Page 95 of Scrimmage

I considered keeping his car clean, but I didn’t. There’s bottles of ink in the back seat right next to random articles of clothing. How did they get there? I don’t know. It just seems to happen. There are empty coffee cups in almost every cup holder, and I definitely smoked a few blunts in this bitch. The only thing I didn’t do is let anyone else drive it. I was going to keep it a secret because I didn’t want questions, but I had to pick Angel up the first day and it threw my plan out of the window.

“Whose car is this? Is this Koda’s car? It’s fucking nice.” Her purple contacts were bright in her eyes as she looked around in wonder. “Perks of dating a quarterback.”

“We aren’t dating,” I said tight-lipped, focusing on the road.

“Uh, guys love their cars. He gave you his. To drive.”

“Guys love sex, and sex makes them irrational,” I explained. “Then they give you their car right along with their dick.”

“Gavin has never let me drive his car, and it isn’t anything to write home about.”

“And Gavin is worthless.”

“I know.” She fiddled with the edge of her skirt. “How do you do it?”

“What?”

“Not give a fuck?" I looked over at Angel. She’s sad and tortured because of some medium ugly asshole with sub-par dick.

“Look. It’s not a good thing. I might be driving a dope car, but in the spectrum of things I’m being used. Am I using him back? Sure. But that’s all that I’m ever going to do. It'll be like this for the rest of my life. Love doesn’t exist for people like me.” I took her hand in mine. “But you? Gavin doesn’t deserve you. That’s all. Someday you’ll look at it all and it'll seem so small. Gavin will be a short dicked blip. You’ll be driving a Jaguar and flashing your teeth on Rodeo Drive. Meanwhile, I’ll be Pretty Woman.”

“Thanks, Sweetheart.”

“Anytime.”

“You’re wrong though. You’ll be loved. I mean, even Prince adores you. You’re beautiful and you have a great personality. You put the sweet in Sweetheart.”

Is she wrong? Yeah. The person who called me Sweetheart in the first place would agree with her, though. It’s not that I can’t be loved, it’s that I won’t let it happen. I know I’m self-destructive. It’s why I do stupid shit like fuck a quarterback and drive his car. I’ve seen what the kind of love that finds me is like, and it’s not good.

Over the course of the weekend Prince insisted that I tattoo him, and I fucking won an award. He had been right. Best tattoo. It was kind of nice to have my pain win something. Fucking ironic. Penny freaked out, practically suffocating me with her pride. I think she had business cards made for me and passed them out because I got a text from Angel saying that she needed to know my schedule for bookings. We both got a pizza from Late Night and pigged the fuck out. That’s when I finally fell asleep.

I glance over to the other side of the couch where Penny is passed out with a piece of pizza on her chest. I put it back into the box and switch the TV off. Grabbing the only bottle of liquor we have, I go outside and sit on the front steps. The brand on my ass phantom burns. I stare at the contact in my phone, trying to decide if I’m gonna call. If I drink enough I will. It’s been over two years since the last time I did. My thumb hovers, ready to press the little green button.

“I never understood why people drink because of a win,” Koda says.

I shut my phone off and look up at him. He must have just gotten back from his game.

“What are you doing here?” I take a swig from the bottle and hold it out to him.

He eyes it for a second before deciding to join me. “Bored.”

“I’ll get your keys for you.”

“Keep it. You don’t need to be walking around late at night so much. Bad shit happens in the dark.”

“But that’s where I thrive.”

“Of course you do,” he chuckles, taking another drink before handing the bottle back. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“How’d you…Alexi?”

He nods once. “It was a good tattoo. He said you did most of the ones on yourself.”

I lean against the railing. “Yeah, I did.”

“So why do you seem so melancholy? Wasn’t that convention a big deal?”

“I guess so, but it’s just…Forget it. It’s an art thing. Stop talking more drinking.”

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