Kissing on Third, page 4
part #6 of Belltown Six Pack Series
Finley laughed, then she shoved his arm. “I told you not to make me laugh.”
“Sorry.” He wasn’t sorry. When she smiled or laughed, her dimples appeared. “And Fin, is that a stage name, or your nickname?”
“It’s what Mark calls me, and what he put on the poster.” She shrugged, then winced. She rubbed her neck.
“Who’s Mark?” So many questions. Levi wanted to laugh at himself.
“My boss at the pub, and the guy who did the announcing,” she said. “He’s been a big supporter of women’s boxing.”
She folded her arms, and he could swear she shivered. The warm, humid night was far from cold. “Are you cold?”
“No,” she said. “I shiver after matches. A reaction from my body, I guess.”
Levi shrugged off his jacket.
“I’m fine, really,” she protested.
But when he set the jacket around her shoulders, she slipped her arms into the sleeves.
“Your body’s cooling off after so much heat,” he said.
Finley nodded.
Levi decided that she looked really good in his leather jacket. The dark color made her eyes almost black.
“So . . . where did you grow up?” she asked.
“Florida.”
She scoffed. “Say no more. I can picture your childhood in my mind. Twenty-four seven sun and blue skies. Spending weekends at the beach with your family.”
“Foster family.”
“Whatever.” Finley pulled the jacket close to her body. “Winters were balmy. Driving with the top down on your convertible in the middle of December.”
“I didn’t have a car.”
“Your foster dad’s car, then.” She smirked. “You driving, your girlfriend in the seat next to you as the warm sea breeze flows through her long blond hair.”
“No girlfriend either,” he said. “Changed schools a lot.”
“Then your little brother and his girlfriend. She had long blond hair.”
Levi laughed. “You have a good imagination.”
“Keeps us Minnesotans sane in the dregs of winter.” She spread her arms. “But you can’t complain tonight. The weather is pretty much perfect. Seventy-five degrees, moderate humidity.”
“I’m not complaining tonight,” he said. He also couldn’t stop looking at her.
She smiled over at him.
He smiled back.
“So . . . Mr. Florida,” she said, slowing to a stop and turning to face him. “You play baseball. Have a little brother. Know how to treat swelling on facial wounds. Always pay in cash. Anything else I should know?”
He gazed down at her. “What do you want to know?”
Her lips curved. “Why are you here?”
“Like right here? On this sidewalk?”
“Yeah.”
“Just walking a pretty woman home.”
“I told you not to make me laugh,” she said, her cheeks dimpling. “I don’t need a mirror to tell me what I look like tonight.”
Was she asking for more compliments by turning down the first one? Because he could dish them out. “I don’t mind a little sweat.”
She did laugh then. “Well, thanks for making me feel like I wasn’t a complete failure tonight.”
“From what I heard, you exceeded everyone’s expectations.”
She wrinkled her nose, then touched her fingers to her swollen lip. “I thought I was ready for her. I guess I was cocky a little too soon.”
“Where do you train?” Levi asked.
She looked past him, at the building behind them. “Right there.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Is that a gym?” The place looked like an apartment building, but maybe there was a gym inside.
“No, my apartment,” she said. “I have some weights and an ancient treadmill.”
Levi frowned. “You don’t go to a gym?”
She shrugged. “I sort of like to do things my own way, you know, and not with a bunch of people watching me. Or Muscle Mikes trying to get my number.”
“Muscle Mikes?”
She seemed to hesitate. “Those guys with necks thicker than their arms, who use the gym as a place to pick up women.”
“That bad, huh?”
She didn’t answer his question. “Well, thanks for walking me. I’ll let you return to your regularly scheduled night before . . . all of this.”
So she was calling it a night, just like that. Not that he could blame her. She needed ice and aspirin and recovery time.
“See you later, Mr. Florida,” she said, moving past him.
He watched her walk up the steps to the building. “Bye, Finley.” He didn’t even know her last name. And it occurred to him after she’d disappeared into the building that she was still wearing his jacket. He hadn’t gotten her number or anything, but at least he knew where to find her.
His cell phone buzzed with a text, and Levi pulled his phone out of his pocket. The Six Pack group text was in full swing. Levi must have been in a dead area, because his phone had been silent when he was with Finley. Now he saw that he’d missed over a dozen texts. Congratulations to Rabbit on the win, tongue-in-cheek consolations to Levi, followed by a shout-out to Axel, a.k.a. Axe Man, for another homerun tonight in Seattle for the Sharks. The guy was on fire.
Sawyer Bennet, a.k.a. Skeeter, had pitched a no-hitter. And Cole Hunter—Big Dawg—had caught three flyballs in centerfield. All in all, it had been a good night. Even Grizz’s team had won at home in Pittsburgh.
Then Levi grimaced. Unbeknownst to him, Rabbit had taken a picture of when Levi went to talk to the ladies at the pub. The picture showed Levi’s back and two of the ladies grinning up at him. The sight made him a little sick. The admiration in their gazes was nothing more than seeing him as a professional baseball player with a lucrative paycheck. None of those women knew anything about him besides his name.
In fact, he’d told Finley more about himself than he’d told even his Minnesota Ice teammates.
Rabbit texted: The Ice Man breaking hearts one at a time in the Mini Apple. Followed by a bunch of crying-face emojis.
Those women don’t look cold at all, Skeeter wrote. I thought you said Minnesota was cold.
Levi scoffed, and wrote. It’s July. I dare you to come visit me in February.
Can’t, Skeeter replied. I’ll be in preseason.
Then January.
Done. It’s a date, Skeeter wrote. Anyone else in?
The phone chimed with the replies.
Levi smiled as he continued walking to the parking lot at the pub. These guys usually followed through on their threats.
Speaking of July, you all still in for Belltown Days? Rabbit wrote.
When is that? Grizz texted.
Next Friday.
Levi wrote, I’ll be there.
Nice, Rabbit replied. Who else?
Scheduling my private jet right now, Big Dawg said. Want me to pick anyone up on the way?
Me, Grizz wrote.
I’m out. Sorry, guys, Skeeter said.
But that’s your freaking hometown, Rabbit wrote.
We’re playing in Arizona that night.
Are you in the pitching rotation? Rabbit asked.
Doesn’t matter, Skeeter said. I can’t ditch.
Levi was confident they’d all work it out. The Minnesota Ice had a bye next Friday, and Levi was planning on flying in Friday afternoon, then out Saturday morning back to Minneapolis for his game. Their college coach, Rich Maxwell, would be there, of course, the guy who’d recruited him out of high school to play for the Belltown University Lumberjacks.
Levi turned off his phone and slipped it into his pocket. He had other things on his mind. Namely, how his brother’s weekend would turn out. And he wondered if Finley worked at the pub tomorrow. He wasn’t flying out until Sunday with his team, so he had some time on his hands.
CHAPTER SIX
Finley stared at the patch of sunlight moving across her ceiling. She hadn’t slept much the night before, and now that morning was here, there was no hope of falling back asleep. Her mind wouldn’t shut off last night. It was usually like that after a fight, but she wasn’t thinking of how she could have brought down Star, but how she’d come to spend part of the evening with Levi Cox. Finley had forgotten to return his jacket, which meant she had to figure out how to get it back to him.
Maybe she could look him up on Instagram or something, but she was kind of afraid to look him up. It was easier to believe last night had been one of those weird cosmic events, one that would never repeat itself. Learning more about Levi Cox, and seeing his plethora of pictures, would only make her mind obsess over him more.
Yeah. Because she was definitely obsessing.
Finley turned over in her bed and pushed herself into a sitting position. Pain lanced through her shoulder and torso. Not surprising. She needed more aspirin. As of this moment, her lip didn’t hurt, but that might change when she tried to talk.
She shoved aside her blanket and walked to the bathroom, bypassing the row of chairs she had lined up in the hallway. They were dining room chairs she was refinishing, then hoped to sell at the monthly swap meet.
In the bathroom, she flipped on the light. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her face was . . . Oh boy. She moved closer. She had bruising on her cheek, but not on either of her eyes. Her nose was fine too. But her bottom lip had turned purple. At least the swelling was mostly gone.
She’d borrowed some black tea bags from her neighbor last night, and they’d worked pretty well.
Finley turned her head. Very well. The swelling was barely noticeable; just the discoloring remained.
“Well, Mr. Florida, you were right,” she said to her reflection. “Who would have thought?”
She stared into the mirror. Her brown eyes were dull from lack of sleep, and her T-shirt hopelessly wrinkled.
“Okay, I give up,” she murmured. “I’m going to google him.”
After making herself instant coffee, she climbed into her bed and pulled up the covers, then turned on her phone.
Three texts appeared on the screen. One from Jess: I woke up super sick this morning, can you cover my shift?
The next from Mark: Need you to come in today to cover for Jess. Sorry. I know you’re probably still sore.
Jess again: I think I have food poisoning. Then she added the vomit emoji.
Nice. Finley was supposed to have the entire day off. Now she’d have to cancel lunch plans with her dad since she’d be working a double shift. She texted both Mark and Jess back. I can be there by eleven. The pub wouldn’t start to get busy until right before the lunch hour, and Finley figured she’d earned a couple of hours of downtime this morning. It was 8:30 a.m. She’d do her yoga routine in a bit, but that’s all she allowed herself the day after a fight. Waitressing Jess’s shift would be enough physical activity.
Finley settled back onto her pillows and opened the browser on her phone. She typed in: Levi Cox Minnesota Ice.
His bio popped up, and she scanned the details. Levi was from Florida. His younger brother’s name was Rhett. Levi had played college baseball at Belltown University in Western Massachusetts. He was six foot four. Birthday July 28. So, almost twenty-seven. Amazing, the things she could find out with a single Google search. He played third base, and yep, he held the current MLB record for stealing bases. She clicked on Images. And there he was. All six feet, four inches of him, wearing a blue baseball uniform with black lettering.
The first picture was of him speaking to a reporter lady. Levi was clean-shaven, unlike how he’d been last night, and his eyes were . . . Finley zoomed in. Then she found another picture to zoom into. Dark green, she decided. Next she clicked on some YouTube videos and watched him batting, catching balls, and stealing bases, some of the labeled plays of the day by various sports networks.
With each video clip, her heart rate only went up a notch.
Finley closed the browser and shut her eyes. So . . . Levi Cox had watched her boxing match last night. Had waited for her in the parking lot. Had walked her home. Had given her his jacket.
She didn’t know what to think. About him. About what he’d done and why.
Last night he’d been . . . sweet, and kind of flirty, and well, acting interested. In her.
Finley climbed out of her bed, purposely leaving her phone on the nightstand; otherwise she’d be wasting the next two hours staring at pictures of Levi Cox. She was so not a fan girl of anyone. And Levi Cox had thousands of fans. Finley had had front-row seats to how women acted around him. Forty-year-old women. Twenty-year-old women would probably throw their panties in his direction.
Finley sighed and walked into her kitchen. She blended up a protein drink, adding two bananas, then settled on one of the four overstuffed chairs in the living room. She also had two couches and a loveseat in the space. She’d buy the furniture at garage sales, then reupholster them and sell them at a profit at the swap meet. Usually the refurbished furniture brought in a decent profit, which was how she could afford an apartment on her own and not have to rely on a roommate. A far-fetched dream was to refinish furniture full-time, but she didn’t even have close to the money saved that she would need for something like that.
Finley drank the protein shake slowly, trying not to gag as she did. Unless she added straight-up sugar, the stuff was always a tad bitter.
Finley was determined to do whatever it took to let her body recover and to stay healthy. Since she’d lost to Star, Finley’s next match was in two weeks against Shirley Temple. No, not the 1950s child actress, but a woman with the craziest curly hair. Finley had beaten her twice and had lost twice. So their match would be a draw. Although with Finley going down in the fourth round against Star, Finley was now a few points ahead of Shirley Temple in the season.
After yoga and a shower, Finley called her dad.
“Don’t tell me you’re canceling,” he said, skipping any Hello, how are you doing?
“Sorry, Dad,” she said. “One of the waitresses has food poisoning, and the other one is on vacation. So I’m working a double shift. Come into the pub, and I’ll serve you up the special.”
“How can I stay mad when you make me an offer like that?”
Finley laughed. “The offer stands any time I’m on shift. Are you coming?”
Her dad sighed. “Here’s the thing. After our now-canceled lunch, I sort of made bowling plans.”
“That’s great,” Finley said. Her dad had been part of a city league for a few years, but then had quit after a back injury at work. “Is it with the league?”
“No,” he said. “A couple of the guys—you’d remember them. Chad and Brent.”
“The brothers?”
“Yep.”
“Well, bring them to the pub after,” she said. “Those bowling alley nachos only go so far.”
Her dad chuckled. “You’re a good kid. Sorry about your loss last night.”
“I’m over it,” Finley said, and she mostly was. “I fight Shirley Temple in two weeks. Wanna come?”
“Is it at midnight again?”
“Yeah, you know that’s the only time Mark can get it booked and not detract from the pub’s business.”
“I’ll see how the Friday before goes,” her dad said. “I’m no spring chicken anymore. Those midnight matches about do me in.”
“You could crash at my place after so you don’t have to drive home.”
“Your couch hates me.”
Finley laughed. Her dad had stayed over at her apartment once, and she’d heard nothing but complaints for the next three weeks. “All right, we’ll talk soon. Hopefully Chad and Brent will be hungry, and I’ll see you later today.”
After hanging up with her dad, Finley finished getting ready for work. Her waitress outfit was the standard black pants and white blouse. She spritzed her hair, then finger-combed it and fixed it into a loose ponytail. Then she put in small American-flag earrings. The Fourth of July was on Monday, but it was never too early to celebrate the country’s independence.
She fastened a few bracelets on her wrists, a series of leather bands, woven ones, and silver chains. Next, she grabbed her shoulder bag, then picked up Levi Cox’s jacket. It was too hot to wear it right now, so she folded it over her arm, figuring he might come to the pub at some point to pick it up.
Not to see her. No. For his jacket.
But a girl could hope, right?
By the time she reached the pub, Finley was plenty warm, both from the humid summer air and because thoughts of Levi Cox had invaded her mind again.
“Thanks for coming in,” Mark said as soon as she stepped into the restaurant. He was manning the hostess stand.
“No problem,” Finley said. Yeah, her body wanted the rest, but her bank account needed the money.
Mark scanned her face. “You look better than I thought you would. Won’t be scaring the customers away after all.”
Finley smirked. “A couple of beers, and no one will notice a thing.”
“That a girl,” Mark said with a wink. “Keep serving ’em up.”
Finley passed by him and headed to the kitchen and the employee lockers. She set her bag and the leather jacket in her locker. Then she tied on a half apron. She slipped her order pad and cell phone in each of the pockets.
During the first hour of working, she turned to look at every patron who stepped into the pub, her pulse jumping each time it was a man. But Levi Cox didn’t show up. Not the first hour or the hours following.
When Jess’s shift was well past over, and Finley was technically into her regular shift, she stopped watching the door. She was tired, and she’d even cracked open a can of caffeinated soda, though she usually swore off the stuff. She had to keep moving, keep being cheerful to the customers, keep pulling in the tips. The Saturday crowd was always different than any other night. Customers were more relaxed, stayed longer, ordered extra drinks, tipped better.
“You holding up okay?” Mark had asked her a couple of times.
“If you don’t keep reminding me how tired I should be,” she finally said, “I’d forget how tired I am.”
“Okay.” Mark raised both hands. “No more questions of care and concern.”
