Chapter 6
If you’re not covered in animal hair, your life is empty.
Maverick
Iwave at the bartender and tap my glass to indicate I’m ready for a refill. I’ve turned into the cliché romance hero. I’m drinking my sorrows away at the local bar, although this local bar isn’t similar to anything I’ve ever seen before. If I had to describe it, I’d say someone threw up all things hippie related in here.
The walls are covered in posters and other paraphernalia from the peak of the hippie revolution. There isn’t a matching chair in the place and colored lights decorate the walls and ceiling. I’m blaming the dazzling lights for making me see double because being drunk would make me even more of a cliché.
Someone slaps my back before grabbing my shoulder and hauling me off my stool.
“What are you doing?” I ask as I stumble to my feet.
“Uh-oh. The po-po has arrived,” the bartender grumbles.
I squint up at the man grasping my shoulder. “I didn’t do it, officer,” I say. Or, at least, I think I say those words. Judging by the confusion marring his face, I wasn’t as clear as I thought I was.
“Come on.” He drags me away from the bar and shoves me into a booth.
“Why are we sitting in a booth? Aren’t we going to kidnap him?” another man asks.
“Dude, he’s famous. We can’t kidnap him. Someone will miss him,” a third man says. I study him. He’s at least a half foot taller than six-foot with wide shoulders. If he’s here to kidnap me, I’m in big trouble.
“But it was perfectly acceptable to kidnap me?”
The big guy shrugs.
“Fucker.”
“What’s going on?” I ask before they can continue their discussion about kidnapping me, which is frankly freaking me out.
“Drink this.” The police officer slams a glass of water down in front of me.
“Yes, sir.” I gulp the water down in one go. “All done,” I declare as I put the glass down in front of me. “Now, can you explain what I did wrong, officer?”
The big guy chuckles. “Officer? Now there’s a term you don’t hear very often anymore.”
I narrow my eyes and concentrate on him. “Do I know you?” His face is familiar. I know I’ve seen him before, but I don’t think he’s a Hollywood star. There aren’t too many actors who are as big as him. Hold up. I know who he is.
“You’re Rowan Hansley.” As in former NFL quarterback, Rowan Hansley.
He grins and holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Maverick Langston,” I say my name as we shake hands. “The NFC championship game a few years ago. Your throw in the last ten seconds for a touchdown. Ninety-five yards. Amazing.”
It wasn’t the longest football throw in the history of the NFL, but it came damn close. And it sealed the NFC championship for his team.
The police officer growls. “Are you two done kissing each other asses now?”
Rowan winks at him. “Don’t be jealous because you’re not famous.”
“I’m not famous, and I’m not jealous,” the third man claims.
“If you’re not jealous, why do want to kidnap me?” I ask him.
He crosses his arms and glares at the other men. “Because these two kidnapped me when I got caught up with a West sister.”
“A West sister? Juniper’s family?”