Hard to Lose (The Play Hard Series Book 4) Page 5

  “Private detective business that busy at the moment?”

  “Yes, and none of it juicy or scandalous, sadly,” he says.

  “I can wait. I’m just looking for a guy who sent my dad a letter . . .” and I proceed to tell him the story about the letter, Ryan Camden, and why I’m in Destiny Falls.

  “Destiny Falls, huh?”

  “You know this place?” I ask.

  “I’ve been there a time or two. Mostly passing through. Cool town though.”

  “I don’t know, I’ve yet to really leave the hotel room.”

  “Chase,” he warns like an older brother. “You need to stop and smell the roses occasionally. You’re all business, all the time, and someone your age should have a little fun. Let loose.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I say and roll my eyes even though he can’t see it.

  “I can hear you tuning me out.” He chuckles. “But you’re having no luck finding him so far?”

  I open my mouth and then close it, because I really haven’t looked yet. “I only got here yesterday. Brex told me that I needed to be low-key about it. That—”

  “That they protect their own. She’s right. Besides, it shouldn’t be too hard to find him. I can call a few buddies of mine who deal in military personnel if need be, but I should be able to knock this out by next week.”

  “Really?” I ask, more than grateful for his help.

  “Really. Or maybe I’ll take my sweet time finding this Ryan guy so it forces you to figure out how to take some R&R and mosey around town for a while.”

  “Mosey?” I snort and then start laughing.

  “Yes, I said mosey,” he sighs, to cover what sounds like his own laugh. “Send over what you have on this Camden guy, and I’ll get back in touch with you when I have something.”

  “Thanks, Kelly. You’re the best.”

  I end the call and toss my cell down on top of the notepad directly in front of me. It’s a list. The list I made this morning when I woke up to keep me on task. It’s lengthy and detailed and so incredibly essential to my everyday life, so I made one. It’s a list of things I plan—no, need—to accomplish while I’m down here for however long I end up being here.

  I was thinking two weeks, but I’m beginning to think that it might be a bit longer.

  So I made a list. At the top of it and underlined twice is: “Find Ryan Camden.” Then research public relations companies. Do a deep dive into our competition to see what their social media presence looks like compared to ours. Then look into hiring a company to possibly analyze our social media to tell us where we are lacking or can improve. Research veteran sports and events of the past. And then I added all the stuff for my day-to-day job—review contracts, follow-up on endorsement deals, recruitment calls.

  It’s a long list but lists make me happy. They make me feel organized seeing everything I have to do laid out and then accomplished when I get to draw a line through each task I complete. The next step is to map out an achievable daily planner to keep on track and meet my goals.

  I even added “Sex with Gunner” to it, because even if it’s a ridiculous thing to add to a list, if my probable interlude isn’t on it, then that means it would be haphazard and unexpected. It would be on a romantic (bleh) whim. By it being there, it—Gunner—sex with him—will stay as it needs to be, compartmentalized so it doesn’t distract me from the task at hand.

  Because let’s face it, I let last night get away from me. I was tired and easily flattered by a more-than-attractive man. A man I’m excited to meet up with later . . . but I cannot allow that momentary blip on my radar to distract me from what I came here to do.

  As it is, I complicated things enough with my I’m a grad student writing her thesis bullshit.

  The positive? I’ve made some headway on my list. It’s superficial at best, but at least I’ve gotten a start on it. Calls have been made, a plan set in action, and now that I’m organized, I feel like I can move forward.

  That, and I know what and where Grandy’s is.

  I get lost in my work after Kelly’s call. Contracts and researching what exactly social media analytics entails and tips on unhappy athletes I might be able to snag from another agent. It’s only when the alarm on my phone goes off the second time that I pay attention to the time.

  From there, I’m a scrambled mess of what to wear and how to do my hair. Of shaving legs and putting on makeup. Of driving to where I’ve been directed to Grandy’s is, only to find that every available inch of parking space in Destiny Falls seems to be taken for one reason or another.

  So I park where I can, and then walk the rest of the way to the old school ice cream shop a block from the town’s main boulevard. I’m surprised how many people are milling about on a Thursday evening. I assume there’s a high school sports game of some sort and, since sports are my life, am obviously interested in what sport.

  Ryan Camden could be anywhere in this town. Hell, he could be the guy who just walked past me or he could have moved on and now lives elsewhere.

  I turn around to give one more look at the crowd who just passed me, as if I even know what Ryan looks like beyond the grainy photos I found on the Internet.

  Focus, Chase.

  The irony in that thought is not lost on me. I’m here to find Ryan Camden but I’m telling myself to focus on my date with the bartender from last night.

  And so I forget the notion that Ryan was in that crowd somewhere, and I head to Grandy’s.

  I don’t get nervous before dates. I never have. I know that’s arrogant of me but doesn’t that simply say more about me than the guy I’m meeting? That dating is simply a source of fun and definitely not something I look at as using to find my match or mate or whatever ridiculous colloquial term people use. Soulmate is the one my sisters prefer, and that term just makes me nauseous.

  Soulmate. Meh. No thanks.

  But turning the corner to where Grandy’s is located, I swear my breath hitches when I see Gunner standing there. He’s got a pair of faded jeans on, brown boots, and a dark-blue T-shirt hangs loosely against his broad chest. His smile is wide and his free hand is gesticulating wildly as he takes the hand of an elderly woman and helps her down the curb. She’s about half his height and definitely more than triple his age, but he jokes with her as he opens her car door for her.

  The sight makes me smile. He’s not at a bar paying attention to customers. He’s not trying to pick me up. He’s being kind when he doesn’t know he has an audience. That’s a good measure of a man, and one that makes me glad I said yes to meeting with him.

  Gunner waves goodbye to the woman who can barely see over the steering wheel and then notices me standing there. He looks startled, but his smile widens to epic proportions when he sees me.

  “You showed,” he says and pulls me in for a warm and unexpected hug. He smells nice, his chest is firm, and his arms make me feel safe.

  Safe?

  That’s the oddest thought, and I push away as soon as I realize it, but now it’s at the forefront in my mind.

  “You say that like you’re surprised I did,” I murmur when he steps back, and I angle my head up to meet his eyes.

  “I am.” He says it just like that. No games. No dancing around the truth. New York City men could take a cue from the man in front of me.

  “Really? You could have asked for my phone number last night, and then you would have known for sure that I was.”

  “I didn’t figure you for the type who’d hand it out.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Mm-hmm.” He fights a smile.

  “What did you figure me for, then?”

  His gaze devours me deliciously, as it runs down the length of my body before coming back up to meet my amused eyes.

  “You’re definitely independent—”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “It takes guts for a woman to walk into a bar on her own that she most likely knows is going to be full of horny servicemen.”

&
nbsp; “I trusted they’d be able to control themselves,” I say, noticing that the brown in his eyes have the coolest flecks of gold in them.

  “I was ready to jump in and protect you should they not have—but then again, you would have been insulted, as that would have implied that I didn’t think you could take care of yourself.”

  “I wouldn’t have been insulted.” He stares at me as if he’s questioning that comment, and I laugh. “Maybe. Perhaps.”

  “Definitely.”

  “I’ll give you that,” I say. We stand with goofy grins on our faces outside Grandy’s, where people are coming and going constantly in and out of the ice cream parlor.

  “Thank you for coming,” he murmurs, breaking the silence.

  “Thank you for asking me.”

  “Shall we get going?” he asks and holds his hand out to me.

  I stare at his hand for the slightest of seconds, not used to this simple gesture, and loving it all the more because of it.

  Men back home don’t do this.

  Correction, the men that I’ve dated back home don’t do that. Almost as if the old-school gesture isn’t hip enough.

  “Sure.” I link my fingers with his as we start walking toward the main drag. “Is there a high school game tonight or is this town always this busy?”

  “You’ll see for yourself in just a second,” he says cryptically.

  It takes everything I have not to pepper him with a million questions about where we’re headed and what we’re doing. The upside to that is my silence forces me to observe, to notice: the excitement of the kids running past us; how almost everyone who passes us on the sidewalk says hi; the warmth of Gunner’s hand against mine; the blue of the horizon.

  And when we turn the corner to where it seems everyone is heading, my feet stop.

  The main drag has been closed to all traffic, because one of the longest tables I’ve ever seen spans for at least a few blocks down the middle of it. There are chairs set up on either side, what looks like a two-foot divider that runs the length of the table, and matching boxes are at each seat. Hanging in a zigzag line from one side of the street to the other and back are strings of lights providing a soft yellow glow. There are vendors on the sidewalks—food and wares and what appears to be kegs of all things.

  “What in the world . . .” I ask but then look to where Gunner is pointing. The sign above our head reads “Lager and LEGO.”

  “You ready to play?”

  “Play?” I laugh the word out, equally confused and intrigued. “What are you talking about?”

  He looks at me with a twinkle in his eyes. “I warned you Destiny Falls was a town of festivals so be ready to experience your first one.” He steps in front of me and holds his hands out to his sides. “This is Lager and LEGO, where the gist of the game is this: we all start out with the same pieces. Along with that box of LEGO bricks, we each get a cup of lager—aka beer. After drawing random numbers, we sit down in those assigned seats, and face off in a timed round against the person sitting opposite us.”

  “So it’s a competition?” This is absolutely crazy.

  “It is.”

  “You just build anything?”

  “No.” He shakes his head and waves at someone who calls his name. “Each round has a topic to guide you, but you can use that topic and be as creative as you want.”

  “And at the end of your time when the bell or dinger or whatever rings, do you have to have both your beer drunk and your structure built?”

  “Structure only, but the cups are tiny for those who want to finish it with each round.”

  Gunner stands in the pale-yellow light, as the night darkens around us, with the softest of smiles on his handsome face and makes me want . . . so many things, but none of which I can put my finger on.

  “Who thinks up this shit?” I laugh.

  “Us bartenders at FU-Bar might have had a hand in helping devise this one.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “I am,” he says with a definitive nod.

  “But if it’s bricks and beer—”

  “Haha. I see what you did there.” He points his finger at me and grins.

  “—why are there so many kids here, since they won’t be chugging beer?”

  “Because they are the judges.” He lifts his brows as I startle.

  “The judges?” I look around at all the kids standing on the curbs. Some have treats in hand, others clipboards, but all have excited smiles on their faces.

  “Yep. After each lightning round, the builders—us—step back from our tables, and they step forward to judge the best structure out of the two at that particular table. Whoever they pick moves on to the next round.”

  “And to the next beer?” I tease.

  “Exactly.”

  “Oh my God.” I stare at the length of the table again. “There must be a million rounds. The people at the end must be—”

  “I told you they’re tiny cups of beer.”

  “This is insane.” I look around and take it all in. “And so awesome.”

  “So you’ll play?” he asks, holding his hand out to me, which I promptly take.

  “Was there any doubt?” I ask as he pulls me closer to him.

  “Should we make a wager who will get the farthest?”

  “That’s probably not a smart thing to say to me,” I warn and push playfully against his chest. “I’m uber competitive and it is our first date, after all. You probably don’t want my ugly to come out.”

  “Ugly?” He laughs. “I doubt it, but rest assured, I’m man enough. I can handle a defeat, Chase. I won’t pout or throw a tantrum.”

  “All men pout and throw tantrums when they lose.”

  “Then maybe you’re hanging around the wrong men.”

  Our eyes hold as his smile dares me.

  “Fine. Sure. We can make a bet,” I say, “but rest assured I’ll win.”

  “Nothing like being sure of yourself.”

  “Exactly,” I say as he tugs on my hand to head toward what I now see is a registration booth. “So what are we wagering?”

  He stops walking and gives me a shy smile that makes every part of me stop and stand still.

  “A second date,” he says, confusing me.

  “But . . . that doesn’t make sense. How does that benefit—”

  “If you win, I get a second date with you . . . and if I win, you get a second date with me. See? Easy.”

  “You’re smooth, Gunner.”

  “I know.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Gunner

  “You literally tried to bribe that judge. How old was he? Twelve?” I laugh as Chase takes a few steps in front of me and spins around.

  “Yes. But he really wanted that ice cream, and I was more than willing to deliver on a triple scoop cone if he happened to decide my design was better.”

  I shake my head and laugh, knowing she still delivered, even though the boy didn’t vote for her very odd-looking Tyrannosaurus Rex she built—if you could even call it that.

  “I told you,” she says and shrugs. “I have absolutely no shame when it comes to winning.”

  “I’ll have to remember that next time,” I say, taking my last sip of beer and throwing it into the trash can beside me.

  “Next time?” Chase asks, her smile making the sapphire in her eyes come alive more—if that’s even possible.

  “If you stick around long enough, I’m sure there’ll be something else we can compete at sooner than later.”

  A little tipsy and a lot adorable, she throws her head back and laughs.

  There’s something about her that owns my attention. Was she uber competitive at LEGO building? Yes, but she laughed and joked and charmed everyone she sat next to.

  I know, because I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Hell, I probably lost my round against her because I was so busy looking up and laughing at how serious she was and the expressions on her face.

  “Gunner?”

  “Hm
m?” I ask as her eyes find mine, and a sheepish smile plays on her lips.

  “I think I made a tactical error.”

  “A tactical error?” I ask, taking a step toward her. “How many days have you been in Destiny Falls, because it seems you’re already picking up the lingo?”

  “Funny.” She sways.

  “You okay?”

  “Tactical error,” she repeats. “I worked all day and was so busy that I kind of forgot to eat anything.”

  I chuckle. “And now you have a good buzz going on an empty stomach.”

  She takes my hand without hesitation, when previously she’s been more tentative. Her guard is lowered, and I love that I get to see both sides of her in such a short span of time.

  This woman. Jesus. She does funny things to my insides.

  I could have taken the easy route—hit on her and taken her back to my place—but there was something about her that made me pause. Maybe I wanted this instead. Time. Getting to know her. Winning her over.

  While I’m not one who hops from bed to bed, I’m not immune to some unadulterated, no-strings-attached fun here and there.

  But dating someone? That’s typically not my thing. The oversharing. The letting each other in. The vulnerability.

  I’ve been hurt enough in my life, the last thing I want to do is to step into that shit willingly.

  And yet oddly with Chase . . . with Chase, I want to share. Want to make her smile. Want to talk.

  “I do. I am. Buzzed. I’m buzzed.”

  “And you’re worried I’m trying to get you drunk to take advantage of you, huh?” I tease.

  “There’s no need to get me drunk to take advantage of me, Gunner. It’s not taking advantage when we both want it.”

  I open my mouth and then close it, stunned by her forwardness, and so damn enamored with her confidence. And before I can recover from surprise over her words, she laughs, then takes a few steps into the street before us. With the lights in her hair and a smile on her lips, she spins in the middle of the empty street.

  Fucking hell, how is it possible that such a simple act can make me lose my breath?

  She’s gorgeous with her short shorts, red Converse, and her hair pulled up into a messy ponytail. Gorgeous in that carefree, she doesn’t give a shit about what anyone else thinks about her as she twirls like a loon in the street.