Free The Slot: A Rochester Riot Sports Romance by Colleen Charles Page A

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?”
    “Not that well. I think I pissed him off.”
    Kylie’s eyes appeared to spin in disbelief. “Pissed…? Now, why would you do a crazy thing like that?”
    Eloise tossed her brunette mane behind her shoulders but didn’t confess. It would be too easy to say that his smooth and fluid movements were so sexy she thought she might explode from wanting him. But instead, she’d ran scared. “Just because he’s gorgeous doesn’t make him compatible.” She rubbed her wrists, a dry, itchy feeling coming over her, and reached for a squirt of lotion from the bottle on her desk.
    “Two can play at that game,” Kylie said. “Maybe it’s you who’s not compatible. Give the guy a chance. Or at least some guy a chance.”
    “I thought you told me to find a poet or painter. Or a barista.”
    “Oh, forget what I said. Call him… apologize… talk dirty to him… whatever it takes.”
    “I don’t have his number,” Eloise commented dryly. That wasn’t quite true. As a director, she had access to everyone’s contact information if she needed it.
    Kylie sputtered and turned on her pink Nike-clad heel. “For heaven’s sake, Eloise. I’ve got his number. I’ll get it for you!”
    Eloise pressed her lips together, suppressing a huge smile. She’d keep the barista part secret from her for a while. As she settled into her high-backed, leather executive chair, her phone beeped with Kylie’s text. She looked at the highlighted mobile number displayed on the screen. Two time zones away, Cole would likely be on the ice now for practice before the Kings game later tonight. She began to type out a text.
    Eloise : Gd morning mr fiorino… pardon the intrusion… how r things in LA… apologies 4 my behavior at