Page 24 of Pucked Together

"Give it up for Izzy and the Houston Heatwave for giving us quite the show tonight," the DJ says, perched in his booth.

The cheers erupt again just as the song changes, and half the bar gets up to dance, finally taking the attention off of me.

Fergie comes up to me first. "That was something else, Iz! Where'd you learn to do that?"

"I'd say she learned a thing or two from her big bro, didn't you, sis?" Keelan throws a protective arm over my shoulder.

"Pfft. You wish," I duck out from under him. "You wouldn't let me near a bottle until I was of age. No, you can thank Aunt Ginny for teaching me that parlor trick."

Keelan shakes his head. "Aunt G? Sunday dinners and see you at church, Aunt Ginny?"

"The very one," I laugh, realizing I must have spent more time with our only living relative than my brother ever did.

When Mom and Dad passed away, Dad's sister took me in and took care of me since I was still underage. I lived with her until I left for college. She never had kids of her own, so I was like the daughter she never had. And she made it a point to keep up the Sunday dinner tradition we used to have as a family growing up. That's what Keelan remembers about her. Something he, too, keeps up to this day.

A blonde with a barely-there outfit and identical friends waves at Keelan. "That's my cue," he says, taking a swig of his drink as he walks away.

As soon as Keelan leaves, Hicks takes my hand, "Let's dance!" He suggests.

"Uh, no, I'm good. I think I've had too much to drink."

"Come on, just one dance," he pouts, and it's actually endearing. I forget he still has a missing tooth for a moment. It must be the alcohol.

"She said no, man." Fergie shoves his shoulder playfully.

Hicks looks at me, and I just scrunch my face. "I'm not really in the mood to dance yet."

"Ok, raincheck," Hicks insists.

"Sure," I say to get him to drop it.

He disappears into the crowd, leaving me with Fergie, who motions to an empty bar-top table.

I nod and follow him, climbing onto one of the high chairs. He flags down one of the bartenders and orders beers that he insists on giving us on the house. Once they are delivered to the table, Fergie leans in.

"You know, Landry told us about the situation with Sincaid," he starts.

"Ugh. I can't believe of all the teams he could've played for, he comes to freakin Houston."

Fergie leans in more so I can hear him over the music, "Say the word, and we'll give him a good hazing."

I shake my head. "I'm just annoyed that he takes this one thing I had. I'm even more annoyed that it was my photos of him that helped me get the job."

"What do you mean?"

"I knew I wanted to get into sports photography to capture those small moments between players. The victories. The losses. You get to see the expressions the real-time cameras miss."

"Ok," Fergie says. "Go on."

"Trevor played hockey. His pictures were in my portfolio."

"Ew."

"Yeah, ew. I would've preferred to burn them, but I figured I might as well get something out of the time I wasted with him."

"Cheers to that," Fergie tips his beer at me, and we clink before taking swigs.

I'm starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. Especially since I'm not much of a drinker.