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I sigh, looking up to Dante. He’s got a mug of beer in one hand and a celebratory cigar in the other. The backdrop? Our usual post-win bar haunt. It’s full of “booze, bitches, and bad decisions,” as his drunk ass has reminded me at least half a dozen times tonight. At least that’s always how we billed it. Nowadays, it feels less and less welcoming and more like a reminder of the version of me Olivia never would have gone for.
I glance back down to my phone. I’ve been scrolling through my old, pre-crisis messages with Olivia, giving myself more heartache than I ought to. Do I deserve it? Fuck yeah. Does it feel good? Fuck no.
Not even the first win of the season can get me out of the funk that I’ve put myself in.
It’s been fourteen days since I sent Olivia off to that safehouse. Fourteen days since I had to look her in the eyes knowing that she felt betrayed. She doesn’t even know that her hunch about Holly is correct. Let alone that I know why it’s correct.
I have no doubt that my choice was the right one. It doesn’t change the fact that, the longer I’m away from her with no change in the status quo, the more my guilt eats me to my core.
Dante plops beside me, nudging my shoulder with his. “You look depressed, dude. We won! What’s the long face for?”
I haven’t told Dante and Marcus about what I’ve done. The fewer people in the know, the better. Not that they would say anything, but if Holly’s in the business of having people stalk Olivia, who knows what other trickery is at her disposal?
“We barely won,” I say. Which isn’t a lie. Coach stuck to keeping my ass benched, until the fucker he had filling in for me (not Bastian, surprise, surprise) just couldn’t perform the way he needed to. I had to come in and save the day. “We barely scraped by on the skin of our teeth.”
“Yeah, thanks to you!” Dante tilted his head. “What gives, man? Usually, this kinda thing gets you going. Proving to Coach that you’re the man that should be front and center. Bringing the team around for a last-second victory. All the women fawning over you—” Dante paused, grinning. “Well, maybe not that one anymore, since you got Olivia, but you catch my meaning.”
I shrug. “Guess I’m just not feelin’ it, man.”
Dante regards me for a while. I know that look. It’s his ‘I know there’s more going on but I’ll let it go for now’ look. Emphasis on the “for now” part.
“Alright. Well, I’m gonna go mingle. Marcus is off somewhere on the phone with Quinn.” Dante rolls his eyes. “Both of you got girls these days. Lame as hell, bro.”
He disappears into the crowd and I watch him with a measure of envy. He doesn’t have to worry about the things that me and Marcus do. He’s free to behave as he wants.
It isn’t that I would give up Olivia for a taste of that. It’s that you don’t even know the weight of your responsibilities until you make the choices that give them to you.
I go order a beer. The bartender flashes a pearly smile at me and I give her a curt nod before going right back to my seat. It doesn’t take long to down the first beer or the one that comes right after.
I lose track of how many I get. Three, five, who knows? The more I drink, the less I think about the fact that I’m slurring too much or that my brain is fuzzy. What clicks is when there’s a sudden weight on my thigh and the scent of fruity booze and cheap perfume wafting into my nose. I blink, trying to clear my vision enough to see a bombshell blonde sitting in my lap.
She’s got wide, blue doe eyes and lips painted perfectly in red. My eyes drop instinctually, met with a face full of tits. When I look back at her face, she’s grinning at me.
“Hey there, champ,” she simpers. Her arms snake around my shoulders and she presses those breasts up against my chest. I can remember times in the past where that would be enough to get me going.
But now, I feel nothing.
I put my hands on her hips, urging her off me. She takes the gesture differently, wiggling against me like I’m encouraging her to make herself at home.
“Nah, get up,” I order, shoving her back to her feet.
She pouts out her bottom lip. How many guys has that look worked on? In the past, it’d have worked on me, too. Now, it just disgusts me. I don’t want this woman on me. I don’t want any woman other than Olivia.
“Come on, baby. Don’t you wanna buy me a drink?”
“I can’t think of anything I want less.”
When I stand up, she lurches backwards and trips a bit until she manages to catch herself on a nearby table. Her skirt’s ridden up and she tugs it down back over her thighs with embarrassed scarlet cheeks.
Goddammit. I’m being spiteful for no reason. I didn’t need to be so mean to her. “Sorry?—”
“Fuck off!” she snaps. “Asshole.”
She trots off into the crowd. I don’t bother to follow along to foist an apology on her. There’s no point.
Fuck, I need some air.
I stumble my way through the crowd of people and out of the exit. Outside blasts me with a cool breeze, crisp and unlike the stuffy, humid air inside the bar. I breathe it in, wanting to clear my head.
