Page 9 of Flame After the Fumble

Hartley

Ryan rolls up to the apartment at 9:59 p.m. and honks his horn an obnoxious amount of times. I sprint down the stairs and fling myself into his passenger seat, slamming the door to annoy him.

“What took so long?” He’s already sporting a scowl with creases permanently indented in his forehead.

“This—” I gesture up and down my body, “—takes time.”

“Get over yourself,” he scoffs.

“Oh, I’m just getting started.” I shoot a wink to my teammate and adjust my hat to the backward position.

“Try not to embarrass me too much. We have a reputation as athletes to uphold.”

This guy wouldn’t know fun if it smacked him square in the face. “Wrong. We have a name to make forourselves, and that starts with getting people to notice you.”

“You and I have different ways of getting noticed.” He white-knuckles the steering wheel in a death grip. He’ll learn to love me sooner or later.

“Touché. I do mine and you do yours. We’ll see who gets the bigger NFL contract.” I reach over the center console to pound his chest with my hand twice in acknowledgment, and that earns me a small chuckle of annoyance.

"Yeah, we'll see." Ryan takes the short drive to Downtown Tap and parks an ungodly distance from the door.

“How do you expect me to make it back to this parking spot when I’m drunk?” I wave my hands wildly, gesturing toward the far off spot and slam the door.

“You got a free ride. Quit complaining,” he grumbles over his shoulder, passing by me with his hands stuffed in his pockets. I jog to catch up with him before joining the massive line of students waiting to get in. The bouncer checks each ID, making sure each person is at least eighteen years old. After that, he slipsover twenty-onewristbands on each of our wrists.

“I think the rumors are true,” I lean over to whisper into Ryan’s ear.

Before I can continue, he pushes my head away and proceeds to stick his hands back in his pockets.“Woohoo. I’m tickled pink.” His monotone sarcasm isn’t lost on me as we make our way inside.

Once we’re inside, I’m hit with the thick heat of the amount of people packed into this small building. The bar is split in half. One side is the more chill zone with pool tables, high-top seating, and access to the bar. The other side is plastered with neon lights, deafening music, and people grinding against each other. The walls are slightly tattered with paint chips missing, and my shoes stick to the floor already coated with spilled alcohol, but it’s clear this is the spot to be. Doing a quick survey of who’s here, I spot our quarterback, Mason, with a beer in his hand at one of the high-tops with a few of our other teammates. Ryan makes a beeline to them without saying a word, and I follow his lead.

“What’s up?” Mason extends his hand out for a bro hug. He’s wearing a smile that extends across his face. I’ve never seen this guy mad. “I see you guys found Springs U’s hottest spot.” Since Mason was red-shirted his first year, this is technically his freshman year in football terms, but it’s his second year at Springs U.

“I could get used to this,” I toss out as Ryan continues to mumble and grunt under his breath. Could this guy let loose for one night? The rest of the football players here with Mason say their hellos before scattering. Some grab a girl and head to the dance floor, others hover around the bar, and a few hang back by the pool tables and high-tops to talk.

“Let’s get a drink.” Mason throws his arm around my shoulder and begins to guide us to the bar. “You coming, Shane?”

“No. I’m good.” He crosses his arms over his chest as he leans back against the table. “I’ll be here.”

Mason and I maze through the crowd and weave through groups of people to access the front of the bar. It’s insane how many people stop to pat Mason on the back on our short walk.

“I see I’m in the presence of Springs U royalty,” I joke to my quarterback.

“You could say that.” His smile fades and his jaw clenches slightly. “You can have it all too if you’re willing to make a name for yourself.”

“That’s what I want,” I answer as we order two beers from the bartender.

“Then take it.” He grins. We all have a persona on the field, but in order to make a name for myself, my persona needs to carry over to my everyday life. The bartender slides us two beer bottles across the wet bar top. When I turn to head back to the team crowded around the high-top, I’m stopped dead in my tracks. Hovering on the edge of the dance floor and the chill zone is the epitome of sunshine in woman form. Her dirty blonde haircascades down her exposed back as she effortlessly tucks a stray piece behind her ear. She tosses her head back and laughs at whatever the guy across from her says. If I could turn the music off, I would, just to hear what her laugh sounds like vibrating through my chest. Some sort of glitter covers her cheekbones making her shine in the dark bar.

Knocking me out of my haze, Mason asks, “She caught your eye?”

Shaking myself back to reality, I look at him and reply, “Who is she?” My jaw scrapes the floor as my eyes drift back to the glowing light in the form of a woman sticking out in this dingy bar.

“No idea. I’ve never seen her, so she must be a freshman.” He pats my back before leaving me like a lost puppy. Before he makes it back to the table he shouts, “Hartley!” jolting my neck to the noise. He screams, “Better get to her before I do.” He rumbles into a full-blown laughing attack and shakes his head before leaving me to my own devices.

My feet move toward the mystery girl who has me hypnotized. You know what they say: don’t look directly at the sun for too long. It can cause permanent damage to not only your eyesight, but your entire body. I guess I’m a sucker for pain.

7

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