Wasted Words (2 page)

“Oh,” she said as she slipped her finger between the pages to hold her place before glancing at the cover. “
Outlander.
”

I nodded my approval. “A classic. Jamie Fraser is the perfect guy, am I right?”

She blushed a little and sighed, smiling softly. “This is my fourth read-through of the series. He’s just
everything
, you know? Soft and hard, sensitive without being weak. He’s the ultimate man.” She sighed again. “Too bad he’s not real.”

“Well, if he was, he’d only be made for one woman. At least this way, we all get to have him.”

She smiled again, her glasses slipping down just a little. “I guess that’s true.”

I set the water in front of her, and she took a sip. “So, are you an artist?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”
 

“Your fingertips are smudged. In fact, you’ve got a little something right here.” I motioned to the bridge of my nose.

“Ugh,” she groaned and looked at her hands before digging through her bag for a little pack of wipes. “You’d think I’d remember to wash my hands after drawing, but I only do if I’m in the studio. Hence carrying these around like I’m traveling with a toddler. I mean, unless I’m the toddler, in which case, that makes a lot of sense.”

I laughed. “What’s your medium?”

“I love charcoal, but it’s such a mess. Clearly.” She held up her hands in display.

“That’s what I’ve heard. My boss’ boyfriend is an artist and the same thing happens to him. He painted the piece just above you.” I pointed up, and she leaned back to look.

“Oh, I love that so much, and love that it’s the first thing I see every time I walk in.”

“He’s super talented, for sure.” I leaned on the bar. “Random question, but have you ever read any comics?”

She shook her head. “Never.”

“So, there’s this Japanese comic I love — it’s called
InuYasha.
It’s about a girl who falls in a well and is sent back in time, into feudal Japan.”

Her smile bloomed. “Wow, just like Claire in
Outlander
.”

“Totally. I mean, technically it’s classified as romantic comedy, so the tone isn’t at all like
Outlander
, but it’s fantastic. They’re on the hunt for these jewels, and InuYasha is her protector, even though she doesn’t usually need it, being a badass herself. You should check it out. I can hook you up with a copy of the first book for fifty percent off, if you’re interested.”

“Absolutely,” she said, blushing happily. “That’s so kind of you, you don’t have to do that.”

I shrugged. “Anything to convert people to comics. I’ll have Ruby grab a copy and I’ll add it to your tab.” I pushed off the bar and smiled at her. “I’ll let you get back to your book. Just let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

“Thanks,” she said with a smile, and I felt like a boss as I made my way over to Batman. The seed had been planted, and the added bonus of convincing her to go from
Outlander
to manga had me giddy.

“How’s it going over here?” I asked, glad he was in front of the dish well so I could linger.
 

He shook his head, raking a hair through his dark hair. “Pretty good, thanks.”

I dunked my hands in the soapy water of the dish well and felt around for a dirty glass to clean. “
InuYasha
, huh?” I nodded to the Japanese comic in his hand, my ace in the hole.

“It’s a classic. I’ve read the series at least a half-dozen times.”

“Me too. I got them all when I studied in Tokyo for a semester.”

He looked surprised. “You can read Japanese?”

I nodded and moved the glass to the rinse well. “And speak it. Do you know what your shirt says?”

“Actually, no. Let me guess —
Stupid Americans will buy anything
?”

“Close.
Batman & Ramen. It’s delicious.
Clever.”

He looked down at it, chuckling. “I wish I’d known that all along.”

I rinsed a glass. “Do you read fiction at all?”
 

He shrugged. “Sometimes.
Song of Ice and Fire
was the last series I read. You know,
Game of Thrones
?”

“Yup. I read all eight thousand pages.” I smiled.
Got him.
“So, one of my favorite fiction series is about a woman who gets kicked into the past through a stonehenge. It’s called
Outlander
, have you heard of it?”

He narrowed his eyes in thought. “Yeah, there’s a TV show about it, right?”

“Yup. So much skin. And the writer of the series is actually friends with George R.R. Martin.”

He looked impressed. “I had no idea”

“Right? Claire gets sent back two hundred years, into the Jacobite Rebellion. Scottish warriors. Epic fight scenes. Epic
sex
scenes.” I waggled my brows.

“Do you guys carry it here?”

“If we didn’t, I would have already quit. But you should watch the show first.” I dried off my hands and leaned on the bar, just like I had with The Reader. “It’s mostly a chick fandom, but you see my roommate over there?” I nodded to Tyler.

“The big guy?”

“Yeah. He used to play football and has got to be one of the manliest men I know, and he loves the show. Last time I watched it without him, I didn’t hear the end of it for a week. Don’t tell him I told you that, though.”

Batman chuckled.
 

“And plus. That knowledge could help you out someday, know what I mean?” I glanced over at The Reader, and he followed my gaze.

“Oh,” he said with understanding when he saw what she was reading. “Looks like I’m upping my cable subscription tonight. Thanks for the tip,” he added gratefully.

“Any time, man. Hope you like it. Give me a shout if you need anything, okay?”

He nodded, smiling as he watched The Reader. “Sure thing.”

I strutted back over to Tyler, and he raised a dark brow. “You look awfully sure of yourself, considering you didn’t even get them to talk to each other.”

But I shook my head. “Planting the seeds, man. She’s reading
Outlander,
and he’s reading a Japanese comic with the same premise.”

He eyed me. “You told him I watched it, didn’t you?”

I shrugged. “I had to convince him it wasn’t just for girls. You were my best argument.”

He groaned. “You used me against myself.”

“Sorry. Actually, that’s a lie, I’m totally not sorry, and you’re a fanboy for
Outlander
, so don’t even play,” I said with a laugh. “Oh, and by the way, she’s an artist, preferring charcoal, thank you very much. I’ll take five now and twenty on meeting …” I glanced at the soon-to-be couple and bobbled my head, “three. By the third meeting, they’ll be together.”

He sighed and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, fishing around before pulling out a ten, the tendons in his muscular forearms fluttering. I couldn’t help but watch — it was like a tiny beacon of virility, calling my name.
 

“Got change?” he asked.

I snatched the bill from between his fingers with a snap and a grin. “Of course I do. I work in a bar.”

Tyler

I watched Cam’s back as she opened the register and made change for me, only a little irritated. Mostly, I was amused, as I was so often with her. I’d seen her at work on couples a lot, and it never ceased to amaze me. She explained it once to me by likening it to being able to see connections between people — all she had to do was focus on that and she could bag a couple, just like that. It started with her college roommate, and once she had that win under her belt, she was unstoppable.

I smiled to myself with my eyes still on her. Her dark hair hung down her back in soft waves — you could see that her frame was slight, even in a loose black-and-red flannel. When she turned back to me, her rosy lips were tilted in a smirk, dark eyes twinkling behind her glasses.

Here’s the thing about Cam Emerson: she knows everything.
 

Okay, maybe not
everything
, but I’ve listened to her carry on conversations in Japanese, German, and French, and she knows enough Portuguese to do more than ask where to find the bathroom or library. I’ve seen her bake a soufflé from scratch that actually melted in my mouth, and I’ve watched her rebuild a laptop for gaming, lip between her teeth, hunched over the coffee table scattered with screws and hardware. I’ve also heard strings of obscenities leave her mouth when she’s watching football and disagrees with a call, which is often, because Cam is also always right.

She handed me a five-dollar bill across the bar with a look on her face that said I should have known better than to bet her. She was right about that, too.
 

“So what are you doing tonight?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Didn’t have plans, since I’ve got work in the morning. Kyle just texted me that he’s on his way.” I took a sip of my drink to wait for her reaction, since I knew there would be one.
 

She narrowed her eyes, the corner of her lip pulling into a little grimace. “Ugh.”

“I know. Maybe he won’t be so bad today.”

“We can hope.”

“He isn’t always a douchebag.”

She hung a hand on her hip. “You always say that, but I have yet to see any other version of Kyle.”

A pang prickled in my chest. “I know, but he hasn’t always been like this. When we played together in Nebraska … I don’t know how to explain it, Cam. When you go through that kind of training together, you walk away from it brothers. Maybe he’s let his fame go to his head a little—”

“A lot.”

I gave her a look. “—but he’s a good guy under all of that. When I got hurt, he was the one person who was always there for me, besides my parents. He came every day to the hospital and after, distracting me from the gravity of what happened, distracting me from the knowledge that I’d never play again, never go pro. I was devastated, Cam, and he was there for me.”

“I know,” she said quietly, her eyes soft.

I shook off the emotion. “Anyway, it worked. He helped me through my darkest days. I owe him a lot, including sticking with him through his asshole phase.”

She smiled, her glasses slipping down her tiny nose. “You’re one of the most genuinely good people I’ve ever known. So if you say Kyle is all right, I shouldn’t argue.”

“But you will anyway.”

“Of course I will. Have you met me?” she said with a laugh. “But I’ll try to be nice. For you.”

“Thank you.”

Her eyes flitted behind me. “Speak of the devil,” she muttered before stepping away to make herself busy somewhere else.

I turned to find Kyle strutting toward me with a hint of a gangster lean, smiling under the flat brim of his hat. If he’d had a ghetto blaster to soundtrack his entrance, it would have been playing Kanye. He was one of the only people who I hung out with anymore. I just hadn’t felt like I belonged, not for a long time, but Kyle was familiar, even if he’d changed in the years since college.

“’Sup, man?” he said in greeting as I stood.
 

We clapped each other on the back. “Hey, man.”

Kyle looked around as we parted, shaking his head. “The fuck is this place? This is the weirdest bar I’ve ever fucking seen. And you wonder why I’ve never come here before.” He took a seat next to me as he looked around with disdain on his face. “You’ve got to quit hanging out in places like this. It’s gonna fuck up your rep.”

“What rep?” I sat and picked up my beer.

“Exactly.” He smirked as he turned to face me and leaned on the bar. “What’s new, bro? I haven’t see you in weeks.”

“Not too much. I think I’m getting close to a yes for my first player. I’ve got a pretty solid yes from Darryl Johnson, I think at least, plus a few more I’m courting, but Darryl is where I’m putting most of my energy.”

He raised a blond brow. “Running back for Nebraska?”

I nodded and took a sip of my drink. “I’m heading up for homecoming. I just hope he sticks around.”

“Maybe if you’d stop being a noble son of a bitch and buy the kid a car, he’d sign the papers as soon as you put them in front of him.”

I frowned. “You know that’s not how we do things.”

He laughed and put up his hands in surrender. “I know, I know. It’s honorable, and I’m proud of you for hanging on to your integrity, doing it the ‘right’ way and all. I just don’t know how that’s ever going to pay the bills.”

“If a player doesn’t want to sign with me because somebody else bought him a car, I don’t want to represent him.”

“Fair enough.” He looked around again, wrinkling his nose. “It smells like coffee and
learning
. This place sucks. I just don’t get why you come here when I can get you into any club in New York.”

Cam turned the corner of the horseshoe bar and made her way toward us, and Kyle laughed a little too loud.

“Oh, right. I forgot
she
works here.”

I shot him a look before glancing back at Cam, who had on a smile that I could only describe as bullshit.
 

“Hey, Kyle. Whiskey?” She tossed a coaster in front of him that said
The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them. -Ernest Hemingway.

“And Coke. How’d you guess?”

She shrugged. “You just look like a whiskey guy.”

He shrugged back and turned to me, ignoring her while she poured her drink, but I could tell she was listening to everything, the corners of her mouth tight.
 

“So,” he started, “you should definitely come with me to Noir tonight. We’ve got bottle service.”

“Kyle, it’s Wednesday.”

“So?”

He looked at me like I was crazy as he took the drink Cam set in front of him without offering her so much as a glance. Her eyes met mine, and I could almost hear her say,
See?
before she turned back to the register.
 

I chuckled. “You’re gonna puke at practice tomorrow.”

“Maybe, but what are they gonna do about it? I’m the number two wide receiver in the NFL. You think they’re not going to put me in because I’m hungover at practice?” The big, bawdy laugh was back, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. As if he were invincible.
 

I felt Cam roll her eyes even with her back turned to us. I was starting to remember why it had been a while since I’d seen him, and I looked him over. The wide-eyed kid from Nebraska was nowhere to be seen these days, but I knew that deep down, his goodness hadn’t left him completely. I just hoped he didn’t self-destruct before he figured it out for himself.