by Erin Noelle
“Plus,” I add in a hushed whisper, “alcohol always tastes better than tears.”
I’M DRUNK AND I’M PISSED.
I’m pissed at her for walking in with that guy from the trip, who she promised me was just a friend.
I’m pissed at her for not coming to look for me when she got there.
I’m pissed at her for shattering my happily-ever-after dreams and ruining everything I’ve worked so hard for.
But mostly, I’m pissed at myself for actually believing what she and I shared was something special, something to build a true relationship on.
And I’m pissed that even though I’m pissed, I still want nothing more in the world than to hold her in my arms and tell her what I should’ve told her before we left St. Lucia—that I love her and would do anything to become the person she deserves.
Within minutes of Bristol’s and my little confrontation, where I knowingly said shit I shouldn’t have and did my typical dick act hoping I could make her feel a tiny sliver of the pain she was inflicting on me, Mo is up in my face, removing me from the group of people around me. His furrowed brow and piercing stare tell me he’s pissed too, but I’m not exactly sure why. Friendly Mo no longer seems very friendly, and I’m suddenly very sober.
“What’s your problem, man?” I ask as soon as he releases my arms with a slight shove.
He looks around to make sure no one can hear our conversation before getting back in my face. “What’s my problem? Are you fucking kidding me? If you weren’t our only hope for having a winning season, I’d beat the shit out of you right fucking now for the way you just spoke to her, especially in front of all those other people!”
I rub my hands over my face in a brisk up and down motion, sighing loudly. “Mo, I appreciate your chivalrous notion, but you don’t understand. I’ve got history with that girl.”
His large hands clasp my shoulders roughly and he jerks me close so that he’s back in my face. “Fuck chivalry and fuck you,” he spits. “I know all about your history with Bristol, and had I known prior to an hour ago that you’re the guy she lies awake and cries about every damn night, there’s no way in hell I’d’ve been nice to you, much less brought you here today or asked you to crash at my place.”
Huh? She cries over me every night?
I push him off with a scowl, my anger bleeding into irritated confusion. “What do you mean you know about me and Bristol? How do you know her?”
“My brother is dating her best friend and roommate, so the four of us hang out a lot, and she and I have become close recently.”
“Oh, so you’re fucking her too?” I scoff, pissed again.
The blow to the left side of my face happens so suddenly I can’t even brace myself for it. Stumbling backwards, I’m able to regain my footing before falling completely on my ass as the ringing in my ear, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth, and the throbbing across my jaw ignite my adrenaline. In a blind rage, I charge back towards him, but am stopped as someone grabs me from behind.
“Fuck you! Let me go!” I demand, recognizing another guy from the team as I twist my neck around. “Now!”
“No can do, bro,” he says calmly, allowing Mo to approach me yet again.
This time, I prepare for the punch . . . but it never comes.
He leans in so close our foreheads are nearly touching, and growls, “First off, I would never fuck a girl who’s in love with another guy. Secondly, if you think that’s the kind of girl Bristol is, you don’t fucking deserve her.”
Lifting his eyes to the guy holding my arms, he tips his head, indicating for him to let me go, which he does. “Finally, you need to get your mouthy little ass in check and sit down to talk to her like a man, if she can even stand to look at you after your little charade today. And the next time my fist meets your face, I won’t hold back. You with me?”
I nod with complete understanding. Even though I just met this guy today, I somehow know every word he said is true. “Yeah, I’m with you.”
“Good.”
Mo turns around to walk away from me, but I stop him. “Wait!” I call out.
Looking back over his shoulder, he doesn’t say anything, just waits for me to say something.
“Take me to her. I want to apologize for today . . . for everything. She’s the reason I’m here.” I look like a complete pussy-whipped chump right now in front of these people, but I don’t give a fuck. I’ve worked too hard to come back from the shell of a person I was before meeting her, all so I could do what I love and be with her.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea right no—” he begins, but I cut him off.
“Please,” I implore. “I’ve been waiting over six weeks to see her. I promise you I’m gonna make this right, man. Just let me talk to her.”
His expression relaxes and his shoulders slump as he beckons me over with a tip of his head. “Come on. You’ve got one shot.”
Ignoring the pounding in my head, I move swiftly to join him in his trek back towards the house. Neither of says a word the entire time. He’s probably still calming himself down while I’m trying to remember everything I had planned on saying to Bristol, knowing I better nail this apology the first time.
We enter the house through the backdoor, only to be immediately cut off by a curly-haired redhead.
“Why did you bring him—oh my God, what did you do to his face?” Her first question to Mo abruptly altered the minute she gets a good look at me up close. “Follow me. You need some ice.”
I’m not up for arguing with anyone at this point, so I follow who I’m assuming is Bristol’s roommate over to the refrigerator. She finds a Ziploc bag, dumps a handful of ice from the freezer in it, and then wraps a paper towel around it.
“Here. Keep this on your face,” she instructs as she hands me the icepack, her lips pursing with disapproval. “By the way, I’m Alyvia, Bristol’s best friend. I would say it’s nice to meet you, but I’m pretty pissed off at you right now.”
“Thank you for the cold pack, and I completely understand. I’m Davis,” I reply sincerely. “Where is she? I need to tell her I’m sorry for the way I’ve acted today . . . and so much more. I swear to you it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“Well, you’re gonna have to wait on that apology, ‘cause she’s passed out cold on the couch in there.” She points at an adjoining room through a doorway. “I was just about to come tell Mo we’re taking her home.”
“Why is she passed out? What happened?” I ask, not bothering to hide the alarm in my voice.
“Six shots of tequila in ten minutes when you barely weigh over a hundred pounds will do that to ya.” She shifts her attention to Mo, who is still standing by the backdoor. “Do you want to carry her to your truck and I’ll drive her car home? I rode with Lucky, and y’all can stay at our place tonight. I’m sure she’ll need some attending to when she finally comes to.”
“Dipshit here is with me too,” he grunts, glancing over at me. “He’s supposed to be staying at my place until they figure out his housing next week some time. Obviously, I had no idea who he was, other than the team’s new quarterback, when I offered.”
Alyvia cackles out loud, shaking her head. “Wow! Are you serious? This gets more and more bizarre by the minute.”
“I want to be there when she wakes up,” I pipe up.
“Unless you want matching black eyes, I’d highly discourage that,” Alyvia responds with a sharp shake of her head.
“I don’t care. I want to be there,” I insist. “I’ll help take care of her. Please, after all this . . . just give me a chance to work this out with her.”
She looks over my shoulder at Mo, then at me, and finally back to Mo. “Okay, that’s fine, but if she starts pummeling your ass, I’m not gonna help you. Mo, you take her home in your truck, and Davis can ride with me in B’s car. We’ll figure out sleeping arrangements later.”
“Lyv, are you sure this is a good idea?” Mo asks tentatively.
I stand there silently, holding the ice to my face, while they work out the details. As long as I get to be where Bristol is, I don’t care where I sleep.
“No, I’m not,” she sighs, picking up her purse off the counter, “but I’m going with my gut. She needs us when she wakes up, and we can’t leave him alone looking like that. Now let’s go.”
Following their lead, we walk into the sparse living room area where a guy who resembles Mo sits guarding Bristol’s limp, sleeping body. I rush over to her, not caring what any of them thinks, and fall to my knees next to the couch, dropping the icepack to the floor.
Almost scared to touch her, I cautiously bring my hand up to lightly stroke her dark hair off her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Bristol,” I whisper ever-so-softly. “I’m gonna fix this. I promise.”
As I lean down to kiss her forehead, I notice she’s wearing the green and yellow necklace I gave her the night of our sailing adventure. A quick glimpse at her wrist confirms she’s got the bracelet on too, and my heart swells with joy.
I was right. We did share something special, and she hasn’t let go of it either.
ELEPHANTS ARE PARADING THROUGH my head, a cat has taken a shit in my mouth, and a fire burns out of control in my belly. Waking up with a hangover is never fun, but I’m pretty sure this one takes the cake.
I slowly open my eyes and look around, assessing where I am and what day it is. The clock reads two-thirty, and outside my window is still pitch black, so I’m assuming it’s the early morning hours of Monday. Thank God today is a holiday.
Mo, and all six and a half feet of him, is snoring in a sleeping bag on my floor, which would be hilarious if I wasn’t afraid my head would explode while laughing. I’m not sure why in the world he’s not on the couch or in my bed, but I’ll figure that out later. First thing’s first. I need to use the bathroom, take some pain pills, and chug a gallon of water. Then I can try to recall the events of the previous day.
As quietly as I can to not wake Mo, I slide out of bed and tiptoe to the bathroom attached to my room. Once I’ve emptied the contents of my stomach into the toilet and brushed my teeth, I feel considerably better, despite what the hideous reflection in the mirror is telling me. Still wearing the same clothes, makeup, and hairstyle as yesterday, all in a state of disarray, I realize I must’ve passed out and was deposited in my bed without disruption. I need a shower in a bad way, but I need ibuprofen worse.
I slip out of the bathroom and make my way to the kitchen, still trying to stay as silent as possible, and I fumble around with the medicine bottle in the dark until I finally line the damn arrows up to pop the top off. Shaking three pills into the palm of my hand, I turn around to grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator, when a tall shadow looming in the darkness of the doorway catches my attention.
“Lucky?” I ask groggily, recognizing the frame is too thin to be Mo. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”
“Lucky?” a low, masculine voice I know all too well rasps as he takes a step towards me. “Lucky to have met you?” My heart skips a beat and I take a step backwards, retreating from the guy who owns my heart. “Yes. Lucky to have spent time with you?” Another step forward for Davis, another one back for me. “For sure. Lucky to know how funny that cute little mouth can be and how sexy every inch of your body is?” With the next set of steps, my back hits the wall, and I’m cornered with nowhere to go, my pulse now racing. “Absolutely.”
My breath hitches as he closes the gap between us. “But I’d be the luckiest man in the world if you’d give me a second chance to be a part of your life,” he whispers hoarsely. Lowering his forehead down to rest on mine, a shiver runs down my spine as he lifts a hand to cup my neck, my body on high alert. “I’m sorry I was such a dick yesterday. I was way out of line.”
As if someone just dumped a bucket of water on my head, images from the previous day flood my memory, bringing with them incensed rage and humiliation. Raising my hands up to his chest, I push him back hard. “Get off me,” I snarl through gritted teeth. “What in the hell are you doing in my apartment?”
“Bristol, please.” He drops his arms and backs off a few feet, giving me a little breathing room. “I’m here to explain and apologize. Mo and Alyvia let me stay here last night so we could talk in the morning.”
“We don’t have anything to talk about,” I snap, finally opening the refrigerator for my bottle of water. “The way you treated me yesterday after all this time sure made it crystal clear how you feel about me.”
His fingers steeple in front of his nose and mouth as his eyes plead with mine. “I know you’re mad at me, but please—I’m begging you—just let me try to explain. If you never want to see me again after that, I’ll leave you alone. I promise.”
With the soft light from the fridge illuminating the narrow galley-style kitchen, I get a good look at his face for the first time. Momentarily forgetting my irritation, I set my bottle down on the counter and bring my hand up to the left side of his cheek, lightly tracing the swollen bruise up to his temple. “What happened to you? Who did this?”
He shrugs his shoulders and waves the question off. “I got exactly what I deserved, and it doesn’t matter. The only thing I care about is you giving me a chance to talk.” His hands grasp my hips and my body responds to his touch yet again, the intensity in his eyes penetrating mine. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long. I’ve got so much to tell you.”
I open my mouth to tell him no, but something completely different comes out. “Tomorrow,” I concede with a long exhale of breath. “My head hurts too bad to do this right now and I’d rather we not have an audience.”
“Whenever you want, Trouble.” He cringes in pain as he attempts to smile. “I’ll take whatever you’ll give me.”
“’Kay, I’m gonna go lay back down. Are you sleeping on the couch?” I ask as I grab my water, not sure why I even care.
He nods and releases his grasp on me. “You’re more than welcome to join me.” He cocks his eyebrow in a playful smirk, still being his same old cocky self I fell so hard for.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I reply as I walk past him, reminding myself I’m supposed to be upset with him. “See you in the morning, Davis.”
“Night, Bristol.”
It takes every single ounce of self-control I have to stay in my bed for the rest of the night. Knowing we’re under the same roof and not going to curl up in his arms is pure torture, but I keep reminding myself of the nasty and heartless things he said to me yesterday.
Finding it impossible to fall back asleep, I alternate back and forth between replaying the fun-loving, tender-hearted, often panty-melting memories from St. Lucia and the lonely, sleepless nights of tear-stained pillows I’ve spent since being back. It’s a delicate game of push and pull I’m playing with my emotions, and when the sun comes up several hours later, I’m more confused than I was when I laid down. Now, I’m no longer worried about my head shattering into a million different pieces, but my heart is in danger yet again.
“Bristol, you awake?” Mo’s croaky morning voice asks as I lie there staring at the ceiling, willing everyone else in the apartment to wake up and leave so I can finally talk to Davis.
“Yeah, I’m up.” I roll over onto my side to peer down at him, flashing a small smile. “Why in the world did you sleep on my floor?”
“I didn’t want you to be freaked out if you woke up next to someone in your bed, and not realizing it was me, like . . . hit me or something.”
“Like you punched Davis?” I’m not for sure he’s the one who did it, but my gut normally isn’t wrong.
Chuckling, he sits up and runs his fingers through his dark hair. “How do you know about that?”
“I got up in the middle of the night to purge my stomach of the obnoxious amounts of alcohol I decided to drown myself in and take some medicine for my head, and I ran into Davis in the kitchen. He didn’t tell me what—or rather who—happened; I just kind of assumed,” I admit.
“If you don’t want him here, I can see to it he’s gone in a matter of minutes. I’d offered to give him a place to stay before I knew who he was to you, and then Lyv didn’t want either you or him to be alone since you were so fucked up and his face was so swollen,” he explains, standing up and rolling up the sleeping bag he’d used.
“It’s okay, Mo. I’m not upset he’s here,” I assure him, “but he and I do need to talk a bit this morning. Do y’all have practice today?”
“No. Davis is supposed to be studying the playbook most of today, and I suppose I should be helping him, but I’m not sure I like him very much. He’s kind of a dick.”
I let out a hard laugh. “Yeah, it’s one of his best qualities.”
Mo looks at me like I’m crazy and shakes his head. “Don’t sell yourself short, Flaca. I know you’ve been hung up on this guy for a while, but you deserve a guy who will worship the ground you walk on. Make him earn it.”
“I promise I will.”
He bends down and kisses me on my cheek before turning to leave my room. “Give me a few minutes to get Lucky and Alyvia up and dressed, and then we’ll leave you two alone for a while. Text me when you’re ready for us to come back.”
I sit up straight in the bed as I hear the others shuffling about in the bathroom and living area, mentally pumping myself up to be strong and hold my ground. Alyvia stops in to check on me, making sure I’m okay, which I assure her multiple times I am; however, the minute I hear the front door shut behind them, my entire body begins to tremble with nerves.
This is what I’ve been waiting six weeks for.
WITH EACH FOOTSTEP I hear coming down the hall, my pulse increases exponentially, eager yet scared to face Davis again. He raps lightly on my door and waits for me to respond.
“Come in,” I call out, my voice cracking with nerves.
The door opens and he walks in tentatively, briefly glancing around my room before his eyes land on me where I’m still sitting in my bed. Now that I can see him in full light, his face looks even worse than I originally thought—his left eye is nearly swollen shut, there’s a small cut on his cheekbone, and the entire area is bruised a painful shade of purple. But despite it all, he’s still insanely gorgeous.
