Page 27 of Fumbled Into Love

Come on.

I’m wrangling with the bathroom faucet to stop the leaking when my phone dings. Then again. And again. Snatching my phone off the granite counter, I start to silence the notifications, assuming it's my family group chat. Last week, I had a hundred messages in minutes because they all decided to rank Will Ferrell movies.

The number one spot belongs toBlades of Glory,and I’ll die on that hill.

As I set my phone on do-not-disturb, an alert catches my eye.

Deon Adams spotted with apparent girlfriend, Nathalie Morales, at an upscale restaurant.

Look at that; my headline wasn’t that far off.

God bless Maren for setting the name alert on my phone after I shared Deon and mine’s wack-ass plan. Hastily, I click on the link where I’m re-routed to a tabloid website. The air rushes out of my lungs as I stare at a photo of Deon and me, mid-kiss, outside the restaurant.

Scrolling down, other photos of us fill the screen. Deon and I sitting at the dinner table. Deon following me out of the building and onto the street. The look on his face right before I kiss him and his reaction after I walk away.

He looks befuddled.

My laughter echoes in the bathroom as the photo of him pops into my mind. I should make it my screensaver.

I close the link when my phone chimes another time. It’s a tagged photo notification from Instagram.

Taco night with my favorite girl.

I sent Deon the best photo, one where he’s smiling, and the street lights turn his eyes into a fluorescent green. My head isresting on his shoulder, but my mass of hair conceals the view of my face, only the small smile on my lips visible to the viewer.

The photo shows a couple madly in love, capturing an intimate moment, and not the truth of the situation: It’s entirely fake.

CHAPTER 7

“Wait, this is a mess, I could be wrong, I could be mistaken”

Perfume – Del Water Gap

Deon

Sweat drips down my temple as I dip below the barbell.

“Ready when you are,” Jack calls out. Heaving the bar off the rack, I drop into a squat, allowing the burning sensation to take over my thoughts, banishing the memories of Nathalie from my mind.

Never in my twenty-eight years has a kiss felt like all else ceased to exist except for her.

It’s a problem.

There’s no happy medium in my life. It’s always been that way. I either love something fully orhate it immensely.

I picked up a football, and it became an obsession. Every waking hour was spent honing my craft to become the best. I fell in love with football, and it became my life.

Then, I fell in love with Savannah. I could have stopped playing, and I would have been content with her.

I loved her more than any football game, but she destroyed me, and I had no idea who I was without her. I grew up with her. She was my ‘one and only’, but now there is only me, football, and my cat.

A long time ago, I decided football was enough. I’ve dodged any form of physical or emotional connection because I don’t know how to separate logic from emotions.I never have, and it’s why Savannah’s betrayal left me clueless and lost.

I’ve only just let myself connect with my friends because, time and time again, they have proved their character, but even still, fear lingers. I believed my last friends were my forever people, and I haven’t spoken to them in five years.

One date with Nathalie and every emotion I’ve successfully avoided for five years is at the barricade, demanding to be heard.

I finish my reps with a grunt and slide the bar back onto the rack. The memory of her dress slowly riding up as she sprinted to the car has clouded my mind all morning. The sweet, floral scent of her perfume lingers like a balm on my skin.

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