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I can’t answer. Another sob threatens my throat because I know I’ll never trust another man like I trusted Beau. And in typical my-life-is-a-shit-sandwich fashion, Beau is now my sole sexual fantasy fulfilled.
And he’s gone for good.
“Is he still there? Are you at the hotel still?”
“No, he left, and I’m standing like a crybaby in the bathroom,” I answer, stubbing my bare toe on the marble, feeling tears trickle down my flaming cheeks, so I glance up in the mirror and gasp. “Oh my god.”
“What?” Vale barks. “What is it? Don’t tell me y’all got drunk and got matching tattoos inside your lips?”
“No!” I wail. “That’s your dumbass fantasy. No, I’m looking in the mirror, and I look like Natalie Portman!”
“You look like Mighty Thor?”
“No! I look like I’ve been crying for a year, and she’s the best cryer in Hollywood. Her nose gets all red and snotty and everything.”
“Shit,” she mutters. “Thisisserious.”
“No, it’s not.” I lie.
“Bitch, please. You’ve never snot-cried over a man, so why the hell are you crying overhim? I mean, yeah, you love big alien dicks, but you hate football even more.”
“Because I’ve been in love with Beau Bronson sincecollege.”
“Oh my god!” she shrieks. “Blair, then why the fuck did you fuck him? That’s the recipe for pussy poison!”
I stomp my foot. “Because I’ve been inLOVEwithBEAU BRONSONsince college!”
Screaming the truth over and over doesn’t help. It onlymakes it worse. But at least I’m shouting it from the rooftops. At least I admit my life is FUBAR now.
It’s a hell of my own making. I started this game, and though Beau said otherwise, nope, I lost the game on purpose.
I saw the torment in his eyes. He didn’t want to leave, and I could’ve seduced him to stay in bed with me, but I didn’t.
I made him go.
I pushed him away.
I know more about Physics, which I failed, than I know about football. And trust me, if you go to Bama, you can escape death easier than you can escape football. So I was determined to be the one student in thirty-eight thousand who didn’t give a shit about football because I was secretly, madly in love with our quarterback.
Reese was too blinded by her unhealthy relationships with food and alcohol, and then with Beau trying to save her to ever truly seehim. It was all abouther. Yeah, she proudly cheered at his games. She loved the status of being his girlfriend.
But not me.
Because I silently cheered when I’d bust Beau reading. I’d catch him hiding in the library where no one would think to find him. He had a favorite spot, deep in the stacks at a table, and I’d see him there alone and quietly watch him.
It made my heart burst when his sexy face would get the most innocent grin, his eyes lighting up while he read Tolkien.
So, even though I still avoid football like the plague, I can’t deny that the only other time I’ve seen Beau Bronson smile like that is when he plays football.
And yep, I’m busted.
You caught me.
I’d rather break the spines of all my treasured signed paperbacks than to ever watch a Bama game in the stadium, but Imayhave watched a few on TV in college. Like when Ihappenedto be sitting alone at a packed sports bar, trying to read while assholes dared to drink and watch the game around me. It was anaccidentwhen I gazed for hours at Beau Bronson on the flatscreen.
Even behind his face mask, I could see it. His teeth are perfect and bright white when he smiles. He’s beautiful. He’s happiest on the field.
Thank you, Irony. You’re a real yeast infection.
