"You better check yourself, son," Ryan said.
The guy grinned as he looked down on Ryan. He opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind when he saw half the Longhorn football team inching closer.
"I'll check you later, Stac," the guy said as he rubbed Stacy's arm with the back of his hand.
Stacy watch the man walk away, which was a stupid thing to do, but not as stupid as the grin she had plastered on her face when she turned back to Ryan.
"Stac, are you fucking him?"
Stacy must have realized her facial expression wasn't quite appropriate, and changed it quick. "No, Ry, I'm not fucking him."
"Then what are you doing with him?"
"Nothing, he in my class, and we walked back here together. What's the big deal?"
"The big deal is I was looking for you, and you weren't here," Ryan said, and hung his head down.
"Jeez, Ry, it's only a game."
Troy moved between them before Ryan could react. "Come on, guys, don't do this here."
Ryan raised his head up, rubbing his chin as he turned and walked away without saying another word.
"Ry," Troy yelled after him, "where you going, man?"
He didn't respond. He raised his hand to wave and continued walking.
Stacy ran into the dorm. As the crowd disbursed, I walked over to Troy.
"Is he going to be all right?"
"Yeah, sad thing is, they'll probably be back together by tomorrow. Let's go."
***
We walked to the parking garage and got in Troy's truck. I told the girls we were going to go check on Ryan and would meet them later. Truth was I didn't feel like partying. I kept playing the scene in my head between Ryan and Stacy. I didn't like the way he talked to her but understood his anger. I could see the hurt in Ryan's whole demeanor, and even I knew that to them, it wasn't just a game.
Once the game ended, I couldn't wait to see Troy, to make sure he was okay. Hold him in my arms and let him know how proud of him I was, and he hadn't even played a down.
I didn't know Ryan well, but I'd witnessed him treat his girlfriend like shit.
They argued and made out with the same passion. For a relationship novice like me, it was confusing.
"You're being quiet. What's wrong?" Troy said.
We'd pulled out of the parking garage and drove through campus. My mind went back to Ryan and Stacy.
"Randa."
"What?"
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I said with not much conviction.
"Yes there is. I can see your mind working, and you get these cute little wrinkles on the side of your eyes when you're thinking too hard." He touched the side of my face.
"I don't feel like going to a party. Can we go somewhere and hang out, just the two of us?"
He rubbed my cheek with the back of his hand, and I leaned into it, feeling the equivalent of how he looked at me in the way he touched me.
"Sure."
I grabbed Troy's hand and placed it in my lap and crawled back into my own head. The question rolled around in my head, but I couldn't figure out an answer that made sense.
The question: how could two people who claim to love each other treat each other the way Ryan and Stacy did?
Minutes later, we parked the truck on a side street downtown. Troy took my hand and led me to Sixth Street. People congregated on every sidewalk and street corner, all in deep discussions about the game and about what went wrong. Troy pulled his hat down over his head, and we walked fast. He didn't want to get pulled into any of these discussions. We walked down the street a few blocks until we came to a restaurant called The Oak Room. The entrance opened into a crowded bar. The noise in the bar competed with the noise coming from a band playing on the balcony. We avoided both and headed through the back of the bar into the dining room. It was crowded as well but quiet enough to carry on a conversation.
The host guided us to an empty table. The room appeared rustic with its southwestern motif, but from the plates I noticed as we walked to our table, the food presentation was clean and classic. I opened the menu.
"What are you going to get?" I looked up and found Troy staring at me.
"Nothing until you tell me what's wrong."
I sat the menu down and stared back. Stalling in hopes of figuring out how to articulate what I was thinking without insulting my boyfriend's best friend.
"Is there ever any circumstance you can think of where it would be okay"—I wasn't clear, based on the confused look Troy gave me—"I mean, there is no reason for two people who care about each other to speak or treat each other that way."
Troy blinked. "You're talking about Ry and Stac?"
"Yes, I mean, don't you find it kind of insulting? They say they are in love, but they aren't very nice to each other." I rubbed my forehead; sure those lines on the side of my face were permanent wrinkles by now.
Troy sat back and continued to stare, but his expression showed he understood.
"At the game, she's telling me how she can't wait until the season’s over so they can go back to a normal life for a while. She's like, 'I don't know what I'm going to do when he's in the NFL. At least we'll have money by then, and maybe I'll learn to like football.'"
"Miranda."
"And she said she's going to try and talk Ryan into leaving school early so they can cash in, and she can get her red Mercedes S500. She actually used the words 'cash in.' She's saying all this stuff, and I'm like, 'now I understand why he treats you like shit, because you are shit.' She is a shitty person. Does Ry not see that?"
"He sees it."
"And that's okay. It's okay for her to like him for the famous, rich football player he's supposed to be? And if that is her goal, then why does she treat him like that? She should at least pretend a little better. Don't make it so obvious you're a gold-digging bitch."
"But it works for them."
"No, that's not good enough. I am trying like crazy to figure out how this whole relationship thing works, and what chance do we have when we have shitty examples in our lives like our parents and Ry and Stac?"
I opened my mouth to make another point, but shut it when a man dressed in jeans, a plaid shirt and blazer, with a cowboy hat to set it all off, stood over our table with three beers in his hand. A waitress stood next to him, holding a tray with three shots of something brown.
"Hey there, Troy, my name’s Bill Martin. I wanted to buy you and your lady a drink and let you know how excited we are to see you out on that field next year."
He sat the beers down on the table, took two shots, and handed them to Troy and me. He took the last for himself
"To Troy Anderson, the future of UT football."
I hesitated for a second, but Troy nodded, and we both downed the shot. In an instant, the brown liquor burned my throat, but warmth settled in my chest a second later, and I forgot what I was about to say. Troy smiled, handed me a beer, and we clinked the bottles with Mr. Martin and took a long sip. Somehow, it didn't matter anymore.
It would have been impolite to refuse, as Troy would tell me later. Never mind that we were minors drinking in a public place.
I was starting to realize normal rules don't apply to everyone the same, in life and in relationships.
Three more beers and three more shots later, we stumbled our way to the patio deck. We would have been squished into the corner if Troy hadn't carved out some room for us with a well-placed chair, a table, and his size. Troy sat me on the chair. While the crowd sang along to the cover band as they played top-forty pop and hip-hop songs, Troy and I made out in our corner.
He positioned himself between my legs and had one hand under my shirt massaging my lower back. I wished I could remember how we got like this. I probably would have enjoyed it. His other hand transferred the cold from the beer he was nursing to my skin as he touched me. He alternated with his cold fingers and then his warm lips, starting at my earlobes and working his way down my neck and ending up on my chest
. As my mind registered where his hand headed next, I'd stop him, pulling him in for a kiss, and he would start all over again at my earlobe.
The alcohol pushed our earlier discussion, not completely out, but at least to the back of my mind.
"You are so cute when you're drunk," Troy said as he started at my ear again.
"I'm always cute," I said, and leaned my head to the side to give him better access to my neck. On his fourth or fifth try, I lost count. Troy was about to make the journey without removing his lips, but at the last moment, he stood up.
"I think it's okay that we don't have any positive relationship role models," Troy said.
I shook my head trying to comprehend what he was talking about.
"Why is that?" I said, trying hard not to sound drunk. I concentrated on his lips moving, but that proved distracting.
"What we have is unique." Troy smiled, proud of his realization.
"We’re like pioneers?"
"Yeah, pioneers. I like that," he said.
"Yeah, like Cortez." I tried to conjure up another pioneer. "Or Colombo, Columbus."
"Those are explorers."
"How about Steve Jobs?"
"The Apple guy. Yeah, I guess he was a pioneer."
"I love my iPhone," I said. Troy found this funny.
"Jay-Z."
"Yeah, we are so Jay-Z." Troy hugged me close to him; his laughter vibrated off of my neck, and I pulled him closer, but again, he stood up.
"No, I've got a better one." He looked deep in my eyes and it popped in my head.
"George Lucas," we said at the same time.
Memories flooded my mind of playing Padma to Troy's Anikan when we were kids. Having these memories to share brought us closer, and I felt more connected to him than I had felt with anyone ever. The eight years we spent apart didn't matter. Troy had known me before any of the bad stuff happened, and he liked me. It gave me hope. Perhaps the bad stuff didn't damage me as much as I thought it had, because Troy liked me now too.
If we had to rely on fictional characters to model our relationship after, I was okay with that. Although, Anakin did turn into Darth Vader, and Padma died while giving birth to Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia. Maybe we should think on this a little more.
***
I didn't know how long we stayed on the patio or how we got down, but the next conscious thought didn't enter my brain until two block after we passed Troy's truck.
"Wait," I said.
Troy stopped.
"We can't drive." I stood on my toes and whispered in his ear, "We're drunk."
"Baby, we aren't driving, we passed the truck a while ago."
We continued walking. Troy pulling me down the street. We walked a few more blocks, and I stopped.
"Troy?"
"Why are you whispering?"
"I want you to know that no matter what, I will always support you."
"Aw, babe, thanks."
"No. I mean it. If you never win a game your whole life, I'm there for you." I punched him on the shoulder and kept walking.
Troy laughed and caught up with me as he wrapped his arms around my waist. A few more blocks and we crossed the street onto campus.
"Oh, I know where we are." I ran over to the music hall and punched in my code. It didn't work. I punched it in again and again. The red light buzzed, but the door refused to open.
"What are you doing?"
"I want to play you a song," I said with tears in my eyes, "but the door won't let me in."
"Oh, baby, it's okay." His concerned look worried me. I wiped my face and sat down hard on the cement bench by the door and put my head on my knees. Troy sat next to me and started rubbed my back.
"I hope we make it," I said.
"We'll make it. Even if I have to carry you."
"That's not what I mean."
"I know." He leaned over and kissed the side of my head. "Come one, let's get you in bed."
I sat up quick and had to hold on to the bench until the world stopped spinning.
"Troy, we can't. We're drunk," I said as I giggled and burped. Sexy.
Troy stood up. "Stand on the bench."
I did as I was told.
"Get on." Troy turned around, and I jumped on his back.
"Am I too heavy?" I asked.
"No, I can manage."
"You know, last year, you wouldn't have been able to carry me."
"Why?"
"Because last year I weight four hundred pounds." Or maybe it was five hundred. I tightened my grip around his neck.
"No, you didn't." He turned his neck straining to look at me.
"Yep, five hundred pounds. Ask Darcy, she saw."
"Really?" He hitched me higher on his back like I was light as a feather and continued walking. The motion started to make me sick.
"You are so strong. Maybe I still weigh three hundred pounds." I didn't understand what I was saying. I concentrated on not throwing up.
"You don't weigh a pound over four hundred."
"That's not funny." I struggled to get off of his back. "I was huge, like one eighty-five, one ninety."
He let me down, and the ground jolted me off balance. "Whoa."
"Okay, I believe you," Troy said as he reached out to steady me.
"You still want to carry me?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"We're here."
"Oh," I said as I looked up at my dorm. When I looked back down, Troy stood with his hands in his pockets.
I rummaged through my bag for my key card and grabbed Troy's arm. "Come tuck me in."
Why was it so hot in here? And what was that damn beeping noise?
I kicked the covers off, and the movement caused a low, dull pain to intensify in the center of my brain. I moaned and rolled over. It took all my energy to sit up. Darcy's bed was empty, her covers missing. I picked up my phone to see if she sent me a message. She did. The phone beeping from her text had woken me up.
Darcy: Wait till you hear about my night. Stopping for coffee. Want some?
Miranda: Yes, please.
First, I needed some water. I stepped out of bed, but instead of the cold, solid tile, my foot felt skin. I pulled my foot back up. I thought Darcy might have fallen out of bed, but that wasn’t possible, unless her text was from last night.
I lay back down on my stomach and peered over the side. A half-naked man lay sprawled out on his stomach. Recognition of last night flooded my brain in steady waves. When I stepped on him, he shifted, but he didn't wake up. With no shirt on and his head resting on my stuffed Longhorn, Troy looked adorable. I reached down to wipe the hair off of his face. More of last night came rushing back to my conscious mind.
"Troy?" I whispered.
"Aw, good morning," he groaned, but didn't open his eyes.
"Why didn't you sleep in Darcy's bed?"
He opened his eyes and looked up at me.
"I was scared Darcy would come home and crawl into bed with me. The floor was safer." With some effort, he rolled over on his back. "This floor is not very comfortable."
The blanket covering him slipped down his waist, and I had an unobstructed view of his abs and chest. Even though my head ached and soreness spread throughout my joints, it all vanished at the sight of his body from this angle.
"How are you feeling?" I asked.
"Not bad. How about you?"
"I've got a headache, and I noticed I'm not wearing the same clothes I had on last night, but I don't remember changing." I reached down and touched his arm. "I don't remember much of last night once we got home."
"Well, we came back to the dorm and brushed our teeth. We changed you into your PJs—I promise I didn't peek—and I put you to bed."
I ran my fingers down the center of his chest.
"I was going to leave when Darcy got home, but she never did."
As my hand moved lower, he grabbed it.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Come up here."
> "I can't move just yet," he said
"Then I'll come down there." I rolled out of bed and landed on top of him a little harder than I intended.
"Ughh," Troy said.
"Sorry." A memory from last night popped into my head, and I tried to get up.
"Hey, where ya going? You just got here." He pulled me down and kissed me. I lost the thought as I ran my hands down his abs, but it came back.
I sat straight up remembering what happened last night, what I'd said. What we talked about. But did he?
"Do you remember last night?"
"Most of it.” Troy pulled on my arm, coaxing me back down, but I pushed his arm away.
"Did I tell you about what I was like in high school?"
"You told me you used to weight somewhere between one eighty-five and five hundred pounds." Troy chuckled, then sat up to kiss my neck. I pushed him back down and looked at his perfect chest and his flat abs, and the five-hundred-pound fat girl inside me panicked. I had to get up. I didn't want to crush him, but he tightened his grip.
"Hey, wait. I don't care what you used to look like. I bet you were cute with chubby cheeks."
"You can't say that. You didn't know what I was like back then."
"That's what you used to look like, but look at you now. You're so hot. Your body is amazing." He ran his hand up my shirt and settled on my stomach. Instead of pushing it away, I held it in place as I looked down at him.
My eyes watered, but I blinked the tears away. "I thought you said you didn't peek."
"Well, I may have peeked a little." He sat up and wrapped his arms around me. He kissed my ear and whispered, "You're so beautiful."
I pulled back to look into his eyes, gauging his intentions. Guys in high school mastered the art of telling me what I wanted to hear to get me to sleep with them.
Straddling his lap, I knew he wanted me. But the way he looked at me, it wasn't all he wanted from me.
I pushed him down. He started to protest, but stopped when I pulled my shirt over my head.
The grin on Troy's face gave me chills.
He hesitated as he reached up, but I took his hand and placed it over my heart. He moved his hand over one breast and then moved to the other. He squeezed it and as my nipple rubbed against his rough palm, I reminded myself to breathe. He sat up and covered my neck and collarbone in kisses. He worked his mouth down to my chest and licked his lips before placing them on my breast. I giggled and moaned at the same time. He worked his mouth to the other one. It felt amazing, but I wanted to feel more.
Another New Life Page 9
