decent wine. She took another small sip, trying to look like she belonged in this testosterone-fueled madhouse.
“So what game are we watching?” Daisy said, her eyes scanning the array of flat-screen TVs hung throughout the bar.
“Dodgers,” Chad said, pointing to the TV facing their table. “They’re down by one.”
“Does that mean they need a field goal to win?”
A collective gasp arose from not just their table but several neighboring ones. Conversations within earshot came to a screeching halt.
Chad grinned, completely unfazed. “We’ve got our work cut out for us.”
“Wrong sport,” Rhino explained kindly, as if talking to a small child. “Field goals are football. This is baseball.”
“Ah,” Daisy nodded, taking another sip of beer to hide her embarrassment. “So they need a three-pointer?”
Troy nearly choked on his beer, and Brett patted his back as he coughed.
“Basketball,” Chad said, his eyes dancing with amusement rather than condescension. “Baseball has runs. The Dodgers need to score at least one run to tie, two to win.”
“Unless the Padres score again in the next inning,” Brett added.
“Which they won’t because their bullpen is garbage,” Troy said.
“Their setup man has a nasty slider,” Rhino countered, leaning forward.
“Yeah, but his ERA against lefties is trash,” Chad argued.
Daisy felt like they’d suddenly switched to speaking Swahili. She glanced at Chloe for help, but her roommate was already deep in conversation with Rhino about some bet involving quarters and drinks.
Daisy settled back and watched the game play out on TV.
She sipped her beer, trying her best to follow along, but couldn’t make sense of half the rules Chad, Troy, and Brett were arguing about.
The players seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time standing around, occasionally spitting, then brief bursts of activity that caused the bar to erupt in either cheers or profanity.
Seeing the confusion on her face, Chad leaned over and explained things in between bouts of teasing.
“See that guy? He’s the pitcher. His job is to throw the ball so the batter can’t hit it.
That guy behind the batter? He’s the catcher.
He tells the pitcher what kind of pitch to throw using secret finger signals.
And those guys out in the field? They each have a territory they defend. ”
“Got it,” Daisy nodded, secretly impressed at how easily his enthusiasm broke it all down. Of course, she would never admit this in a million years. But there was something oddly endearing about the way he lit up explaining the game, his passion infectious despite her initial resistance.
By the time Daisy finished her first beer, she looked a lot less horrified. And maybe even relaxed. She was also kind of... sort of... starting to understand some rules of the game. For starters, she had quit calling base hits a first down.
“Wait, so if he touches all four bases, that’s a run?” she asked, pointing at the TV where a player was rounding second base.
“Exactly!” Chad exclaimed, raising his hand for a high-five that Daisy reluctantly returned.
“Crap. She’s learning,” one of the boys at a nearby table said to his buddies. At the same time, groans arose from several other tables within earshot.
Chad looked around and saw guys begrudgingly slapping down twenty-dollar bills in the middle of their tables. He turned to Brett and Troy, who had also been watching the nearby tables, and they all laughed.
Daisy followed their gaze to the nearby tables, then turned back to Chad, her brow furrowed in confusion. “What? What’re you guys laughing at?”
“I think they just lost bets over what sport you would confuse it with next.”
“Oh,” she said, her cheeks turning red. She turned to the other tables. “Sorry. Sorry.”
The boy at the first table just waved her off as he handed the waitress a wad of cash. “No worries. We had ‘hockey’ in the pool. Better luck next time.”
Daisy turned back to her table and buried her face in her new beer. She took a deep gulp.
Meanwhile, across the table from Daisy, Rhino was losing badly to Chloe in a game of quarters. Several people had gathered to watch, placing side bets on each round.
“Aren’t you frat guys supposed to be pros at this?” Chloe said as Rhino downed yet another beer with Chloe’s quarter at the bottom. “‘Cause you’re getting owned by a girl.”
Rhino wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking equal parts impressed and defeated. “I think I’m being hustled.”
Chloe grinned. “You are.”
“You definitely are,” Daisy agreed.