as if he’s not the one who started the fight, yet getting in my face. Nice trick play, asshole. I step forward so we’re almost nose to nose.
“I’m just sayin’… you’re thinking with the wrong head, Dallas.” He slips his headphones on and walks away. I plop down on the bench, hunched over, pissed that he’s right.
I groan, running my hands through my wet hair. If I could just get her out of my thoughts.
“Why d'you do it?”
I hike up a shoulder, still not sure myself. “She’s never seen a football game. I don’t know… it’d be cool if she could see me play.” I pause for a second and let out a long-winded sigh. “And she caught my Hail Mary.” I’m hoping she does it again. Sending her a plane ticket is the riskiest Hail Mary I’ve ever thrown. And the odds are not in my favor.
“Aww fuck.” He knows how monumental that is. Football is my life. Especially that pass and this perfect woman caught it. “I didn’t realize it was that deep. I’m surprised you didn’t drop to your knee and ask her to marry you,” he jokes.
The thought crossed my mind.
But I keep that shit to myself. “Nah, dude. I jumped up and landed on a stingray. The asshole stung me.”
He winces and bites down on his fist. “Oh shit. And you’re still alive?”
I throw my hands up and give him an incredulous look. “Obviously.”
He slaps my shoulder with a sympathetic expression as if he understands. But he doesn’t. Hell, I don’t even understand my own actions. Since I was a child, football has been my only focus, yet over the last four weeks, she has consumed my thoughts. After the first week of being home, I figured it was normal. I just got home from the most amazing couple weeks of my life. But week after week, those thoughts invaded all my mental space and after one night with a bottle of whiskey and my credit card, I booked her a plane ticket. I wish I could blame it on a drunken moment, but the idea had already formed… it was the liquid courage that made me follow through with it.
“And two weeks of sex with a goddess seemed like an outstanding idea,” I add for good measure. It’s not a lie, but I wish that was the only reason.
He drops his chin chuckling, thinking this was a horrible idea too but being the good friend he is, lets it go. Even though the odds are slim that she’ll come, I had to try.
“Let’s go celebrate our win and find me a fine piece of ass in this great state of Alabama. I dig these spicy southern girls and their accents.”
Clusters of people stroll through the exit and I search each of their faces. One by one. I’m afraid I forgot what she looks like despite knowing that could never happen. Her face is seared behind my eyelids.
When the current group passes, negative thoughts flicker through my mind. She barely knows me and to expect her to jump on a plane, leaving the only place she’s ever known to come see me is insane. Hope dwindles. I drop in a chair when another group comes through the doors. The intensity of my search lessens as each person passes by. I yank down my cap further to shade my face when I get a few double-takes.
An hour and a half passes after her plane landed.
She didn’t come.
I dig into my pocket for my phone and lean forward, my elbows on my knees, and open my text messaging app. I’ve never been the Monday-morning quarterback—regretting my decisions. But I kind of do now.
Me: cancel dinner.
I let out an audible sigh, my finger hovering over the send button, knowing when it’s received I’ll get a phone call. I don’t want to talk.
“You look like someone sunk your boat, Ball Boy.”
The sultry voice that’s met me every night in my dreams greets me. I jerk my head up and my mouth falls open in surprise. I take a couple seconds to realize I’m not dreaming as I stare into amber eyes. Jumping up like my ass is on fire, I pull her petite body into my arms. “Whiskey, you came.”
She trembles, wrapping her arms tight around my waist. “Hold me tighter. You didn’t tell me you lived in an icebox.”
I jolt back and glance down. Shit, woman. I yank off my black down coat and wrap it around her,