I blink to make sure that that’s actually Paisley in the booth, that I didn’t conjure her up in my mind. After a shitty game where I spent more time in the sin box than on the ice, I need a few shots and a good meal.
Ford heads toward the other guys while I beeline to the other side of Carmelo’s and slide in next to Paisley. “What’s up, doc?”
Her eyebrows raise and I chuckle. It’s a well-known fact the Fury hang here after every home game, so she can’t be surprised to see me. Some of us only stay for a meal and others will be here until closing.
Rachel, the usual waitress, comes over and places a glass of red wine in front of Paisley and a martini that holds more olives than vodka in front of Jana. “Usual, Maks?” Her hand rests on my shoulder.
“That’d be great. Thanks.”
She smiles and
