“See, I knew you’d be great at this,” Vonnie chimes in after sliding a twenty-dollar bill into the giant white bucket for cash donations. “You were so focused on the little boy, you didn’t even notice the dad drop cash in here while you were talking.”
She’s right, I didn’t see that. But she’s also right because I also knew I’d be pretty good at this. Again, I own a bar. Interacting with strangers is literally my livelihood. Being able to give back is just the icing on the cake. I’m not lying about hating the cold though. I really hate the freaking cold.
“I mean, I only agreed because I knew you guys needed me.” I gesture to Jacqueline in her (faux) fur-lined earmuffs and navy peacoat, her cable-knit socks sticking out of her boots—a look that only a real-life supermodel could wear and not look ridiculous. “Without me, your approachability level is a negative fifty-two. I even the score.”
Just as I say that, two guys with no shirts and a blood alcohol level that has to be nearing deadly levels run straight to Jac. “Can we take a picture with you?” the future pneumonia victim with an orange-painted face asks.
“Please,” his equally idiotic friend with the blue face—hopefully from paint and not because he’s turning into an icicle—says. “We’re your biggest fans.”
Ew.
Gross.
I can only imagine the things they have done to Jac’s pictures. Suddenly, I feel a little bad for how beautiful she is.
“Did you bring any cans?” She changes in front of my eyes from the shy, quiet woman I’ve grown to love into her sexy, runway-ready alter ego.
“No, but . . .” The blue face guy’s head moves back and forth between Jac and his friend with a look of sheer panic peeking out behind his drunk eyes.
“There’s a bucket for cash donations.” She points to the bucket and Vonnie models it like she’s on The Price Is Right. “If you make a donation, I’ll take a picture with you.”
She barely manages to finish the sentence before the guys almost bowl me over to throw their money in.
“See,” I say to Vonnie once I’ve regained my balance. “What would you do without me?”
“I’d have to find a side hustle to pay for my martini habit, that’s for damn sure.” She winks and then plasters on a smile when more fans start to approach with bags and boxes of canned goods.
“Thank you,” I say between clenched teeth, grabbing a box that I did not expect to be this heavy. “Holy crap.” I grunt and hope that nobody’s filming me because I’m pretty sure I just pulled a muscle or two.
“Brynnnnn!” I hear called in the distance and use that as an excuse to give up on this box.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Vonnie narrows her eyes at Eloise’s incoming form, but she does it without letting her smile falter. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t the tiniest bit terrifying. In that moment, I see her serial killer quality. “I thought she went away.”
“I told you I was with her a few weeks ago. Just give her a chance, I think you’ll actually really like her.” I rush the words out before Eloise makes it to us.
“I’ll try.”
“I don’t think I believe you.” I want to say more, but before I can, Eloise is standing in front of me, looking her normal polished and gorgeous self. “Hey! How’ve you been?”
“I’m good.” She smiles, but I can see a hint of concern lingering on her face. Not surprising since the last time we saw each other I was drowning my sorrows in margaritas. “How are you? Are you an official Lady Mustang now?”
“No,” I say, but I don’t think she can hear it over Jac and Vonnie shouting, “Yes!” in perfect synchronization and scaring the group of drunk twentysomethings in the middle of a rousing rendition of a song that I’m not hip enough to know the name of.
The concern is pushed off her face as her smile grows. “I knew it! I couldn’t tell you the night we were together because . . . well, you know. But you guys look so good together and every time you hear his name, your eyes go all soft.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head. “They do not.”
“They so do!” Eloise’s voice rises about three decibels.
“Soft,” Jacqueline repeats, like she’s testing the word. “That’s exactly it.”
“What are you guys talking about?” I look between the two gorgeous blondes in front of me. “I look at him the same way I look at you.”
“She’s right,” Vonnie says like it physically pains her. “Your eyes turn to liquid every time you see him.”
Eloise nods her head rapidly, her long blond hair bouncy beneath her Mustangs beanie, and holds up an expectant hand toward Vonnie. I can’t tell if she’s just powering through Vonnie’s cold shoulder or if she really just doesn’t notice that Vonnie isn’t running for president of her fan club anytime soon.
Vonnie doesn’t hesitate at all as she slaps her wool glove against Eloise’s. “Who’d you come to the game with?” she asks Eloise.
Wait . . . what?
“My dad and Paul.” Eloise rolls her eyes and points to the surly old men checking their watches. “I don’t think they even like football, I’m pretty sure they just like telling people they have tickets.”
“My boys stayed home because of this . . .” Vonnie points to the pile of cans and the money bucket. “So I have plenty of extra room in the box if you want to join us.”
Okay? Has hell frozen over along with the Denver metro area?
“Really?” Eloise voices the question I’m thinking.
“Yeah, really.” Vonnie shrugs. “Plus, it’s been like pulling teeth getting this one”—she points her thumb at me—“to tell us about Max’s fine-ass, handcuff-wielding brother. Promise you won’t be stingy on the details?”
Something that I can’t read crosses Eloise’s face and her smile fades. But by the time I blink, it’s gone and she’s walking away to tell her dad to enjoy the game without her.
“What just happened?” Jac asks before me, and I know that I didn’t just imagine everything.
“I like her.” Vonnie shrugs her shoulders and turns to greet more fans. “Thank you so much,” she says as she adds more cans to the pile/sad attempt of a pyramid we have going.
“Since when?” I ask.
“Would you mind taking a picture with us?” a woman who has to be a solid ten years younger than me with a bun and UGGs asks me.