Page 24 of Flame After the Fumble

“Is Violet coming out?” Ryan asks sheepishly as he grips the steering wheel with enough force to peel the leather.

My eyes form slits. “Nah.” I glance his way, but he doesn’t make eye contact. “Not really her scene.”

He doesn’t reply, so I keep the conversation quiet for once for the remainder of our trek to town.

Ryan parks, and we skip the wrap-around line to get into Downtown Tap. Football player perks are alive and well. We draw a crowd of fans after home games, and the owners wouldn’t want us to leave to hit up another bar. I bump elbows with a few of my teammates and flirt with a few girls fawning over me before escaping to the bar for my first drink. I order a whiskey sour and the bartenders turn a blind eye to my age as per usual. My eyes scan around the bar before deciding on my next move.

I spot a few of the offensive players at a nearby table, so I join them. Ryan has a bombshell saddled on his lap. Color me surprised, he may actually let loose and have fun for once.

Mason pulls me for a hand shake before he starts in on Locke. “Your girl is here and she looks just as edible as usual.”

Locke’s girl? He doesn’t have a girl to call his, unless he means. . . A fiery blonde captures my eye. She’s swaying her hips on the dance floor, tossing her hair over her shoulder without a care in the world. She throws her head back and releases a belly laugh that I can’t hear because of the deafening music. Locke and I don’t have issues. He’s a bit of an egotistical showboat, but some say the same about me. The only thing about him that turns me into a psychopath is that he can have Goldie, and I can’t.

RIP Hartley Knox. Cause of death: stuck in the friend zone with a girl who plagued his thoughts year after year.

Suddenly, like a man possessed, Ryan jumps to his feet, launching the girl that was on his lap clean off when he darts for the dance floor. She hits him with a disgusted eye roll before turning her attention to another guy. I need another drink for a night like this, so I throw back the remaining liquid in my plastic cup and order another. Ryan must have gotten lost, because Idon’t see him, but I’ll allow the fun police to have a night of debauchery for once.

I lost sight of Liza when I walked back to the bar for my second drink, and I try my best to convince myself that I’m not aimlessly searching this packed bar for her, but that’sexactlywhat I’m doing. I finally find her in the throngs of sweaty people on the dance floor. The sight of her brings an effortless smile to my face. I take a minute to watch her in her element. She hasn’t stopped giggling. Guys have their eyes glued on her, but she doesn’t notice. She’s a party of one, and I’m in awe of the firecracker in front of me. I’ve never stopped caring for her since the moment I met her, and I’m starting to think I’m out of my depth with how much she’s on my mind. I convinced myself that being her friend and occasional flirt buddy at parties would be enough.

She moves her head slightly at the end of a fast-paced song and locks eyes with me across the dance floor. Instead of rolling her eyes or turning away, she points to me and wiggles her finger for me to join her.

A stronger man would have walked away. A respectful man would have accepted being thrown in the friend zone and forgot about her a long time ago, but I’m neither of those things.

Who am I to deny my girl?

17

Liza

Contrary to popular belief, I’m usually not as drunk as I act. I have an alcohol tolerance that rivals a forty-year-old man with a beer belly. It’s not about how many drinks I can down to black out, it’s about the fun of dancing, meeting new people, letting loose, and forgetting about it the next morning. "I Came Here for Love" blasts across the bar that’s at max capacity with how we’re packed together like sardines on the dance floor. That’s when I lock eyes with the man I can’t keep my head on straight around. His hair is darker due to the lighting and the sweat he has dripping down his neck. He’s smirking and biting his bottom lip without taking his eyes off me.How long has he been watching me?The thought of Hartley’s eyes on me as I throw myself around the dance floor, not leaving much to the imagination, has heat creeping up my neck. I coat my hands with the wet condensation that drips from my plastic cup and wipe it over my cheeks and neck.

If he wants a show, he’ll get one. I wiggle my finger for him to join me.

Without hesitation, he pushes through the sea of bodies until he’s pressed against me. He leans in and tucks a piece of damp hair behind my ear before whispering, “Hey, Goldie.”

Why does his voice have to be so hot? Get. It. Together. Liza.

“Watching me, Hotshot?” I’m well aware that I’m treading into very dangerous territory. Not only is Hartley the boy I packed away in a far corner of my mind to protect my heart, but he’s also my tutoring student.Why not blur the lines more?

“Always,” rolls off his slick tongue. I turn around and press my back to his chest, taking my eyes off him to hone in to the rhythm of the music. Before I can sway to the fast paced song, he flips my body around to face him again, our faces too close to touching.

“You’re wearing my jersey,” he growls, tilting his neck to the side.

“I am.” I smirk, knowing this has some sort of effect on him.

He jolts my back to his chest again, landing flush to the heat radiating from his hard body. His arm climbs up my side, grazing a sliver of my stomach until he makes it to my neck, coated with heat and goosebumps that have nothing to do with the temperature of the bar. His enormous hand travels a few inches down to my shoulder, and he grips tight. His mouth hovers over the shell of my ear before he says, “When you wear my jersey, you’re mine.” My head tilts back to rest on his chiseled body, and I betray myself by letting out a desperate moan that only Hartley can hear. “If you’re not ready to be mine, don’t tease me like this.” He balls the extra fabric of his jersey on my body into his fist and tugs on it.

Despite how intense this interaction is, I manage to fire back with a sultry roll of the tongue, “I’m not anyone’s, and I never will be.” I suddenly feel the loss of his warmth pressed against my body. Turning around to see where he went, I only catch the back of his hat bouncing through the crowd. I’m left stunned silent in the middle of the dance floor by the man who wasonly ever supposed to be my friend.No.He’s not going to walk away like that. This is exactly why I don’t need to get involved with him. He’ll become an unhealthy obsession I can’t kick.Just. Like. Layne.

Scooting to the calmer edge of the chaotic scene closest to the bar top, I wait patiently for Hartley to reappear from wherever he ran off to. After what feels like forever, standing by myself, I catch sight of his back on the dance floor. Is that. . . Yep. He’s cozied up with a bleach blonde. From the looks of it, she’s shorter than me, so she fits perfectly under the crook of his overextended arm. They inch closer and closer. Fresh bile rises to my tongue at the sight of her giggling and throwing her arms around his neck.I can’t watch this.Frantic to one up him and drown the image away, I fumble over to the table the football team claims for the night and spot my golden ticket.

“Locke,” I call out to my on-again-off-again boy. His eyes dart around, unable to find who called his name, so I raise my voice louder. “Locke!”

His eyes meet mine and that ridiculous mullet bounces as he saunters from the table towards me.

“What’s up, babe?” He’s so casually unbothered at all times. This is exactly what I need to get my mind off Hartley’s intensity.

“Kiss me.” I grab his veiny forearms and pull him closer to my chest. “And don’t ask questions.” He locks his muscular arms around my waist and leans in for a fiery kiss. His tongue darts out, and I grant him access to my mouth while his other hand grips one of my legs to lift it up to his height. By the time we both pull away from the sloppy kiss, my hair is tussled and I quickly swipe under my eye to check the eyeliner situation. To my horror, it smeared. Peering to the side, I scan the bar, hoping my intended audience is watching. That’s when I spot him. There he stands staring directly at me with his blonde hair, mossy eyes, and an expression I can’t quite read painted on his face. He isn’twearing his usual boyish grin and showing off his million dollar dimples. He suddenly tears his eyes from mine and shakes his head, taking him out of the moment. He removes his ball cap for a brief moment to run his hand through his thick waves before jetting to the back exit.

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