October

Every time the New England Patriots chalked one up in the win column, Kevin Kowalski got laid.

A score for them was a score for him. Not that he was always looking for a companion on a Sunday night, but the offers weren’t scarce. As he slid a foaming mug of Sam Adams down the polished surface of the best damn sports bar in New Hampshire’s capital city—which just happened to list his name as proprietor—he caught a blonde watching him. The Pats were lining up at first and goal on the big-screen, but her eyes were on him, letting him know the New England quarterback wasn’t the only guy in scoring position.

But tonight he was having a hard time concentrating on the blonde with the chemically enhanced lips, surgically enhanced boobs and alcohol-enhanced sex drive giving him the you could go all the way look.

He was too busy keeping his eye on the brunette at the other end of the bar. It wasn’t just the fact she was pretty, with a mess of dark brown hair falling to her shoulders and eyes to match. Or that her fisherman’s sweater and jeans hugged her body in all the right places, though that certainly didn’t hurt.

Mostly he was keeping an eye on her because her date was going downhill in a hurry. Either the guy in the uptight, button-down shirt and khakis had had a couple before he walked into the bar or he had the alcohol tolerance of a high-school freshman, because it had only taken a couple shots of scotch for drunken-asshole syndrome to kick in.

Now there was some body language going on between the couple and her body wanted away from his body. His fingers would start looking for a soft place to land. She’d deflect. Rinse and repeat.

Jasper’s Bar & Grille had three rules. No smoking. No throwing beer mugs, even at the Jets fans. And when a lady said no, it meant no.

The Patriots scored and the glasses shook on the shelves as a triumphant roar filled Jasper’s. The blonde hopped up and down on her barstool, her boobs testing the bungee ability of her bra straps. And the jerk with the wandering hands raised his empty glass to wave it in Kevin’s general direction.

He made his way down to the couple, but ignored the glass. “We won’t be serving you any more alcohol, but you’re welcome to a coffee or a soda, on the house.”

Uptight Guy’s face turned as red as a Budweiser label and Kevin sighed. He was going to be one of those guys. Jasper’s had a zero-tolerance policy, so as the guy’s ass lifted off the stool, Kevin gave Paulie the signal and watched her roll her eyes as she reached for the phone.

“I’m not drunk and I want another goddamn scotch!”

The woman put her hand on the guy’s arm, as if to push him back onto his seat. “Derek, let’s—”

“Who the hell are you to tell me I can’t have another goddamn scotch?”

Uptight Guy’s bad-ass act was diluted a bit by the weaving. “I’m the guy who reserves the right to refuse you service.”

“Beth, tell this asshole to gimme another drink.”

Kevin shook his head. “You’re cut off.”

It happened fast. Kevin wasn’t sure if the guy was throwing a punch or reaching in to grab him by the shirt, but his elbow hit his date and knocked her backward. She didn’t fall, thanks to the guy sitting next to her, who was pleasantly surprised to find himself with an armful of brunette, but it distracted Kevin enough to allow the guy to land a weak, glancing blow to his jaw.