“Hmm, now that’s a new one,” Jack said as he grabbed a glass out of the sink and began polishing it before filling it and sending it sliding down the bar to a man who looked like one of the many annoyingly arrogant bankers and stockbrokers who populated the Loop.
He had one of those highly groomed five o’clock shadows that made me roll my eyes because he probably also used the word “manscaping” to describe what he did to his nether regions with some special tool he’d bought at The Sharper Image. I immediately dismissed him and his slick, little sidekick as more of the idiot douche-bros I’d met as I’d moved from sports team to sports team.
“She’s on the warpath, Jack,” I sighed. “I’m not sure what to do with this, but I know damn well I’m not going to be out looking for a goddamn husband while we’re headed into the season.”
“Sweetness, you are a piece of work,” Jack laughed as he shoved the menu toward me and said, “You need to eat something, kiddo. Order and I’ll have ‘em whip it up, pronto.”
“Wow, must be nice to get such quick, personalized service around here,” the douche-bro said as he moved up the bar toward me.
“Whoa, back off, Romeo,” I said shooting him the most withering look in my repertoire. “Not interested.”
“Who said I was after you?” he shot back. “I was looking for a damn menu, princess.”
“Hey, hey, hey, play nice, kids,” Jack said, tossing douche-bro a menu and waving him back to his end of the bar. Instead, the guy plopped down on the stool next to me and proceeded to do color commentary on the choices offered on Jack’s menu.
“So, you got fried cheese, fried mushrooms, fried pickles, and French fried potatoes,” he said, running a finger down the greasy, plastic cover. “I don’t see deep-fried burgers on here, though. Disappointing.”
“I know, right? I can’t get the cook to agree to experiment,” Jack said, brightening a bit at the suggestion of putting burgers in the deep fryer.
“Maybe if you offer him a bonus for every 10 sold, you’d make some headway,” the dark-haired man suggested. I turned to get a good look at him and was surprised when he looked up from the menu and said, “You want something, too, princess? Maybe a quinoa salad with balsamic vinegar and EVOO?”
“Fuck you, frat boy,” I said turning away in disgust. I’d had enough of the stereotypes for one day and this guy, though handsome, was just another symbol of my oppression.
“Oh, such a dirty mouth on such a pretty lady,” he replied in mock horror. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
I opened my mouth to tell him just where he could shove his sexist bullshit, but Jack ran interference before I could let the words fly.
“So, you want a burger, then?” Jack suggested as he picked up the order pad and focused intently on the guy’s order. “Joe makes the best burgers in the city and our fries are those big steak fries, not the skinny, little fast-food ones.”
“Sounds good,” the man replied. “Sold. I’ll take mine medium-rare.”
“I thought Neanderthals ate their meat raw,” I muttered under my breath.
“Only when we’re out hunting women with clubs,” he deadpanned as he shoved the menu back across the bar and flashed me an irritated smile. “What’s your problem, princess? Are you a lesbian?”
“Oh my God, you are a total asshat, aren’t you?” I said as I stood up and moved my bar stool slightly further away from him.
“Nah, just honest,” he grinned as he lifted his beer and took a deep gulp of it. He surfaced a few seconds later and let out a loud belch that made me wince before saying, “I find that honesty works better in the end. You seem to support that premise, princess.”
“Stop calling me princess, you idiot,” I said, looking away from his intense stare. I was pissed at him, but that didn’t mean I didn’t recognize how incredibly handsome he was. His dark, curly hair was combed back in an attempt to tame what obviously couldn’t be, and his dark eyes burned with an intensity that I’d only seen in the most dedicated players I’d worked with. He had broad shoulders and large hands that looked soft, but not pampered. I puzzled on this for a moment since most of the finance guys I knew had weekly manicures scheduled to keep their hands looking good. There was something very familiar about him, but I couldn’t quite place it; he looked like he belonged here in this bar, and yet he also seemed like a complete outsider.
“Well, then why don’t you tell me your name and I will?” he replied. I hesitated for a moment. If he didn’t already know who I was, then he was definitely an outsider in Chicago.
My parents had done a pretty good job of keeping Jonathan and me out of the press, but every now and then a story came out about our family, which I was named and usually photographed for. I’d learned to ignore most of it, but I’d also learned to be on the lookout for people who were after my name rather than actually wanting to get to know me. My general distrust had kept me from dating much in high school or college. This time I decided I didn’t care. The guy was an idiot, so I already knew I didn’t trust him.
“Payton,” I said, giving him a mildly irritated smile as I held out my hand. “My name is Payton.”
“Hello Payton,” he said taking my hand and shaking it firmly. I felt a small jolt of electricity flash through my body as my hand touched his and I looked up at him surprised. “I’m Dax. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Uh huh,” I said pulling my hand back. I searched the bar for Jack, but he was in the back getting the food and was of no help. “Nice to meet you, Dax. You a finance guy?”
“No, I’m not. Are you a running back?” he replied.
“Ha, ha. Like I’ve never heard that one before,” I said rolling my eyes and turning back to my beer. I could feel the shots working as I repeated his name over and over in my head. Suddenly it dawned on me where I knew him from and I chuckled to myself as Jack brought out the food. There was no way I was going to feed Dax Connor’s enormous ego by suddenly turning into a fawning fan girl. It was always better to take guys like him down a peg or two.
“Here ya go, young man! The best burger in town!” Jack bragged as he quickly produced catsup and Tabasco sauce from under the bar before turning around and heading back into the kitchen. When he emerged, he had a second plate in his hand, which he put in front of me, saying, “Sweetness, you need to eat something. You hear me?”
“Jack, I’m not hungry,” I said stubbornly. “Give me another shot.”