Wasted Words by Staci Hart

“Bebe. My middle name starts with a B too, so it works. What do you think?”

“It’s just right. That way if people spell it with two Bs, it’s still your initials.”

“I know! Martin is super smart. And he agreed I shouldn’t use my middle name.

I frowned. “Hang on, you already told Martin your secret middle name?”

But she laughed. “Next time you rock out my vagina, I’ll tell you too.”

I helped her finish setting up the bar and made my way back to Rose, relieved that all was well. And when Martin came by — with donuts for Bayleigh, and I swear she could have proposed to him on the spot — I apologized to him too, muffins in hand. He accepted, seeming relieved to have me on board at last, and with that, I was entirely forgiven. And as for Greg, who seemed to be blissfully unaware of all of it, I decided to look for another match for him, one better suited to him, without my own feelings clouding my judgment.

The day flew by after that, I’m sure in part because of the relief I felt. Tyler messaged me a few times throughout the day, once with a photo of him behind a mountain of papers with an overwhelmed, wide-eyed look on his face. He was also sure to let me know about when he thought he’d be home, so I wouldn’t worry.

I wondered again why in the world such a man would put up with the likes of me.

By the time the work day was done, I was thoroughly terrified of the impending shopping excursion, though thankful for Rose, who wisely insisted that we stop by the bar for whiskey shots on our way out. I wished I had a hip flask, though I’d probably only end up getting wasted and buying a dress with feathers on it or something. So with a deep sigh and a reassuring look from Rose, we were on our way into a nightmare of lace and chiffon.

Tyler

I pulled open the door to the bar to the sound of loungy electronic music, scanning the crowd, looking for Kyle. I felt a little underdressed — everyone already seemed ready for the night life, even though dusk had barely fallen. I found him leaning against the bar in a suit next to a pretty girl and her friend in sparkly dresses, one blonde, one brunette. They were all smiles, and by the way the girls were looking at him — starry-eyed and leaning toward him — I was certain he’d told them who he was.

He jerked his chin at me and pushed off the bar, extending a hand. I clasped it, and he pulled me into a hug.

“‘Sup, man?” he asked, smiling in a way that was infectious.

“Not much,” I answered, softened by the glimpse of the old Kyle.

He turned back to the girls. “I’d like you to meet my buddy Tyler.”

They lit up, and the blonde asked, “Oh, do you play for the Giants too?”

I smiled politely and opened my mouth to answer, but Kyle beat me to it.

“We used to play together at Nebraska. Tyler would have gone pro if hadn’t gotten hurt, though — no doubt. He was the absolute best.”

I sighed and tried to keep smiling as their faces turned to pity.

“Oh, my God. That’s so sad,” the brunette said.

I shrugged. “It wasn’t the end of the world.”

Kyle shook his head. “I don’t know, man.” He turned to the girls again. “When he was injured, I was there every step of the way. He lost everything that day.”

I kept still, trying to mask any discomfort I felt — which was a lot. “That was just one dream. I have plenty more where that came from.”

He laughed. “It’s true. I mean, it’s not like going pro was the only thing in the world. Just the best thing.”

I shifted, hating to hear the honesty of what he really thought about me. That I was second-rate. Not like I hadn’t known, but for him to say it aloud, even veiled, in front of strangers, was tiresome and aggravating.

“Come on. Let me get you a beer,” he said jovially.

“Please.” The word was dry.

The girls smiled at me, not seeming to notice. The blonde picked up her martini. “So, you’re an agent? Like in Jerry McGuire?”

I chuckled. “Yeah, sort of.”

“Do you represent anyone we’ve heard of?”

“Probably, we represent a lot of NFL players.

Kyle interjected. “He represents Pharaoh Carson.”

“My boss does, not me,” I added.

The blonde’s eyes went soft, and she touched her necklace. “Oh, I feel so bad, about him being an alcoholic and all. I hope rehab really works for him, you know?”

The brunette nodded knowingly. “We all have our vices.”

Kyle turned to me with my beer, and I took it, gratefully.

“Want to go get a table?” I asked, taking a long pull of it.

He looked downtrodden. “We were just getting to know the girls here.”

“Yeah, but I have a girlfriend.”

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Who, Cam?”

I gave him a look.

His face fell. “Oh. You’re serious.”

I turned to the girls. “It’s nice to meet you two. Have a good night.”

They watched after us sadly as we walked away, saying “Bye,” in unison.

We headed back to a table against the wall and took seats, and I tried to ignore Kyle’s watchful eyes.

I tried changing the subject, not wanting to talk to Kyle about Cam. “Did you hear from the twins?”

He made a face. “Man, I was not interested after all that. I mean, they were so embarrassing.”

“You’re not even the one who got pissed on.”

“Yeah, fuck that.” He took a drink. “I mean, a shot with twins was worth the tickets, but …” He shuddered.