“Probably a coffee shop. Who the fuck knows man. But he sure as shit doesn’t know sports.”
Wren calls over, “He does so! He’s a huge fan,” as she drops the pints in front of two guys, interrupting their conversation to ask, “On your tab?” One nods, the other absently waves and they get back to it.
Since everyone’s been taken care of, drinks are filled and nobody’s leaving, she turns it to me, gnawing on her bottom lip with a thank you shining behind copper eyes. “Can I get you a beer or something? On me?”
“Nah, I just came here for the view.”
Her eyebrows lift the tiniest bit. “Had your fill?”
“Not quite.”
Shaking her head and hiding her smile, she glances to the right as her bar-back brings a fresh bucket of ice. She relieves him of it. “I got it, Ray, thanks. I’m almost out of Sweetwater IPAs.”
He runs off to replenish the cooler, and she turns the bucket upside down, ice crashing.
I jut my chin, watching it, “That’s what a fountain in winter looks like.”
Her head is tipped, eyes flicking up to meet mine. “What happens to the fish?”
The fountain my brother made Wyntech buy for his office pops into my mind. I bite my lip before coming up with, “Unfortunately they become Koicicles.”
Wren leans closer, a slow grin spreading, “Koi-cicles? Did you really just say that?”
Taylor laughs, “Yeah, and their poops are like ice-chocolates.”
She and I both eyeball him and say at the same time, “No, just no.”
“What? Too far?”
“Taylor, that dart board is pretty cool, huh?” I suggest with meaning.
He gets the message and mutters, “I’ll go check it out.”
With a funny look Wren flat out asks me, “Why are you here? Don’t you have a game this weekend? Shouldn’t you be resting, practicing, lifting weights, something?”
“I’m meeting my cousin Ben. And I’ll take a cranberry juice.”
Scooping ice into a glass she pours the juice from the gun, eyes darting behind me. I glance back, her expression telling me there’s something to see. A head taller than everyone around him is my cousin Ben, six-six, sandy brown hair and emerald green eyes, wearing a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up and jeans more faded than mine. They got that way from sun exposure, just like his tanned skin. We don’t share the same dad, but you can tell we’re related. Only he’s wearing a wedding ring and I most definitely am not.
“Hey Eric, glad you called,” he nods with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
We hug, pulling away after a dueling back-slap, me agreeing, “Yeah, haven’t seen you in for-fucking-ever, Ben.”
He glances around, appraising the crowd, “People still go out on weekends, huh? Haven’t been here since I met Shelby.”
“Still the same?”
“Hasn’t changed. What’re you drinking?” I tell him and he glances to Wren. “I need something stiffer. Can I get a Makers Mark?”
“This is my cousin. He runs an organic farm. Lives an hour north of here.”
Those laughing eyes wow me as she asks, “Another Cocker then? God, help the women in the room.” Turning to get the bourbon from a high shelf, she goes up on her toes and I exchange a look with Ben.
Glancing from me to her ass then back to me, he realizes one of the reasons I called him here tonight even though I can’t drink before a game. His eyes clear and he instantly adopts professional wing-man status. “Yeah, but I’m no Eric. I don’t know if you’re a fan, but this man scored—”
She cuts him off. “I’m a fan of the Falcons. I know his stats.”
Ben persists, “I see. But are you aware of what a great guy he is?”
She pours a generous amount of the amber liquid over three ice cubes. “He’s told me as much.”
Ben laughs outright and I just shake my head. She winks at me and heads off to help other customers. As soon as she’s out of range my older and probably wiser cousin lowers his voice. “One night or longer?”
“Not sure yet. But definitely a whole weekend at least. See that tat?”
We both lean forward to check it out. He mutters, “Can’t see it from here.”
“Dammit, other shoulder. I haven’t been able to figure it out yet but I plan on having a good gander.”
“Gander?”
“Figured you’d like that. I’m speaking ‘farm.’ You know, what’s good for the goose.”
“You’re an idiot,” he laughs. “So why do you need me here?”
I give him a severe look. “For one thing, I love you, you fuck. Why does there have to be a reason? For another, I need to know why you eloped.”
His smile freezes.
Ben sets his whiskey on the bar before he stuffs his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. Classic Cocker move when the men of the family aren’t happy with an uncomfortable subject, or just aren’t happy, period. “What’s the fuss about? Who needs a big marriage? Waste of money for one day.”
“Big marriage or big wedding? Was that a slip of the tongue?”
His eyes darken. “Look, Eric, don’t play dumb. You know what went down.”
I lift up his glass and hand it to him, my juice still in my other grip. “You need to relax. Are we not friends? I know I was the tagalong to your older-cousin-clique but I’ve been there my whole life. You can talk to me, Ben. Don’t act like we’re strangers.”
His shoulders stubbornly keep their tension. “Sorry, it’s just a sore subject.”
“You love her?”
“Yeah.”
“Then what’s the big deal?”
His nostrils flare on a deep inhale, eyes far away. “I don’t need a big wedding like Gabriel had. Didn’t need everyone there, all the hoopla bullshit. Shelby wanted to elope, too. The family makes her uncomfortable. History and all. So we took off, just us, as it should be. Uncle Jett and Luna did it.”
“They’re the only ones.”
“So?”
“You forget they don’t live in Atlanta.”
“Neither do I.”
“You’re an hour away. Unlike them you’ve been at every vacation, every major event, and most importantly, at every BBQ. So
