A big fucking problem.
Mutual parting of ways, my ass.
“She’s not talking about Tetris, you hussy,” Rory said with a smirk.
“She’s talking about that quick eye fuck you aimed at Priest and then all but toasted to his attributes,” Marty pointed out.
I itched to turn around and glance at him again because my hormones had stellar fucking timing. “Noticing someone walking through the door is eye fucking them now?”
“The way you just did it? Yeah,” Zara squeaked, her eyes wide. “I mean, that was evidence for a restraining order right there.”
“Whatever.”
“What’s up with you two?” Rory asked.
“Nothing.”
“This is the second time we’ve been sitting in this spot with your vag vibrating in his proximity,” Eve said, slamming her glass on the table. “That’s not nothing.”
Carmen’s gaze darted back and forth between our core crew. “Shit, I need to make time for these meetups because I’m missing way too much of the good stuff.”
“Yup, same here. The minute my college classes are done, I’m never missing a Banked Track night again. I don’t care if I’m so sick I have the shits. I’ll wear diapers,” Dixie said, raising her glass before finally taking her first sip.
The conversation about Priest died on that particular picture so I took the opportunity to steer the direction back to the point of our emergency meeting.
“Okay, guys…let’s focus. Money. We need to squeeze money out of the people in this town.”
Marty nodded toward the bar. “Patti’s in for 10K.”
I choked on my drink and wiped my mouth as it dribbled down my chin, my gaze shooting to the woman in question as I stood up. The minute I opened my mouth, she slammed the cash register shut and aimed a determined finger in my direction.
“Shut it, child. You’ll take my money, and I won’t hear another word. You know what, you’ll take it again next year too. Just consider it a standing donation for the next, say, five years. We’ll reevaluate after that.”
Priest’s eyebrows furrowed, turning to slashes over cool, dark eyes with what seemed like permanent irritation—well, other than when he had skates on his feet—but his lips quirked with amusement at Patti’s words.
He should see a doctor about the two moods of his face.
“She told you,” Marty said.
“Focus. What kind of cash do we have to come up with?” Sean asked.
“Fifty grand and that’s just for a year. After that we have a revolving funding issue,” I sighed. My phone vibrated on the table and started to slide toward the edge. I flipped it over, noticed the same bullshit number, and turned the ringer off.
“Guess we should cancel that girls’ trip to the exhibition. We can pool the money we were going to use into this,” Marty said.
Rory shrugged, her gaze locked on the pattern she’d begun swirling over the table with her fingernail. “I can manage without the vacation, but that’s not going to come close to putting a dent in what we need.”
“Too bad we didn’t do banked track; we could register and go for the prize. That would keep the youth center going for a few years,” Marty said.
The conversation died as we all took keen interest in our drinks all of a sudden. A few sips later, a swelling silence took hold with a life of its own, followed by furtive glances, no one really wanting to be the first one to admit to actually considering the idea.
“How hard could it really be?” Zara asked.
“Pretty damn hard when we don’t even have a banked track to practice on. Even under the best of circumstances—which these aren’t—we’re dead in the water,” Eve pointed out. She always had to come in like gangbusters and pop a squat on hope.
Okay, maybe that was my irritation talking. Maybe Eve was just the realistic one and I was the dreamer.
“How much are they to buy?” Zara asked.
“You’re kidding, right?” Eve said with a snort. “Probably pretty damn expensive, and then you need room to set one up.”
“Sid’s Aviation would totally let us set it up there if we had one,” Sean chimed in.
“If…and according to my search,” Marty said, holding up her phone. “They cost almost as much as one year running Crossroads so we can just get that idea right out of our heads.”
“It was a pipe dream anyway. We need real ways to capture dollars in a town where bake sales, auctions, and spaghetti suppers rule. That kind of shit is great, but not for the kind of money we’re looking for. We aren’t trying to fill a piggy bank, for fuck’s sake,” Rory said.
Zara nodded toward the bar. “Patti used to do banked track…maybe she knows where there might be one.”
“Nothing is near here and I would have thought if there was one, we would have heard about it by now. Even if there was one in Boston, you’re talking a four-hour drive,” I said.
“And we have no experience, guys. Seriously, a few weeks on a banked track, even if we could find one to practice on, it’s not going to be enough to have a shot. And who would coach us?” Sean asked.
“Maybe Patti would,” Zara said.
“Except she’s got a business to run. Listen, I love Patti and all, but she’s already spending too much time here. She’s been stretched thin with the holidays coming and the extra crowds, covering shifts when bartenders don’t show. I’ve tried to be available to help, but sometimes by the time I get here, she’s wrung out,” Rory said, casting a worried glance at Patti behind the bar.
I spied Patti over my shoulder, taking in everything. She leaned over the counter, attitude in her cocked hip and crooked grin. But if I looked closely, really looked, I spotted the way her smile slipped a little too soon, the way she rubbed at her temples, and the slump of her shoulders as she pulled on tap handles, filling beer orders.
Patti could offer knowledge, but when it came to hours wrangling a derby team,
