Losing Seven (Falling for Seven Book 2)

by T. A Richards Neville

  “And every other man,” I added with a smile, tilting my head to look at her. “I'm pretty sure all that effort and those endless hours of rehearsals aren't for Julian.”

  “I wouldn't like it. I'd be wondering what he was up to, like, every game. And not just the skanky cheerleaders either. I wouldn't trust any woman when it comes to football players. You hear about pro athletes stashing a woman in every area code. Away games are dangerous, I'm telling you.”

  “Are you?” I fought with a smile, my eyebrows quirking. “If Julian has a woman in every zip code, that's his problem. And if I ever found out that he did, good-bye and good riddance. I don't believe all football players cheat, though. It's a stereotype. Most of these guys have wives... families. So do the cheerleaders.”

  Hayden offered me a sympathetic look that didn't hold a trace of authenticity. “Are you saying that to make yourself feel better?”

  Hayden was joking, but what she didn't realize was that my insecurities didn't lie with the half-naked, drop-dead gorgeous cheerleaders on the sideline, showing off copious amounts of tanned, toned skin. The threat to my relationship was fully clothed and would have flown to the game on the same plane as Julian. Could've even sat in the seat beside him—slept with her head on his shoulder. No, my threat didn't need to take her clothes off. She was winning just by being herself. And when the threat turned itself around, pointing the finger back at me, I was forced to confront that I was the problem. Not Angela. Not the Miami Dolphins cheerleaders, or any other team’s cheerleaders for that matter.

  I couldn't be where I wanted to be and there was a very real danger that because of that, my relationship might not make it. It wouldn't be the most unusual thing for Julian to become restless and slip up. With the world and, hopefully, a long career at his feet, I was the only target that couldn't be met. And I despised the stubborn streak in me that refused to just let the doubts go. I couldn't stand that a sketchy past was prevailing a positive future.

  I swallowed the last of my cherry coke and pushed the empty glass away. “I don't need to make myself feel better,” I said to Hayden. “If Julian’s going to cheat, there’s nothing I can do to stop him. All I could do is hope he’d be honest with me about it.”

  “And then you’d give him another chance?”

  “No,” I said loudly. “I mean, it hasn't happened, so I don't know how I'd be, exactly, but...” But what?

  Hayden’s jeweled hand patted my shoulder and she peered right into my face with icy-blue eyes. “You’re way gorgeous, Angel. Julian’s way gorgeous, rich and famous. That’s a lot to contend with, but you’re doing an awesome job.” I laughed when she said, “Those damn cheerleaders wish they looked like you.”

  “They’re not my enemy,” I reminded her. Then I waved for the miserable bartender’s attention and ordered a vodka cranberry for me and another rum and coke for Hayden. Like I knew he would, the bartender asked for my ID and I flashed him my newer, much more believable student card. It cost an entire week’s wage, but I got what I paid for. This little piece of plastic never let me down.

  I tuned back into the game as the ref called for a pass interference on the Dolphins, awarding the Bengals an automatic first down. NBC showed the replay of Miami’s defensive back, who was built like a unit, grabbing Cincinnati's wide receiver before he could make the catch. The camera cut to Julian on the bench, talking with a teammate. His face—painted with two precise strips of eye black—was tense, and his forearms were braced on his knees. He wore a Dolphins beanie in place of his helmet, and those limited seconds of the closeup were enough to bring the warmth of a smile to my lips and my heart.

  I hadn't planned on drinking; my first class in the morning was at eight o' clock, and I didn't handle hangovers well. But by the third quarter in the game and three vodka cranberries swishing in my system, my lips were as loose as my body. The temperature, along with the number of people in the bar, had soared, and I'd become boxed in on both sides. I could no longer hear the game, and it meant I had to closely follow every play. And when you were still learning, that wasn’t easy.

  The Dolphins O-line were on the field and the center snapped the ball to Julian. So far, it was a 27-21 game, the Dolphins claiming the narrow lead. I held my breath when Julian dodged what was sure to be a sack, and with the football in two hands and no receivers to pass it to, Julian carried the ball down the field himself. In seconds, the defensive side were all over him, and I jumped out of my seat when he rolled out of the scrum with the loose ball.

  “Run!” I semi-screamed, adrenaline bursting as my tiny heart pounded. Julian was untouchable as he raced to the end zone, eluding being tackled despite the mounting pressure on his drive. He made the run for a touchdown and I jumped up, squeezing Hayden's shoulders as Julian crossed the goal line.

  That wasn't the last of his magical plays. In the fourth quarter, he threw two touchdown passes and settled the score with a leading three-point difference. His eighty-three-yard run crowned as show stealer, though, and I steadied my cellphone while I tried to calm myself down to send him a text message. I was visibly shaking, my pulse working overtime to keep up with the energy I exuded.

  Me: You were unbelievable. I'm so proud of you!!!!

  A message bubble pinged on my screen as soon as I'd hit send.

  Dad: Did you see my QB out there? If you didn't, watch the highlights. Never thought I'd be a Dolphins fan, but I'm considering it

  I replied with: I saw the game. He's already made a Dolphins fan out of me

  The Miami team were off to a shaky start this season, but it was becoming clearer in each game that the Dolphins’ first round draft pick was paying off in more ways than expected. Julian was a rare talent playing division 1 college ball, but in the NFL, he was explosive. Right now was his time, and he was letting everyone know it.

  The game was over, but there were other games playing I paid no attention to. I missed every word of Julian's post-game interview, thanks to the deafening chatter in the bar, but I’d had him on screen for near enough seven whole minutes. He'd already showered, and he answered each question fired at him with deliciously damp hair and a relaxed expression that only comes from a memorable win. Julian and the rest of the Dolphins would be flying back to Miami in good spirits, and I couldn't wait to hear from him.

  Incessant tapping on my arm reminded me that I was here with Hayden. I put down my phone and picked up my drink, swiveling on my stool to see her smiling face. Her eyes flashed wide, and the giant from earlier in the afternoon stood at her back, ordering drinks from the new bartender. This one a friendly and relaxed woman, unlike her predecessor.

  Hayden mouthed something to me, and I shrugged that I couldn't understand. Her mouth moved animatedly, and on my second shrug, her expression became frustrated.

  The guy standing behind Hayden crossed her chest with his arm, a short glass in his meaty hand. Hayden took the half-full glass, repositioning her body so we were both in her line of vision.

  “Angel—” I got that same funny look from her. If I had to describe it, I'd say it was a warning. “This is Jason Dillon.” She flashed me those wide eyes and, bordering drunk, I outwardly frowned, unsure what she was doing or trying to convey. She could barely utter the beginning of her next sentence when another imposing body gatecrashed our party and I caught the very end of what Hayden was telling me. “—LA Kings. You know the Kings, don't you?”

  My alcohol haze kept his name locked on my tongue, and it took me a while before I fully grasped who I was looking at. The self-assured, cocksure grin slid perfectly into position as Beau Kessler towered over Hayden’s shoulder, obviously not expecting to find me here, but relishing in the fact that he’d done just that. Hayden prattled on in the background, and I heard the words figure skating and the Toyota Center, but I was still staring at Beau, unblinking and stupidly slow with a reaction. If I didn't say something soon, he might start to worry I was in the throes of a brain malfunction.

  “Hey,” he
said for me, his boyish smile growing. “Not to sound like a jackass but, everywhere I go, you’re already there.”

  “That's rich, coming from you.”

  Beau laughed, a deep, hearty gruffness that was unique to him. One of his hands settled on the back of my stool and even though he wasn't physically touching me, I was surrounded by him. Could smell the clean freshness of his cologne and feel his spearmint breath as he dominated my senses. He picked a leather wallet from the back pocket of his dark jeans. His back was to Hayden and Jason as he asked me, “Can I get you a drink?”

  It's just a drink that innocent part of my mind reasoned. But reality told me that accepting a drink from this man might not look so innocent to anyone else—including Beau. I didn't want to give him the wrong impression of me or let him think this could lead to something more.

  “I shouldn't,” I said. “But I can get my own.” Not accepting his offer didn't mean I had to hurry off home. I was here first.

  “Or I could just buy it for you. You're taken, I get that. Don't love it, but what am I gonna do, eh? You’re here, I’m here…” Beau stepped back and grabbed one of Jason's wide shoulders in his hand, giving it a rough shake. “D’s here.” He glanced down at Hayden, eyes roaming the top of her silvery-purple hair. “What's your name?” he asked.

  Hayden peered up at him, unabashed and with doe eyes she didn't have five minutes ago. “Hayden. No need to introduce yourself, Mr. Kessler. I saw your spread for ESPN. That's one hell of a body you've got there. I value a man who needs two hands to pee, so congratulations.”

  “Thanks, means a lot.” Beau pulled a black credit card from his wallet and handed it over, opening a tab with the bartender. “What're you drinking, Hayden?” he asked with a measured smile. “A two-four?”

  “What’s that?”

  The other guy smirked into his glass.

  “Just jokes,” beau said. “What can I get you?”

  “Rum and coke. Or whatever you’re having,” Hayden answered in a voice sugary enough to give you tooth rot. I stuck my finger down my throat while he wasn't looking, and Hayden flipped me off with the hand hidden down by her denim-covered thigh.

  Beau turned to me, one eyebrow quirked. “You couldn't be more like your friend?”

  “What, easy?”

  Hayden flipped me off with two fingers and Beau’s lips parted in a slow smile.

  “I was going to say friendly.” He lifted his shoulder in a casual shrug. “Easy works, too.”

  Our drinks arrived, and like I was the only other person in the bar, Beau’s eyes never strayed from me as he picked up one of the glasses. The liquid inside was as clear as the ice. “Passionfruit vodka. Try it, it’s good.”

  “Is there any water in there?” I asked, eyeing the drink like it was close to detonation.

  “There’s ice,” Beau said. “Sip it.”

  I took the glass from him, sniffing the contents. It smelled like fresh fruit salad swimming in sugar, but I knew from experience it would taste more like raging fire. I brought the glass to my lips and tipped the vodka back in one. My eyes scrunched as I swallowed, and I kept them closed through the smearing burn.

  “Or down it,” Beau said when I opened my eyes and set my glass down on the bar top. “Like it?”

  “No, I hate it. No more for me.” Sickness flipped my stomach and I swallowed down a burp that would’ve resulted in me vomiting all over Beau’s leather sneakers.

  Beau took a drink from his own glass, which appeared a lot less intimidating than mine, and pushed his sandy hair back from his face. “One more for the road?”

  My eyes narrowed as I leaned in. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

  His eyes lit up. The color of a swampy river on a sunny day. “You’re already drunk.”

  Yes, I was. And the intoxication had hit me harder than a runaway train. When I moved too far, my vision wobbled. It wasn’t enough to stop me picking up another drink, though. Hayden was occupied with whatever his name was. By this point, I couldn’t remember.

  “How do you know him?” I asked Beau, pointing to the tall guy behind him with the slick black hair and the scruff on his square jaw to match.

  Beau answered me without turning to look at the person in question. “That’s Jason Dillon, rookie defenseman for the Kings. This is his neck of the woods. I don’t live around here, but he swears by this place.”

  Beau was silent after that, and I filled the gap by sipping my drink.

  “When’s the next time you’ll be at the rink?”

  I crunched an ice cube, swirling the rest in my glass. “I’m not telling you that, but it won’t be when you’re there. That Saturday morning session isn’t my class.”

  “You don’t know how to be friendly, do you?

  “You don’t know how to be friendly,” I fired back in disbelief. “You only know how to flirt.”

  Beau’s chin dipped, a lopsided smile as contrite as I’d ever seen him. “Guess old habits die hard. I’m with a beautiful girl, I forget my manners.”

  “I’d really like to be friends with you,” I said. “You seem like a good guy, but it just feels wrong. It doesn’t matter which way you try and spin it. Our intentions aren’t the same.”

  “And you’re physically attracted to me.” Beau went right ahead and called me out on it. “Doesn’t your boyfriend trust you? Or don’t you trust yourself?”

  “You’re doing it now. This isn’t friendly conversation.” I stepped down from the stool, swaying when my feet hit the hardwood floor. Beau’s hand closes around my hip, steadying me with a firm grip. I unhooked my purse from under the counter, checked inside that I had everything and—

  “My phone’s ringing.” I stepped out of Beau’s hold and shouldered my way through the dense crowd. Outside, it was raining, small streams of water running along the side of the road. It rarely rained in California, but when it did, it could last for hours.

  Before I could press the button to call Julian back, his name and flashed up on my cell phone screen. I answered, moving to take shelter under O’Connor’s green striped awning. “Hi,” I said, the smile carrying into my voice.

  “Hey.”

  One word from him and my smile slipped away. His familiar tenor and I was lost. Incredibly unfulfilled in a strangely unexplainable way.

  I rolled my diamond earring between my fingers, tugging at my ear and silently cursing myself for my mood change. Just hearing his voice and I was gone. Confused, alone and with so many wild thoughts, they were buzzing around in my intoxicated brain like tiny, blind bees.

  “Angel, are you there?”

  “Uh huh,” I managed to say, speaking through the lump that held my tears. This was why you shouldn’t drink. It turned people into damn idiots. Any emotion I’d felt over the past weeks came slamming into me all at once, and with a vengeance.

  “Are you crying?”

  I closed my eyes at the sound of Julian’s voice—deep and soothing. I love California, I loved my tiny house, my job. I loved college and liked most of my friends. But in those passing seconds, I felt like I was on vacation and home was on the other end of the phone, so far out of reach my chest ached.

  I sniffed, still pulling at my earring. “I’m not crying. I think I drank too much.” I didn’t think, I just didn’t want to worry Julian.

  “I’m about to be screened before we board the flight home, so I haven’t got long. Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t sound like yourself.”

  “I just miss you.” It was a lie and the truth. But mostly, it was an excuse. “You were sensational today.”

  Julian didn’t want to talk about football. “You’ve got no fucking idea how much I miss you. I want you to come to Miami for Thanksgiving. You get a long weekend off from school, I’ll pay for your ticket. You can even stay with me if you ask nicely.”

  I laughed through unshed tears, swiping the dampness from my eyelashes. “I’ll come,” I said.

  I’d like to see someone try and stop me
.

  I pulled down the silver handle, flushing away the bile and alcohol from last night. Hayden hitched a hip against the sink. “How do you feel now?”

  We were in the girls’ bathroom on the east side of campus and my classes were done for the day, but I still had reading to complete and notes to copy for my evidence collection in Human Rights. I was drained. Physically and emotionally.

  I rinsed my face with water, drying off with a paper towel. I balled it up in my fist, meeting Hayden’s reflection in the square wall mirror. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  Her arms crossed over her chest. “You look like shit.”

  “I feel like it.”

  “I didn’t realize you even drank that much. I swear you’ve put more than that away before.”

  “That was one time,” I reminded her, referring to the house party she dragged me to in Inglewood that ended in multiple arrests for class-A drug possession. “Usually, I try not to drink that much.”

  Hayden stared at me. “Maybe you should see the campus nurse.”

  “I’m hungover. What can the nurse do? Give me a lecture for underage alcohol abuse?”

  “You’re a funny color,” Hayden pointed out, frowning through her eyelash extensions. Her gaze stooped lower, from my head to my feet. “Have you lost weight? You look like you’ve lost weight. It’s your face, it’s kind of gaunt. And you’ve got some crazy, droopy bags under your eyes.”

  I tossed the balled-up paper towel at her. It bounced off her shoulder and onto the tiled floor. “Point taken,” I said. “I look like shit.”

  “You’ve been a little mopey these last few weeks, too. Is it your grandma dying? Because I’m here, you know. Most people assume you should just be able to get over shit in the blink of an eye, but I’m not one of those people.”

  Had I been mopey? I didn’t think I’d been that bad, but I did feel out of sorts. The equivalent to an outrageously long and draining menstrual period. The kind where the cramps won’t ease up and your temperament is as thin as thread, threatening to snap either way if someone so much as says one wrong word to you.