Page 3 of Soft Rebound (Mad City Moments #2)

“It’s okay,” he says. “It was almost three years ago. Two since the papers were signed. I moved out, quit my job, and moved here.”

I watch him in silence for a long moment, before I whisper, more to myself than to him, “Kind of like me.”

“Kind of like you what?”

“Never mind.” I pull back.

He grabs my hand again. “No, I want to know.”

I shake my head. “Nope. Not yet. You haven’t finished telling me how you’d started finding me delightful before we even met.”

A warm chuckle rattles Joe’s chest. “Well, I noticed you when you walked by me. I noticed you were tall. I noticed you didn’t want to be noticed, with that hood on”—he reaches to push it off my head—“sitting here in the corner, scowling. I saw you move the chairs, to make sure no one sat down to bother you.”

I smile. “I guess that explains why you brought your chair with you.”

“Sure does.” He returns the smile. As our eyes meet, a bit of warmth pools in my chest. “I kept glancing at you,” he says, “and I could see a little bit of your hair, and how smooth and creamy your skin looked.”

I’m sure I’m blushing now. This is ... quite unexpected.

“And I loved how I could see the different emotions cross your face when you were focused on the game—”

I slap myself on the forehead. “Shit! The game! We’ve been yakking it up and the second quarter already started!”

He straightens and checks the score. “Doesn’t look like we’ve missed much.”

“That was beautiful, by the way,” I say. “What you said about me earlier. Beautiful in a little too earnest, maybe trying-a-little-too-hard way.”

Joe frowns. “Well, what I described is exactly what I noticed. I’m sorry it sounded silly—I told you I was rusty.” He looks away and takes several gulps of his beer. Is he embarrassed? “I never planned to hit on you. I was sitting there, waiting for Lance.”

“That your brother-in-law?” I say as I take a sip.

“Yeah. Waiting for Lance, stealing a glance—”

I almost spit out my beer. He grins victoriously.

“But I wasn’t going to approach you,” he says.

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “I haven’t really dated since I got divorced. It’s been a decade since I approached someone in a bar. Plus you definitely didn’t look like you wanted any attention.”

Despite myself, I feel a little flattered. “But then you came over.”

“I think you don’t understand just how awful sitting at a bar feels for someone like me. My knees would never forgive me.”

“So how tall are you?” Another sip of the beer. He’s right, this is very good.

“Six ten.”

I whistle. “Noice. Sadly, very tall people don’t live very long.”

He snorts. “Thanks for that morbid nugget.”

“You’re welcome. Your impending demise is why you shouldn’t mope around after your ex-wife and should instead live to the fullest.”

For this bit of self-help wisdom, he gifts me one of his smiles. Those teeth will be the death of me.

“I am living to the fullest,” he says. “I’m at a bar with a beautiful, somewhat evil woman, drinking excellent pale ale and watching football. I’m living the dream.”

I take a look at the screen. Still zero–zero. “We’re doing a horrible job of watching football.”

“That we are, but I don’t care. Vikings are going to suck this season.”

“Don’t you dare say that!” I grab the front of my sweatshirt and pull it away from my chest a bit, enough that I can tilt my head down and address the upside-down Norseman embossed on the garment.

“He didn’t mean that, baby,” I coo. “The big brawny man didn’t mean that.

You will be great this year, I know it.”

Joe looks at me fondly, and I melt a little. This is all so fun and easy; I can’t believe this is really me, being flirty and casual with a striking man, all under an assumed name.

“So how come you ’re here all alone?” he asks.

“That could be construed as a creepy question.”

“I will swear on anything that I am not a creep or a killer or anything dangerous. I’m a lawyer. I’ll give you my business card. I can show you my ID.”

“Yes. “

“Yes, what?”

“Yes to showing me your ID.”

He pulls out his driver’s license and hands it to me.

“Now you’re the one being too trusting,” I say. “What if I use this info to steal your identity?”

His eyes widen. “Please don’t.”

“I’m on the fence.”

“Maybe you should show me your driver’s license, too.”

“In your dreams, Joseph William Larson.”

“Okay, but if my identity gets stolen next week, I’ll know who’s behind it.” I grin, and he continues. “So tell me about yourself. Why are you here alone?”

“I’m here because I miss my family.” He raises his eyebrow, but lets me continue without saying anything.

“The first game of the preseason was always family time. My parents, two brothers, and me. Chicken wings, ranch dressing, celery sticks. Sometimes hotdogs. Soda when we were kids, beer once we grew up. Sometimes our neighbors joined us. Other important people, too, like good friends, boyfriends, girlfriends.” I swallow hard.

Jake had been coming to those for seven years.

Seven fucking years . “But it’s always been the family. Football is family for me.”

“So why aren’t you with them tonight?” Joe asks softly.

“They’re still back in Minnesota,” I say.

“And you’re here.”

“And I’m here.”

“Why are you here?”

“Same reason you are here.”

“To start fresh?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I didn’t get divorced, if that’s what you’re implying.”

He pauses, eyes fixed on mine, warm and serious. “Are you in trouble?” There is a hint of concern in his voice.

“No, not like that. Except maybe with my job.” I look up at him through my eyelashes, then down at the near-empty glass between my hands.

“What did you do?”

“I gave my notice and took my unused vacation days.”

“I think that’s fine.”

“Maybe not if I need a reference.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He takes a sip of beer. “What do you do for work?”

“I’m an accountant. Or at least I was.”

“Why wouldn’t you be again?”

I sigh. “I never wanted to be an accountant.”

“Then why did you become one?”

“I was good at math.”

He huffs with mirth. “Well, that’s great. But you could’ve done lots of different things with math.”

“My family wanted me to contribute to the business.”

“Oh.” He leans back. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Honestly, I kind of do.”

This is where the server stops by again. Neither of us noticed him approach.

“Do you guys need anything else?” the server asks.

“We’ll have another pitcher of Moon Man,” Joe says, pointing to the empty one. “That okay with you, Melanie?”

I nod and the server leaves.

When Joe’s eyes meet mine again, I swallow hard. It’s time to fess up. “Actually, my name is Liz.”

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