Page 40 of Faking the Goal

Fucking hell.

She doesn't notice me tucked away in the corner. She's already heading toward a table of men near the stage, balancing the tray on one hand as one of them calls something out to her. Whatever he says makes her laugh, and she answers him with that easy, flirtatious smile I've seen her use a hundred times before as she starts passing out their drinks.

For the last hour, she works the room like she was born for it. She's friendly with everyone, smiling as she takes orders, leaning closer whenever the music gets too loud, laughing and flirting just enough to keep the men at her tables happy without letting any of them get too comfortable.

"Another whiskey, babe?"

The man looks down at his nearly empty glass. "You trying to get me drunk?"

Taylor flashes him a sweet smile. "I'm trying to get you another drink."

He laughs. "Then yeah. Another one."

"Good answer."

She takes his glass and moves to the next guy, resting one hand against the table as he tells her his order.

"Vodka soda."

"You sure? That's what you had last time."

His eyebrows go up. "You remember me?"

"Of course I remember you." Her smile gets a little sweeter. "You tip well."

The whole table laughs, including him.

"At least you're honest."

"Always, handsome."

She gives him a wink before walking away, and I watch the guy's eyes follow her across the room.

It's like that with almost every table she serves. A smile, a little teasing, a babe or handsome slipped in here and there. She remembers drinks, asks if they want another round before their glasses are empty, laughs when they flirt with her and gives some of it right back. Nothing excessive. Nothing that crosses a line. Just enough attention to make them feel good while they're here.

And apparently it works.

When she returns to one of her tables with another round, a guy who looks somewhere in his thirties holds out several folded bills as she sets down his drink.

"For you."

Taylor takes them, glances down, and her eyebrows lift when she sees how much he gave her.

"Damn. Thank you."

"You've been taking care of us all night."

"That's what I'm here for." She slips the money away and gives him another bright smile. "You guys need anything else, just wave me down."

She moves on before he can keep her there, already heading toward another table calling for her attention.

The longer I sit here, the more I realize how fucking wrong I've been about her.

I've spent weeks looking at Taylor and seeing the clothes, the makeup, the parties, the flirting, the endless parade of guys around her, and somewhere along the way, I decided I had her figured out. That she was some irresponsible spoiled party girl who spent most of her free time getting drunk, hooking up, and chasing whatever sounded fun that night.

Meanwhile, she's a full-time student. She works for Student Media, covers our practices and games, and has spent the last week chasing my uncooperative ass across campus trying to get this feature done.

And apparently, when she's finished with all of that, she drives almost an hour out here and works until God knows what time.