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A bunchof 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, Ididblame 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.
