Page 10 of Game Changer
My sneakers stick to the beer-clad wooden floors as I search for Mark, a former teammate of mine from high school. We were close back then, and stayed in touch even after he got a full ride to play for State, and when he discovered I was transferring he almost threw a damn party.Literally. The star offensive tackle is known for more than his skills on the field. The dude can throw a mean rager when he wants to.
Neon signs practically blind me as I squint at the booths in the back, but it doesn’t take me long to find him. Mark is one of the biggest guys I know. Six foot three, fucking jacked, and makes the booth he’s sitting in look like a high chair.
“Dude, I can’t believe you’re officially here!” He rises from the booth—which shakes due to his weight—and claps me on the back. His shoulder-length blond hair is pulled into a man bun on his head, making him the spitting image of Thor with his scruffed beard cropped close to his chin and around his mouth. “It’s so good to see you, man. How have you been?”
“I’ve been all right. Excited for classes to start tomorrow. You?”
“I’m more excited for football season. Preseason is cool and all, but I’m ready to kick some serious ass.” I slide into the booth across from him, and drum my knuckles on the sticky table because I can feel in my fucking bones what he’s about to suggest. “You should come to a game this season. Check out the team.”
I despise the look of pity on his face. It saysWhy did you give all of this up?And it’d be easy to confide in Mark. He didn’t have the greatest childhood, so he’d probably be able to relate to my constant state of anxiety, but it’s not something I’m comfortable sharing. Hell, even Cameron didn’t find out about all of this until a few months ago, and he’s my best friend.
I presented myself as someone I wasn’t when we were in high school because I was afraid Cameron wouldn’t like the real me. He wanted to fuck and party, and I felt most comfortable at home playing video games. The two of us wouldn’t have been able to mix. But after telling Cameron the truth, I felt like an idiot for wearing a mask all those years when he was the one person who would never judge me or leave my side. He would have been my best friend no matter what, but he was going through the loss of his mom at the time, and it seemed more important to make sure he was okay rather than dump my emotional baggage onto him.
“I think I’m going to steer clear of games this season,” I admit.
“Oh, come on.” He gives me his best impression of puppy-dog eyes. “It’s my senior year.”
“I think your ego will be just fine if I’m not in the stands. I’m sure you have countless cheerleaders filling those spots.”
He chuckles, and I swear it rattles the booth. “You know I don’t play dirty like that. I’m a one-woman type of man.” I do know this, which is why we were close in high school. He gave me a reprieve that Cameron couldn’t. It wasn’t Cameron’s fault he loved everything to do with girls, but Mark was someone I could just chill at my house with and bingeFast & Furiouswhile we smoked a joint rather than attend whatever party was happening that night.
“Look.” He leans forward in the booth, resting his elbows on the table. “If you won’t make it to one of my games, why don’t you come out to one of the youth football practices? I’m an assistant coach, and the kids would love someone else to watch them and give them advice.”
“You wantmeto advise kids?”I have nothing to offer themis what I want to add. I bailed on playing college ball out of fear of leaving my comfort zone. Fear of being a disappointment to everyone. Kids have nothing to learn from me. If anything, they should do theoppositeof what I’ve done.
“They’re a wild bunch, but they’re also a hell of a lot of fun. They make you realize why you fell in love with the game to begin with.”
I can’t remember why I fell in love with football. I know itwasmy passion, but at some point between getting on varsity and graduation, everything felt so serious. It felt like my future was riding on every game I played, and that was a lot of pressure I didn’t know how to handle. I lost sight of the reason I started.
“Is this some ploy to get me to try out for the team? Because it’s not going to work.”
He uses his fingers to make a cross on his heart. “No games. Just watching kids have a blast. Andifyou feel there’s any advice you can give, then by all means, speak up. It’ll be nice having an extra set of eyes out there.”
I groan. “Fine. I’ll agree to one practiceifyou stop with the fucking puppy-dog eyes. They’re creeping me out.”
“So they worked? Cool. I’ll text you the address and—”
Two menus are abruptly slapped down in front of us.
The waitress’s arms are crossed over her chest, and her foot is tapping impatiently. “What the hell do you want?” The question is directed at Mark, who doesn’t seem fazed by the woman’s attitude one bit. It only seems to fuel his good mood.
“Tabi has claws today, I see,” he muses.
“You do realize my name isn’t spelled like thecat, right? Or did all those football collisions knock loose a screw or two?” She swipes at a bead of sweat trickling down her forehead. Not that I can blame her, it’s stifling hot in here. Maybe that’s Happy Endings’ key to living up to its superstition—making people so dehydrated that they’re thirsty for just about anything.
“I assure you my head is exactly where it needs to be. Ethan, do you know what you’re going to drink?”
Tabi looks at me as if she’s just suddenly realizing there’s another person at the table, and a silent apology passes between us. There’s a tiny apron around her waist that she pulls a notepad out of, gazing at me expectantly as if that weird-ass interaction didn’t just happen.
“Um, I’ll take a Michelob Ultra so long as it won’t get spit in or anything.”
Her lips tilt into a grin. “No worries. The only drink that will be spat in is Mark’s.”
“Which is why I only order bottled beverages.” Mark winks and passes her back the menu.
“You come here often?” The place is practically deserted for an early afternoon. I know that the ratings for this place are poor, and their food ratings are even worse. I highly doubt this is an establishment that has a dish Mark craves, but when his eyes slide from Tabi’s wide-set hips and linger on her full chest a beat too long, I suspect it’s apersonhe craves and not the food.
“He’s here every Saturday, Monday, and Friday afternoon.” She narrows her hazel eyes at him. “Theonlyshifts I work.”
