The Slot: A Rochester Riot Sports Romance (6 page)

Chapter Seven

There were ghosts in the car as Eloise drove home from her date with Cole. She couldn’t seem to concentrate on the road and missed a few turns along a route she knew well. What was wrong with her? Mister Man Candy Fiorino wasn’t so imposing to chase away her stellar sense of direction.

Ha. You wish.

The man had her ovaries aching but her mouth spitting out antidotes and stand-down commands. Despite her success at putting her career first, climbing the corporate ladder and detaching herself from her emotions, it struck her that she was just plain scared.

Useless. Baseless. Emotionless.

The last time she’d let her hormones rule her head ended in disaster, potentially ruining her future. That sloppy mix of late-winter snow and rain sloshing between the wiper blades on her windshield made it seem like the cold, black Minnesota night closed in around the car, trapping bad memories inside the luxury interior right along with her.

In a blink, Eloise felt seventeen again, inexperienced and trusting in the world and everyone in it, never dreaming that others would take advantage of her for their own selfish ends. She’d graduated high school with honors and a National Merit Scholarship. Her application to NYU was accepted, and summer beckoned with the promise of all things good and bright. Trevor Reynolds rode that teenage high alongside her, the Ohio equivalent of the Big Man on Campus, wearing valedictorian Eloise Robertson on his arm for the world to see.

A hot summer night, cool mickey of rye and the handsomest jock in school mixed a perfect cocktail of happiness for a wide-eyed teenage girl, until that drink got spilled in the lap of all her dreams. People didn’t say no to Trevor – the football captain and student council president. Not even his parents, who bought him a Mustang convertible for a graduation present. After taking a spin in his new muscle car, they parked down the block from her house and took a walk in the nearby woods where they could be alone and enjoy their bootlegged liquor.

Normally, Eloise prided herself on being the good girl but not that night. That night she wanted to try something new. Take a risk or two. Be someone besides buttoned up Brainiac Eloise Robertson. Eldest. Perfectionist.

Eloise knew the perfect spot to hide in the woods behind her house, having played there with her sisters nearly every day growing up. An old stone bridge crossed over a creek that ran through the forest, once a fast-rushing river but reduced to a slow trickle with the passage of time. That left plenty of dry, grassy shoreline under the bridge, and Eloise and her sisters Sophia and Hannah had built a makeshift fort out of old fence boards, driftwood and rocks. They named it
Girlhenge
.

Trevor fed her sips of rye whiskey from the bottle, alternating with gulps for himself. The powerful liquid burned her throat and made her cough, but the resulting buzz quickly dispelled any discomfort. She snuggled in the crook of Trevor’s arm, his other hand making quick work of the buttons on her shirt. It wasn’t long before her shirt and bra lay on the ground by the water, and Trevor had his hands full of her breasts. Everything became a drunken swirl of sensation, her first French kisses making her head spin even further out of control, and Trevor’s groping fingers setting fire down below.

Giggling and grinning like a mental ward patient, she’d barely noticed when he undid his jean zipper, pulling out his cock and stroking it. “Wanna see a trick?” he asked her.

“Okay,” was all she could spit out of her boozy stupor, not knowing what he had in mind. The next moment he yanked her by the hair and forced her mouth down on his erect cock. Eloise yelped, but the sound died in her throat, triggering her gag reflex. Fear crept in as she began to choke, unable to breathe. Her stomach retched and threatened to bring up all the nasty alcohol laced mash inside it. Her teeth must have nipped his member because Trevor pulled her head back at that point, popping it free of her slobbering lips.

The next minutes were a blank screen, except for the memory of being flipped over onto her stomach and her pants dragged off. A few hours later, she woke up face down in the grass, alone. She never saw Trevor again; she’d heard he moved away somewhere in Wisconsin.

A car horn honked, and Eloise snapped to attention. She hadn’t noticed the traffic light turn green, or that she was now only a few blocks from her condo, unable to recall the last several minutes of her drive.
Dangerous, that
. The idea that she had lost control of her thoughts, and that she had put her own safety at risk as a result, frightened her more than the painful memories that brutally invaded her mind. Brutal didn’t begin to describe what she’d gone through after that night with Trevor, and she forced it from her mind to avoid losing it completely before she could reach the sanctuary of her condo.

And thus, her ice-queen act had been taken up like a fur trimmed cloak in the Regency era. And she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to shed it. To trust a man again. So she pushed them away before they could hurt her.

The building seemed lonely as she made her way up to her floor.
Maybe I should get a pet or something
, she thought. A cat. That’s it, she’d become a crazy cat lady until the crew of Hoarders infiltrated her domain. Too bad she was allergic.

If all her dates were going to crash and burn like the last two, a furry friend might be better company than any lumpish homo sapiens with a Y chromosome. Eloise sighed as she turned her key in the lock.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that, sister
;
like you wouldn’t want the hunky Beantown Bard in your bed right now, his gorgeous face between your thighs.
But not enough to take the risk to earn the reward.

She gazed around her open-concept living space, immaculately clean and tastefully furnished. Downtown Rochester twinkled in the distance through the large south-facing windows of her corner unit. She’d chosen it for the greater square footage and optimum light conditions for her botanical menagerie. Greenery filled every available space not occupied by functional, chic furniture and accessories. A giant Ficus she’d reared from a seedling commanded an entire corner of the living room, and all around it a veritable conservatory of houseplants popular throughout the last few decades, from African violets to Yucca palms. Unlike men, plants didn’t trash-talk or have egos. No wonder she loved them so much. On second thought, even a dog or cat would be too much extra work, and she had enough to handle between her job and the personal rainforest she saw in front of her.

Discreetly placed behind the Ficus sat a small tank of distilled water that connected to an elaborate misting system. Clear tubing snaked through the jungle of plants in the room and circulated the water in appropriate amounts to each specimen. Eloise filled the tank as she did every night. If only other things in her life were as simple. She sighed as she donned her favorite lacy nightgown and slipped into bed, jotting a few notes in her daytimer for the morning. Perhaps Coleman Arthur Fiorino the Original would behave more to her liking in her dreams than he had in the flesh.

***

Frustrated, but determined to make things right for everybody and show the local people how Murphy’s wouldn’t take away from the community, only enhance it, Eloise decided to host a Town Hall meeting in spite of Sheehan’s objections. She’d beg forgiveness instead of asking permission.

“I think the team training room’s our best option,” Eloise said as she and Kylie huddled over their notes and planners at the round meeting table in her office.

“You’re right,” Kylie agreed. “There’s already chairs, tables and AV systems in there, and it’s not in use most nights.”

“Plus it’s five thousand square feet of space,” Eloise added, tapping her ballpoint pen against her leather planner. “Should be plenty of room for everyone. Let’s just hope the residents show up.”

“They’ll show up,” Kylie said with authority, jogging her stack of papers into a neat pile. “Your
Riot for Rochester
campaign theme is brilliant.”

“Thanks,” Eloise said. The
Riot for Rochester
name had come to her after her argument with Kristoff and his reference to the angry villagers wielding flaming torches from old horror movies. The play on words encompassed both ideas of the team supporting the city and the fans supporting the team; the underlying connotation of rioting citizens being tongue-in-cheek. “Let’s get Kristoff’s team working on signage, and flyers inviting the local business people. Can you line up a team of interns to deliver them in the neighborhood?”

Kylie saluted, flipping her pink bangs with the motion. “Aye-aye, sir. Consider it done. I’ll lead the charge of Monica Lewinskys.”

Eloise laughed. Kylie’s sense of humor was off the chain. “Arrrr! Curb the enthusiasm there, matey. We’re not out of troubled waters yet.”

“With you at the helm, Skipper, what could possibly go wrong?” she asked with a waggle of her eyebrows. Seemed they were the only body hair she had that wasn’t pink. She’d confessed a few weeks ago that the carpet matched the drapes. “Can I be Gilligan? I’ve always wanted one of those cute white sailor hats.”

Eloise clucked her tongue and ignored the antics. “Well, we only have a week to pull this together, while the team is on the road and Murphy along with them. I’d like at least some of them on hand for the meeting, so we have to hold it the night they get back before the home games start. That reminds me, did you requisition the comp tickets for door prizes?”

“I’ll get right on it,” Kylie said with a nod but remained in her seat instead of returning to her desk. “You think Murphy will be pissed?”

“Ugh,” Eloise let out a fearful chuckle. “I don’t think it – I know it. But with any luck, he won’t find out until the meeting’s over and we’ve restored peace to the nation.” She chewed on the end of her thumb. “If so, I’ve done what he asked. He ordered me to make the situation go away. He didn’t say how.”

“You’re a genius,” Kylie stated, resting her chin in her hand. “I bow down.”

“If I were a genius, I’d have seen this coming,” Eloise said. “I don’t know how Sheehan got past the traffic commission to close off an entire intersection. I thought the proper planning procedures would have been followed, the residents surveyed, notified and given time for due process. To ask questions or make appeals. Doesn’t seem like any of that happened.”

“I walk past the construction now and then,” Kylie said. “I noticed some of the shops nearby were boarded up. Why would that be?”

Eloise nodded. “I heard something about certain businesses selling out to Murphy. He must have needed the extra right-of-way to construct the parking tower and pedway.”

“What if that wasn’t the reason?” Kylie waved her hands in the air as if to stop the sky from falling. “What if he just wanted to eliminate the competition? Buy the bar next door, and bingo, there’s one less place for customers to spend their money.”

“Makes sense. Sounds like something he’d do. I just hope they got fair market value.”

“From Sheehan?” Kylie laughed. “They probably took a supply of Irish Whiskey in trade.”

Eloise joined in her laughter. “No doubt.”

When their giggling faded, Kylie gathered her notes and leaned forward with her elbows on the table. “Sooooo?”

“Sooooo what?”

Kylie’s eyes crossed. “I preside over your calendar, boss lady. I know every move you make; you had a dinner date last night.”

“I did.” Eloise chirped, rising from the table and pushing her chair in.

Kylie waited.

Crickets.

“That’s it? That’s all I get?” She pursed her lips as if she’d sucked down a lemon.

“Yup,” Eloise said, crossing over to her desk. She didn’t feel like she could talk about it so soon, even to Kylie. The rioting emotions surrounding the evening still felt too raw to articulate.

“Oh come on, El. I’m dying here.”

Eloise chuckled in exasperation. “Expiring again? You sure you’re not a cat in human form? You must have died eight times already. Careful – only one left!”

Kylie took the ribbing with good humor. She held up fake claws and made a hissing noise. “Fine.”

Eloise changed tactics. “Why don’t you tell me about
your
love life, Thomasina? I know you love to regale me with tales of your social adventures, but you’ve never mentioned anyone special.”

Kylie held her notebook and file folders in the crook of her arm. “That’s ‘cause there’s several of them. I can’t do them all justice. At least three at a time, in rotation. That way, I never get so attached I go all bat-shit stalker on any of them.”

Eloise blinked, nonplussed. “Really?” She hadn’t expected that kind of answer. It made her all the more dejected at her own man-situation. Three? How did Kylie even keep all that straight? Ugh. Who needed men anyway? Kylie’s mouth curled into a grin that rivaled the Cheshire Cat’s.
Ironic since she now had to hold on to precious life number nine.

“If you’re going to withhold information,” Kylie said, “you’ll never know now, will you? C’mon, tell me. Who were you with last night?”

Eloise cast her eyes to the ceiling, then back to her assistant. Kylie looked at her expectantly. “Oh all right. I had dinner with Cole Fiorino.”

Kylie’s jaw dropped in delight. “How’d it go?”