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Fifty Yard Line 5
Poppy
Andjustlikethat, Brady Parker was drifting off to sleep while I laid next to him in his bed, in his clothes, and found something to watch on the television. My head was starting to hurt again. I had several bruises that both my clothes and his covered. He turned to his side and an arm dropped over the pillow that served as the first part of the bedding barrier between us. This bed was huge and comfortable, unlike the standard twin size in the dorm.
My arm hurt, my shoulder, my ribs. I was fortunate that they landed at an angle and primarily on one half of me. I could see the impact, though the zoom was hardly working for that photographer. I could see this because I had flipped through and found the sports channel. If the press was outside my hospital door, they were there for a reason. I balked at the way they were headlining this whole thing. No wonder he came in telling me it wouldn’t matter who was there.
I doubted he could have even registered I was there until it was too late. He was focused down the field, on that receiver. On the winning play. The other guy, the one not getting any flack from this, may or may not have realized I was there, but at least he was facing me. I jolted again as the scene came on from another angle.
I really hoped my parents were not watching this. My phone was in the plastic hospital bag and that was in the chair at the desk in this room. I looked around this room one more time. Neat. Clean. Organized. It wasn’t a whole tribute to himself or a crazy love den like I imagined the star quarterback would have.
Really, he had been nothing like I expected him to be. I had expected him to be a jerk because I did send an email requesting to interview the starting players some time this week and the response from the team manager was everyone agreed but this guy.
This really gorgeous guy. This stranger who was being incredibly responsible for me when he had no obligation to do any of this. I think I fell asleep staring at him. I was definitely awake as a shooting pain went down my arm. I sat up, winced, felt the cramps in my abdomen, groaned, felt the throb in my forehead, cursed as I got out of bed and— “Where am I?”
The light came on and I turned to find Brady sitting up in bed, hair a bit tousled, shirt absent. He asked, “You okay?”
The events of my life up to this moment filtered in and I said, “Yes.”
Total lie, but I went into his bathroom and took longer than usual because I had one hand to work with and more than one life situation happening at once.
I had dated a handful of guys in my life. Well, since fourteen, I had dated three guys. The first guy was my first everything. We were freshmen in high school, both had braces, both a bit nerdy. We were in journalism club, chess club, and film club. We watched and critiqued a lot of movies in that last one. Some we barely watched but got in a decent amount of make-out time instead. We also once got stuck together, but that just made us smarter about kissing strategies.
I smiled as that memory surfaced. I hadn’t thought about him in a long time. They moved that summer and I never really saw him again outside of social media. The second was the guy I went to prom with. Dating was a loose description of what we were doing, but it was my senior year, he seemed to like me, and I didn’t hate him. Until he left me at prom for a girl who would have sex with him. I might have had sex with him, but I didn’t even get the chance.
Then the asshole I dated for a few weeks last year. I wasn’t exactly quarterback bait, but here I was, in his bathroom, trying to push another pad as far to the bottom of an empty wastebasket as I could.
It took longer for me to wash my hand and fingertips, but I managed. I stepped out and frowned at him. He had his shirt back on. I puffed out a disappointed breath and asked, “Is that offer for pizza still good or—”
He smiled, nodded. “Feeling a little better?”
Brady opened the door to his bedroom and as we walked down the hall, he turned on lights. “Cold or hot?”
“Warm?” I tried not to wince. I needed to take something for the cramps. I was walking like one of the old ladies at the senior center because it felt like half of my body was going to collapse at any wrong step.
He pulled two plates from a cabinet as I took a seat at the table and said, “This is a really nice apartment.”
“It is.” He nodded as he pulled the box out and then asked, “One, two?”
“One.” I tried for a smile. His brows drew down a moment, then he nodded.
He put the one slice in the microwave and asked as he turned, “How bad? Like, one quarter of a pill or maybe some over the counter pain reliever?”
“Let’s start with some ibuprofen or acetaminophen. I did a paper on addiction and pain relievers. If I can avoid them—”
“You also have some muscle relaxers.” He indicated the little bag on the counter. “The nurse said those were just above an OTC, so maybe one of those will do the trick. Still.” He opened the microwave and pulled out the plate with the warm pizza slice on it. “You need food on your stomach to take any of those.” He then asked, “Water? Tea?”
I nodded. He snickered and got me some water. He put some pizza in for himself and took a seat at the table. He looked at his phone, was obviously texting someone, then said, “I’m going to strangle them both.”
“Who?” I asked around a bite.
“Prissy and Candy. They should have been home by now, or at Candy’s, but you can see right here, they are at…Phi…fuck me running!” He was on his feet and since the phone went up to his ear, I assumed called someone. “What are you doing there at this hour?”
I could only hear his side of the conversation.
“Priscilla! You get your ass home right now.” Whatever she said, he did not like. He balked. Grew angry and said, “Fine. You want to do this your way. I’m calling—”
He didn’t say anything, but his intense stare at the refrigerator did not lesson one bit.
