I’M NOT PLAYING WELL.
The opposing team has been hard to beat every damn season since I started here and today’s game is no exception. The weather is for shit too. Gloomy with a cold wind that feels as if it’s taking every ball I’m throwing and whipping it into a different direction. I’ve thrown two interceptions in the first half, which isn’t like me. We’re still up by a touchdown at halftime, but I don’t feel good about anything I’ve done out on that field today.
Not a single thing.
“You all right?” Knox asks me as we enter the locker room.
I send him a look, not wanting to discuss my problems in front of the entire damn team. They’re all already in the locker room, watching us—me—with expectancy in their gazes. Like they want an explanation and hope I’m going to come out fighting in the second half.
Shit, I hope I can manage it.
“Fields? A word.” Coach Mattson hooks his finger at me, indicating he wants me to come into his office and talk privately.
Great.
I follow him inside, shutting the door behind me, bracing myself for a barrage of questions and not so gentle slams on my lack of skill this afternoon, but he says nothing like that.
“I’m going to put Ace out there. He’s going to start the third quarter.”
My jaw feels like it’s going to hit the floor and I snap it shut, taking a deep breath. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. You’re slipping today. I don’t know what it is and you don’t have to explain anything, but you’re not on top of your shit and it’s…worrisome, son.”
I’ll say.
“Fine. Start him.” I stand up straighter, ready to be done with this conversation. “Are we finished?”
“If he does shitty, we’re pulling him, so don’t get too comfortable on the bench.” Mattson opens his office door, ready to tear into everyone’s asses. “And yeah, we’re done.”
I follow him out of the office, hating the excitement that lights up Ace’s eyes when Coach tells him he’s starting the second half. Ace gives me a quick glance after that announcement was made, checking on me. My reaction.
I give him a nod, appreciating that little gesture of respect. The kid looks up to me and I can’t be a shit to him, just because Coach is giving him a chance. We have to play all our options, and right now, I’m a bad one.
Fuck, that hurts to admit.
I mostly ignore the inspiring speech Coach and the rest of his staff give us, zoning out. I’m tired, my mind filled with images of Blair. A naked, sweet Blair lying in bed, sleeping peacefully. I should’ve just left her there without a sound, sneaking out of her room and her apartment like a thief. Like the casual hookup I should be to her. To myself.
But I didn’t. I had to touch her. Kiss her forehead and whisper her name. Just to witness her slowly wake up, her eyes filling with a mixture of joy and confusion at finding me standing above her, at the one sweet word she murmured to me.
Stay.
Fuck, I wanted to so badly. When I first woke up, I was aware of her warm body wrapped all around me. That delicious floral scent of hers tickling my senses. She smells good. She feels good. She is inherently good. And I don’t deserve it.
I don’t deserve her.
“Don’t let this fuck with you,” Derek says after Coach’s halftime speech. He slaps the back of my head lightly, a show of affection for him. “You’re having an off-moment. It happens to all of us.”
The problem is…it never happens to me. All I can think is it has something to do with Blair.
She’s a distraction, and I can’t focus when I’m with her. Spending all my time with her is dangerous for my future. What if I’m playing so shitty, I get injured? My season is over, just like that. My possible NFL career, done for.
Can’t risk it.
I’m in a shit mood when we head back out onto the field, the only thing making me happy are the boos everyone shouts when they mention that Ace is playing quarterback and not me. At least I’m loved by the fans.
Then I immediately feel like shit for not supporting Ace. When he approaches where I’m sitting on the bench, all suited up with his helmet on, looking nervous, I almost apologize to him.
“I’m fucking scared, boss, but I’ve got you,” he tells me, his tone earnest. As if he means every word he says. “I won’t let you down.”
I say nothing, just stare at him in shock and wonder, until a whistle blows. Ace starts to leave and before he gets too far, I call his name, causing him to look back.
I give him the thumbs-up signal with both hands and he grins, putting his hands around his mouth and hollering, “Got you, number one QB!”
Out on that field, Ace plays with his heart, putting his all into it, his decision-making fast, his reflexes quick. He throws a forty-yard pass that Knox catches with ease, running into the end zone and making a touchdown like they were born to play with each other.
I leap to my feet along with the rest of my teammates, who are sitting with me on the bench. And I don’t sit down for the rest of the quarter, watching as Ace goes back out there and scores another fucking touchdown, while our defense keeps the opposing team from scoring shit. All they get is another three points on the scoreboard, thanks to a field goal, and that’s it.
End of the third quarter, with our offense out on the field, Coach approaches me, his voice gruff when he asks, “You want another shot during the fourth quarter?”
“Yeah,” I tell him with a curt nod.
“Get ready.”
Knox approaches me at the top of the fourth, while our defense is out there, holding back the other team. “You all right?”
I shrug. “Shitty day.”
“We all have them.”
“I don’t.” When he sends me a look, I shrug. “Not really.”
“Can’t keep up the perfect façade forever, bro. You’re human like the rest of us.”
That is really fucking hard to admit.
“Coach said you’re playing,” Ace says, appearing right by my side. I turn to look at him. “You’ll get it.”
“Get what?” I ask him.
“The win.”
“I think that’s all thanks to you.”
“Whatever. We’re just taking care of each other. Doing it for the team. Right?”
His words linger when I’m out on the field, reminding me that sometimes I get a little too caught up in my bullshit when I should be focusing on the big picture.
The team. All of us as a cohesive unit versus just me and my position. My future.
That’s all coming, but none of it will work if we don’t work on it together.
I refocus my energy on the field and let it all happen naturally. Pushing everything out of my brain, even Blair—especially Blair—and I’m back. In charge and living large, as Derek shouts at me after I throw the ball, and Knox, yet again, runs it into the end zone.
Once the game is over and we’ve won, I jog over to Knox and give him a hug, slapping the side of his helmet while grinning at him.
“It’s your game today, motherfucker. You’re a superstar,” I tell him.
He grins back. “You weren’t so bad yourself once you came out of your fog.”
My smile slips. My fog can only be blamed on his sister.
Which really fucking sucks.
A bunch of us from the team finally arrive at Logan’s, much later after the game, and we’re greeted like kings. Plenty of shouting, raised mugs in the air as if they’re toasting us. I’m surrounded by my teammates, purposely placing myself in the center, so I don’t have to deal with anyone’s questions about the game.
I avoided the media after it was finished, hiding away in the locker room, showering way longer than necessary. Not that anyone actually wanted to talk to me. They were too busy chatting up Knox, who deserved the attention, or fawning over Ace, who also deserved the recognition.
I felt easily forgotten, which is stupid because I wanted to avoid the media. The reporters and the local news stations. That one chick from ESPN, who is a goddamn stalker sometimes, following us all over the field after a game when we’re usually trying to avoid her.
Now they want nothing to do with me and I’m butthurt. It’s stupid.
I’m being ridiculous, but sometimes, it feels good to sulk.
Blair sent me a text that I didn’t see until I was in the locker room, saying she’d be at Logan’s later, and like a shithead, I ignored it. Didn’t bother to reply, which also has me feeling miserable. I hate having a rough game, and it’s been a while since it’s happened. It would be easy to blame her for everything. Hell, when I was in the thick of it, I did blame her. Was coming up with twenty different ways to let her down easy, not a single one of them sounding possible.
It’s hard to admit I’m the one who’s at fault sometimes. I can’t keep blaming my mistakes and fuck-ups on other people. Having Blair in my life is a good thing.
I need to remember that.
Hopefully, she’ll show up here and I’ll get a chance to apologize. And hopefully her brother won’t be anywhere around when I do make that apology. I don’t need him ruining this. I already feel bad enough.
We sit in our usual spot in the back of the bar, taking over three of the booths that line the back wall. Knox ditches us almost immediately, and I watch as he finds Joanna, giving her a kiss in front of God and everybody, not giving a damn who sees them. She smiles up at him, slinging her arms around his neck, looking proud.
Envy curls through my blood, and I mentally tell myself to get over it. Our situations are different. I don’t even know if Blair is feeling anything toward me right now. Probably not pride, not after the shitty way I just played that game.
It doesn’t matter if I threw a touchdown during that last quarter. I’m still reveling in my shitty game play, which is normal for me. It’ll take about four beers before I’m pulled out of my bad mood.
I’m on beer number one so I’ve got a long way to go.
A group of girls approach our table at one point, and while we’re making small talk, one of them comes right up to me.
“Great game today, Cam,” she says, her tone overly familiar. As if she knows me.
She wishes.
“Thanks.” I take a swig of beer, wishing she would leave. She’s cute enough, but her hair is the wrong color and her face is just…the wrong face. I don’t want to talk to this woman.
I want Blair.
“Feeling down?” she asks, her frown more like a pout. Bet she thinks that’s sexy.
“Not particularly.” I grab my phone and bring up my text thread with Blair, shooting her a quick one.
Me: You at Logan’s?
She doesn’t respond right away and I lift my head to find the girl who was trying to chat me up is now talking to someone else. Good.
I’m almost finished with my second beer when my phone finally buzzes.
Bumblebee: Just got here.
Bumblebee: I’m pissed at you though.
I smile. I love her honesty. It’s like a Maguire trait.
Me: I should be put on time out.
Bumblebee: Where are you?
Me: The usual spot.
I set my phone on the table and wait, ignoring the conversations going on around me, focusing on the front of the bar, searching for that familiar blonde head I like so damn much. I drain the last of my beer, grateful when one of my teammates swipes the mug from me and refills it from the fresh pitcher that was just delivered to our table. I lift my mug at him in a cheers gesture and take another sip, right as Blair appears.
Swear to God, a beam of light follows her wherever she walks, like she’s an angel sent from heaven. I watch her make her way toward our table, taking in her outfit. She’s got on black leggings that mold to her skin, reminding me just how long they are. And she’s wearing my T-shirt I gave her. It’s way too big and she’s got it knotted on the right side, resting just at her hip with a zip-up gray hoodie thrown over it. Her hair is down and her lips are slicked in some glossy stuff that I want to see all over my dick later, and fuck, I am so relieved to see her I feel like I could collapse.
Thank Christ I’m sitting down or I’d probably make a damn fool of myself.
She stops at the front of our table, a beautiful smile on her equally beautiful face, her gaze scanning everyone I’m seated with before those pretty eyes settle on me. “Hey, guys. Great game today.”
They all greet her with friendly hellos, respectful because she’s Maguire’s sister, and I tip my head toward her, scooting over a bit and patting the now empty spot right beside me.
With no hesitation she settles right in, her warm, soft body nestled close to mine and I lean in, inhaling as subtly as possible, breathing her delicious scent.
“Camden,” she murmurs.
I lift my glass toward her. “Bumblebee.”
Her eyes are sparkling, I swear to God, though she’s trying to look stern. And failing—miserably. “Are you drunk?”
“On my way there.”
Her façade cracks a little, her eyes now shining with worry. “Oh, Cam. You had a rough go of it today.”
“Bad,” I agree with a nod, taking a giant swallow. I just want to forget tonight. Forget my troubles and the stress and the worry. Just focus on getting shitfaced and spending the night with this pretty girl sitting next to me. Will she let me lose myself in her? Just for a little bit?
Fuck, I hope so.
“You played great in the last quarter,” she says, trying to turn a negative into a positive.
“Thanks.” My voice is clipped and I feel like a dick, but there’s still sympathy in her eyes, so I didn’t totally fuck it up.
Yet.
“What do you need from me?” she whispers, her hand settling on my thigh, warm and reassuring.
“Nothing.” I meet her gaze, hoping she sees how serious I am. “Just having you here sitting next to me so I can look at you is enough.”
Her smile turns tremulous and she squeezes my thigh, leaning in slightly so she can murmur, “I wish we were alone.”
“Me too.” I pause. “I’d kiss you if we were.”
Her cheeks turn pink. “How long do you have to stay?”
“I can leave whenever the hell I want.” I announce this loudly, causing a few heads to turn in my direction. “You ready to go?”
An awkward laugh escapes her, and when no one is paying attention to us, she rests her finger against her pursed lips. Damn if that doesn’t make me want to lean in and kiss that pretty mouth of hers, right here in front of everyone. Fuck it.
I sway toward her, my head swimming from the beer, and she presses a hand against my shoulder, keeping me from getting any closer. I know exactly what she’s doing and she’s only respecting my wishes, but that hurts too.
“Let’s go,” I practically growl in her ear.
She shakes her head, refusing to look at me, her nails digging into my thigh. Good thing I’m wearing jeans or she might draw blood. “You’re trying to cause a scene, Cam, and that’s not like you. Let’s get you to calm down first and then I’ll go. A few minutes after I leave, you can leave too and come back to my place.” Her head angles toward mine. “Okay?”
Leaning back in my seat, I nod, settling my hand over hers and giving it a squeeze. I don’t mean to be a dick. I’m just frustrated with myself and a little drunk.
Doesn’t help that I consume more beer, despite the disapproving looks Blair sends in my direction every time I take another swig. I choose to ignore her, polishing off my fourth beer and finally forgetting all of my troubles regarding the game.
Now I’m just flat-out drunk. And more than a little sloppy.
“Should we get an Uber?” I whisper to Blair, needing her to talk to me. She’s too busy laughing over something Derek says, and I tell myself not to act like a dick. He’s got a girl with giant tits sitting on his lap, who’s totally into him. He doesn’t give a damn about Blair.
Yet, I’m jealous. I see green on the edges of my vision and I feel like slinging my arm around Bair’s shoulders and hauling her into me, proclaiming to everyone that she’s mine.
She belongs to me.
But my girl barely glances in my direction, whispering out of the side of her mouth, “I drove myself here.”
“Are you sober?” I burp. Loudly.
Blair winces. “Someone needs to be.”
“I thought you were drinking?”
“The same someone also has to drag your drunk ass out of here,” she drawls.
Derek perks up and I realize that he heard her. “You brave enough to give Fields a ride home, Blair?”
Blair blinks at Derek, her body going stiff. Like she’s embarrassed we just got caught talking about it. “Um, yeah. My brother asked me to.”
“She’s such a good sister, don’t you think?” I ask Derek, leaning over Blair and giving into my urges, sliding my arm around her shoulders and giving her a squeeze. She tenses beneath my touch, but I don’t give a damn. “The perfect little sister to Maguire.”
She says nothing, her body language screaming I’m extremely uncomfortable, but I choose to ignore her vibe.
“Blair’s pretty great,” Derek says, and my heart turns black at his words.
“What do you know about her?” I’m growling. Feeling territorial. Glaring at Derek like I want to tear him apart with my bare hands.
“Whoa, calm down there, buddy. I’ve got someone to distract me already. Right, Sheena?” He looks at the girl in his lap with the giant tits.
“It’s Sheila,” she corrects him, wrapping her arms around his neck and practically shoving his face in her cleavage. “And yes, baby. I’m here to distract you all night long.”
They laugh and kiss, not trying to hide their interest in each other, and I’m jealous yet again. Everything makes me jealous tonight.
“You’re being a jerk,” Blair tells me, shrugging my arm off her shoulders and shoving my hand off her thigh. Like she doesn’t want me touching her. “You need to calm down before people start getting suspicious.”
“Suspicious of what?” I play dumb on purpose and she scowls at me, slowly shaking her head.
“You’re acting like a child.” Before I can stop her, she rises to her feet, staring down at me with disappointment written all over face. “Get your shit together, Fields.”
She leaves, and I watch her retreating form, feeling like an absolute dickhead.
“Hey, baby, go get me a tequila shot.”
Sheila pops up off Derek’s lap, snatching the twenty-dollar bill from his fingers. “Sure thing, sexy.”
We both watch her head for the bar, Derek turning to me the moment she’s out of earshot.
“What’s the deal with you and Maguire’s sister?”
“Nothing,” I say too quickly.
Derek snorts. “Fuckin’ liar. You got a thing for her?”
“No.”
“She got a thing for you?”
“Possibly.”
“You kiss her yet?”
I remain quiet.
“Fuck her?”
The look on my face must say it all. Derek whistles low, slowly shaking his head. “You’re in serious trouble, my dude.”
“I don’t need your input if you’re just going to sit here and make me feel like shit.”
“Just stating facts, bro. You’re gonna get in over your head. Actually, I think you’re already there. That girl is sweet. And a Maguire. She’s not someone you just casually mess around with.” Another low whistle. “Her daddy is a fucking professional, man! A legend! And her brother is your best friend.”
“Thanks for telling me what I already know.” I reach for my beer, realizing too late that it’s empty, as only drops hit my tongue when I try and drink from it. I set it on the table with a loud thunk. “There is nothing going on between Blair and me.”
Derek’s brows shoot up, the doubt written all over his face. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Blair doesn’t come back to the table. Sheila reappears carrying two tequila shots, and Derek nestles his between her tits, grabbing it with his lips and tilting his head back to swallow it while she laughs and laughs. I just scowl at them the entire time, annoyed with their antics. Even more annoyed with their freedom to do whatever the hell they want with no judgment, except from me.
But right now, I don’t count because I’m just a jealous fuck who wishes he could be as free as they are. But I can’t.
Worse? There’s no one to blame. I could say it’s Knox’s fault but that would be a lie.
It’s my fault too.
After about thirty minutes of me sitting there talking to no one and not drinking anything but water, I finally get up from the table to go use the bathroom. I make my way through the thick crowd, nodding and smiling at everyone who greets me as I pass by, noting that most of them are women. Women whose gazes are full of interest. Who give me a full body scan with their eyes, like they’re thoroughly checking me out.
In the past, I would’ve chosen the cutest one and singled her out. Made conversation with her. Brought her back to the table, much like Derek did with his chosen one for the night. I would’ve flattered her and flirted with her and touched her here and there. On the arm. Her leg. Maybe even her hair. She would be totally into me and I’d be into her and I’d bring her out to my car and let her do whatever she wanted to me. Usually a blow job.
Most of the time, I wouldn’t give them anything in return because I’m selfish like that. They never complained. But they’d always leave with the hope that I would reach out again. They’d give me their phone number and practically beg me to hit them up sometime.
I never did. Most of the time, I’d delete their number and forget all about them. I was a dick.
I still am.
But I’m not tempted to do any of that tonight. I hate how they check me out. I hate the way they make a simple word like, “hey,” sound suggestive. As if they look at me and think of only one thing. It makes me feel used.
And I’m the user in this situation. I’m aware of what I am.
Damn it, Blair Maguire has really fucked with my head.
After I handle my business, I’m walking out of the bathroom when I spot Blair standing at the bar, talking with some random guy. I go completely still, my focus only on Blair. The faint smile on her face, her friendly expression. She’s completely open to what this guy is saying to her and I hate that.
I should walk away. Let her go. Find my own ride home and deal with the consequences later.
My gaze shifts to the guy who’s talking to her and I realize it’s not just some rando.
It’s fucking Ace.
