Page 56 of Flame After the Fumble

Me: Come see me, babe.

Goldie: OMW

Liza

Thanks to the surprising lack of traffic, I beat Hartley back to his apartment. I was so excited when he sent me the text about his final grade. He’s worked so hard this semester and has taken all of my study tips and tricks in stride. Now it’s time to celebrate. Jostling in my car with nervous energy, I glance over to see Hartley’s car pull in the parking spot next to mine. His music booms through both cars and he’s dancing without a care in the world as he parks. He shifts his gaze to mine and hurries out of the car, slamming the door in the process to reach my driver’s side.

He flings open my door and picks me up from the car seat to walk up the stairs, cradling me in his arms. The giggles won’t stop when he’s in a mood like this.

My arms brace around his neck as he takes the stairs two at a time, clearly in a hurry to reach the door. “Ready to make questionable decisions with your girlfriend?”

“Nothing—” He nips my ear. “—is questionable—” His tongue flattens along my cheek until he makes his way to my lips. “—when it involves you and me.” Hartley’s breath feathers along my lips, so I lean in a half inch and kiss him so deeply. I’m surprised the neighbors who just left their apartment aren’t rolling their eyes at us.

“I’m all yours. Tonight. . .” Rolling my head around in a circle, I hit him with slanted mischief in my eyes. “You call the shots.”

“Get ready for the best night of your life.”

37

Liza

After a ridiculous amount of attempts to peel Hartley off of me long enough to pick out my outfit out of the options I packed, pop a few curls in my hair, and create the perfect night out makeup look, he finally obliged. I think it had something to do with the red lace number I had laid out on his bed for the special occasion. I opted for my riskiest outfit that I brought to college: a red romper with a lace top, a small bow that meets in the middle of my chest, and a cut out of skin exposed between the top and shorts piece. I used to wear outfits like this weekly on Bourbon Street with my friends, but I wanted to be different when I got to Springs U. Someone who didn’t accept how she was treated in the past any longer. It took me a hot minute to get there, but I’m finally believing in myself again.

“Babe,” Hartley’s powerful voice booms through the closed door I forced him out of a half hour ago. “Almost ready?”

Applying a last minute coat of my darkest lip gloss in his mirror, I pop them together and take one last look at myself before revealing the look to him for the night. Stepping into theliving room, I make a show of throwing my curly hair over one shoulder and placing one hand on my hip. “Ready.”

I find Hartley crouched over his phone on the couch with both elbows digging into the faded denim of his jeans. His head lifts from the screen to my lustful eyes at the sound of my voice. “Goldie. . .” He stands from his seat and wastes no time meeting me in the middle of the small apartment. His hands lay gently on both sides of my neck, allowing me to inhale his clean scent. I wish I could bottle it up for rainy days. “You are stunning.”

Heat blossoming in my cheeks causes my eyes to drift away from the intensity in his. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

Wasting no time, he flips his hat backward and kisses me in an all-consuming type of way, making me question why I fought this attraction for so long. “Mine,” he growls into my lips.

“Yours,” I whisper back after breaking our connection. I poke his chest and take a few steps back. “Bad decisions, remember?”

He laughs and grabs his wallet from the kitchen counter. “Ride’s here.” Wrapping his arms around my bare shoulders, he guides me out the door and down the steps into the damp night air.

Finals week is officially over, meaning Downtown Tap is packed with students ready to let off steam from the stress of the semester. Hartley and I don’t get carded by the bouncer. Him, because of his unspoken perks of being a Springs U football player. Me, because of my Liza Wilde charm—and possibly the outfit. We skip hellos and head straight to the bar, weaving in between the thick crowd of wasted college students. Getting a drink takes a little more effort on our end. Drinks tip over at every turn and I do my best to avoid getting this outfit dirty. I’d like it to last longer than a few minutes inside the bar. Hartley’s hands haven’t left my hips, guiding us to a sliver of open space at the noisy bar.

He leans in and talks directly into my ear, “What do you want first? My guy’s working the bar.” He nods his head toward the familiar bartender.

“Margaritas for two,” I yell back so he can hear me over the pounding music and loud voices. He nods before he shifts his attention to the man working the bar in front of us. Perks of dating a football player? Bar service with extremely low wait times. I can’t help but admire how devastatingly hot he is taking charge and allowing me to breathe and lean on someone for once. Once our drinks are ready, Hartley and I split up; him to greet the other football players and me to converse with a few of my classmates.

“Hey, Liza!” Cady waves enthusiastically, her bright blue hair bouncing up and down. Being an art major means I have the opportunity to meet some pretty awesome people who inspire me to care less about what others think of me. Cady and I have had a few classes together the past two years, and we clicked instantly.

“Cady.” I wrap her in a tight hug, careful not to spill my drink on her beautiful, velvet tube dress and chunky heels. “Are you having fun?”

“When alcohol is involved, I’ll always have a good time.” She sticks her tongue out showing me her tongue piercing.

“Yeah, can’t argue with that.”

“Where’s that hot arm candy of yours?” She winks playfully.

I shake my head and fold my arms over my chest, the condensation of my plastic cup dripping on my arm, cooling my hot skin off just a little. “He’s with the team.”

“That boy’s in love with you,” she states matter-of-fact in the middle of the bar. I’m feeling the effects of my first drink. “It’s so obvious.”

“Sure.” Hoping to steer this conversation into safer territory, I divert back to art. “So, how’s the internship applications go—”Before I can finish, a large hand grips my waist and flips me around. Ice courses through my veins. My gut instinct knows it isn’t Hartley’s warm grip or calming presence.

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