“What guys?” I ask, sipping on my empty bottle. I do need another, but Decker’s the last guy I’d let get me one. He’d probably spit in it—or worse—at this point.
“You and Decker. Why you always buttin’ heads? How are we supposed to make it to the Super Bowl if we can’t even get along off the field?”
I shrug. “Tell him to get over the training camp thing.”
“The what?”
I take time to briefly explain to Ramiel about Decker’s qualm with me. About “going too hard.” Too hard, toolittle. I’ve heard them both from different guys on the team. Whatever I do, I can’t make everyone happy.
Ramiel slaps me on the shoulder. “Why don’t you just apologize?”
I stop dead in my tracks. It’s a simple solution, one that never really crossed my mind. Maybe at one point it did, but it’s been so long now that there’s no way that can resolve the damage I’ve continued to cause since the training camp incident.
“I’ve got a lot to apologize for at this point,” I add.
“So apologize for it all. You know, sometimes you overcomplicate things.”
I grunt in response.
“A lot could be resolved if you’d use your words. Say what you’re thinking.”
“Pfft. You’ve seen where that gets me.”
“It ain’t rocket science, Ty. It’s just words. You just have to choose them more carefully.” He grins at me before spinning on a heel. “Come on.”
The DJ makes an announcement that he’ll be taking a smoke break, as we weave a path through the bar. Which means karaoke is in intermission for the time being. He dims the lights even lower and puts on some song with heavy bass before disappearing out the back. The small space that was left open in front of the DJ booth collects bodies one by one as people jump in, dancing and bumping, drinks raised high over their heads.
Someone pulls us to a table, offering us to join them for a round of shots. When Ramiel doesn’t say no, I don’t either. It’s a bit pathetic how many social cues I’m taking from him this evening. I’m out of my element. I suppose it’snice to have some kind of guide for the night because right now I’m floating along, a husk of a human. My brain is somewhere else.
Two girls we met earlier reappear, their drinks sloshing out of their cups as they start up another conversation. Seconds later, one of them grabs my hand and whisks me away from the shots table and onto the impromptu dance floor. Why did we have to stop at a table so close to the dancing? She’s cute. Curvy, brown hair, brown eyes, and she talks so much I don’t have to talk at all, which only reminds me of a certain chatty girl I was hoping to forget.
My dance partner says she’s in school to become a nurse, which is admirable. I should take advantage of this moment, of her willingness. I was looking for a distraction, and the distraction has come to me. She’s right in front of me. Each roll of her hips should be pulling me closer to some let’s-go-to-your-place-and-forget-Avery moment. But the closer I get to her, the more wrong it feels. If there’s going to be any your-place-or-mine moments, I’ll choose mine every time. Because that’s where Avery is. Maybe Avery isn’t my girlfriend, but being here now without her—with this other girl—I just… I miss her.
Chewing my lip, I back away, stammering some incomprehensible excuse. Then I order a ride before I can think better of it. I want to go home. I want to see Avery. There’s something I need to get off my chest.
The house is dark when I make my way through the garage using my code. It’s a nice night, still warm despite being acouple of months into fall, and it feels perfect. But when does it not in California? If this were any other evening, I’d probably take advantage of it with a late-night swim, but I’m home early and on a mission. Winding through the house and up the stairs, my heart stalls as I approach Avery’s door. I don’t even stop at my room to make sure I don’t smell like sweat or stale beer. I just want to see her again. I just want to make sure she’s okay. I want her to know I care.
Sucking in a deep breath, I lift a hand, hesitating before finally knocking on her door. Music gushes from under the frame, something sweet and poppy and fun. Something very Avery. When she doesn’t answer, I try again. This time the music stops. There’s a shuffling sound, and then the door flings open.
“Hi,” she says breathlessly.
I smile down at her. “I want to dance with you.”
Her dark brows crumple. “I thought you were out with Ramiel.” She pokes her head into the hall as though someone is going to pop up out of nowhere.
“I was. And now I’m home. And I want to dance with you.” I lean on the frame, peering down into her face. “I only have a month left of lessons. It’s go time.”
I drop my arm, letting it coast down hers until our fingers intertwine.
She doesn’t pull her gaze from mine but freezes and shakes free once she’s a few steps into the hall. “Wait. I need to change. I need to?—”
I grip her hand again, tugging her closer. “You look perfect. Come on.”
“You know, I underestimated your abilities. You really don’t need lessons, and I mean, itiswith your mom.”
My heart sinks as I lead her down the stairs. Is she trying to get out of this? I almost feel silly—childish—for being so excited for this tonight. Being at the bar with the guys made me realize that, as much as it’s important to bond with the team, hanging out with Avery is what I want to do with my time. At the end of the day, football is my job. It isn’t my life. As scary as it is to acknowledge, I need to build something outside of it. I need something at home. If I seem too eager, it’s because maybe I finally realize how long I’ve wasted trying to hide what I can’t anymore.
Avery’s past my line of defense. She’s getting to me, and I'm letting her.
