Fourth Down (3 page)

I sighed a dramatic shoulder slumping
sigh. “Okay, I’ll go. But I can’t stay out too late. I have class
in the morning and I’m starting a new job in the afternoon.”
Brooke’s mega-watt smile was already back in place. “And I really
just want to wear my jeans and witch shirt.” She just rolled her
bright green eyes, and I knew I had lost this battle.

My mother often said I was too nice. A
trait she played upon when she needed me to babysit. It’s probably
true though. I’m not a total pushover; I do fight for the things I
truly believe in and stand up for myself when necessary. Those
occasions just don’t arise very often, which is why an hour later I
found myself walking to the pub with Brooke and trying not to get
hypothermia in my costume.

The tiny plaid skirt sat low on my
hips, baring a strip of skin below the bottom of my equally tiny
white button down shirt. At least Brooke let me wear a white bra
instead of the black one I had been wearing earlier. My legs were
bare down to the tops of my white knee highs, and covered in
goosebumps due to the chilly October night air. I held onto
Brooke’s arm as we hobbled along the sidewalk, my black high-heeled
Mary Janes clicking on the cement. And the icing on the cake was
that my long brown hair was styled into pigtails.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this. I
look ridiculous,” I muttered.

“You look hot, Poppy. And trust me.
The place is going to be full of people in costumes. You would have
looked ridiculous in your jeans. Besides, you need to show off your
body more. That yoga shit must really work…and who knew you had a
drawer full of sexy underwear?”

“Shut up, Brooke,” I said
without much force, glad the darkness would hide my blushing
cheeks. It’s true I was in good shape thanks to teaching yoga five
hours a week and eating right. And it’s also true I hid my sexy
underwear underneath my normal college girl clothes. Keyword - hid.
Buying lacy, silky, pretty underwear, on sale of course, was my
only guilty pleasure. My
secret
guilty pleasure. Not for anyone else to know
about.

Brooke giggled and pulled my arm.
“Don’t get pissy. I just think you should show off what you have a
little more.”

Thankfully that conversation was cut
short, because we had arrived at our destination. Brooke was right
about the sheer number of people in costumes, and most of the women
were showing far more skin than me. That made me feel a little
better. Right up until Brooke dragged me to the bar and tried to
order a drink for me. The me who is only twenty years
old.

Brooke hopped up onto a bar stool with
ease, while I struggled to perch myself while still maintaining my
modesty. The pub was extremely crowded and noisy. Two of my least
favorite attributes in a night out. Brooke tapped her fire engine
red fingernails on the bar while she waited to be served. A low
whistle escaped her mouth, and I turned to see what had captured
her attention.

Oh, my.

The bartender was making his way down
the bar toward us, serving the multitude of people, mostly women,
lined up to give their orders. I assumed he was also dressed up for
Halloween, unless he always tended bar as a shirtless cowboy. If he
always dressed like this I was going to have to give up my healthy
food for regular meals here.

His worn jeans hung low on his hips
and his lack of shirt gave me and everyone else a great view of his
lean muscular arms and chest. His upper body was completely free of
tattoos, which I liked. Tattoos were never something that
interested me. For example, the guy next to me had long blond hair
and tattoos all over his arms. To me, he just seemed scary, but the
pretty blonde girl whose ear he was nibbling on certainly didn’t
seem to mind.

“Holy hotness,” Brooke whispered. I
was used to Brooke constantly acting like a dog in heat. What I
wasn’t used to was feeling the same way. Of course, I could
appreciate an attractive guy, but this guy made me want to do more
than just appreciate.

I hadn’t dated anyone since I broke up
with my ex-boyfriend, almost two years ago. It was a small town,
small college, and I spent more time working and studying than
boyfriend hunting. And no one had caught my interest until now. Not
that the ridiculously gorgeous bartender would even notice me.
Especially not with the multitude of scantily clad, better endowed
women here.

His head was down and the
cowboy hat hid his face from us. I scoffed at my reaction to him
and reasoned that he was probably really ugly. No one was lucky
enough to have a gorgeous face
and
a great body. Then he lifted his head and started
walking towards us.

Okay, I was wrong. This guy was lucky
enough. I could see just enough of his hair under the hat to see it
was light brown, and his eyes were a bright blue. Only babies and
huskies should have eyes that blue. But the pretty color did little
to tamp down the intensity blazing in his gaze. They were blue like
the hottest part of a flame.

He reached us a moment later and asked
for our order in a bored, dismissive tone. “What do you
want?”

Brooke turned on her charm full blast,
complete with eyelash batting and hair flipping. “Two Bud Lights,
please,” she cooed.

His eyes flicked to me, and his mouth
turned down in a scowl.

“I need to see ID,” he
said.

Brooke reached into her bra and pulled
out her drivers’ license and spoke before I could speak up and
order water instead. “Here’s mine, but she left hers at
home.”

The bartender glanced at her ID and
said, “No ID, no alcohol.”

“Come on. She forgot her ID, but she’s
definitely twenty-one,” Brooke said, leaning on the bar so her
boobs were front and center. But he wasn’t even looking at her. He
was too busy glaring at me like I just killed his dog.

Setting one beer down in front of
Brooke, he kept his eyes on me and said to Brooke, “I’m not serving
her without ID.”

I really didn’t want to cause a scene,
and I didn’t even want the stupid beer. So, I tugged on Brooke’s
arm and tried to get her to come with me. The way they were arguing
about me like I wasn’t sitting right here was making me really
uncomfortable. The couple next to us was watching the scene unfold
with interest. I absolutely hated being the center of attention,
good or bad.

Brooke leaned over and whispered,
“I’ll just give you mine and come back for another.” Unfortunately
she hadn’t really mastered the art of whispering, because the angry
bartender heard her.

He slapped his palm down on the bar so
hard it made Brooke and me jump.

“If I see you drinking anything other
than water or soda, I will not hesitate to throw your ass out of
here,” he growled at me.

This whole situation was exactly what
I was trying to avoid by staying home. Brooke making me dress like
an idiot, dragging me out when I should be home working on my
paper, trying to illegally order me a beer. And now, this
bartender, whose hotness alone was enough to make me nervous, was
yelling at me. What upset me the most was that I could have avoided
this if I wasn’t such a pushover.

I could feel the tears gathering in my
eyes, so before I embarrassed myself further by crying, I gave
Brooke’s arm a harsh tug and pulled her away from the
bar.

“What were you doing, Brooke? That was
completely humiliating,” I hissed at her.

She looked at me innocently, and I
knew she truly didn’t understand what she’d done wrong. I shook my
head and started for the door.

“Never mind. I’m going home. I never
should have let you talk me into coming out tonight.”

I hurried to the door and out into the
cold night before she could stop me. After a frigid walk home
looking like a prostitute, I changed into a pair of flannel pajama
pants and a sweatshirt. I packed up the schoolgirl costume and
opened my door, intending to leave it on Brooke’s porch, but Brooke
was walking up the driveway.

“I’m so sorry, Poppy. Don’t be mad at
me,” Brooke said. It was obvious she was upset, because almost
nothing could drag her away from a good party.

My shoulders slumped as I walked down
the steps outside the garage. “It’s okay, Brooke. That’s just not
my kind of scene, and I should have told you that
earlier.”

Brooke stopped in front of me and
hugged her bare arms around her waist. “No, it’s my fault. You did
tell me you didn’t want to go, but I forced you. Next time we’ll do
something you like to do.”

I handed her the costume bag and gave
her a hug. “Okay, but you’ll probably be bored to death,” I
joked.

“That’s probably a good thing. I think
being bored might be good for me,” Brooke laughed.

When I returned to my apartment, I
tried to work on my paper, but the events of the evening had me
exhausted and my mind on other things. Like cowboy hats and icy
blue eyes. Rolling my eyes at myself, I slipped into bed and pulled
the covers up to my chin. It’s not like I would ever see him
again.

Chapter Two

Ford

Rolling over in bed I slapped my hand
down on my phone that had been steadily chirping with incoming text
messages for the last ten minutes. It was just after 9:00 am, and I
needed to get up anyway to get my mom to the doctor for her 10:00
appointment.

I scrolled through my messages, noting
they were all from Grady. Stupid fucker. They were all pictures.
Pictures of me tending bar last night in a cowboy hat and no shirt.
The last one had a message with it.

Grady: Good luck living
this one down.

I replied with an equally friendly
message.

Me: Fuck you.

It was his damn girlfriend’s fault I
was wearing, or rather not wearing, that costume. Lindsay and I had
made a bet a while back about whose life sucked more. She was the
clear winner when she told me the secret she had been holding from
Grady for the last five years. Thankfully it wasn’t much longer
before she told him as well. I didn’t want to be the one to keep
that from him. She won the right to choose my Halloween
costume.

Granted, last night at the pub had
been the best night for tips in a long time. As much as I hated
holding up my end of my bet with Lindsay, her choice of costume
certainly helped my tip jar. I needed to get up and going if I
wanted to have time to stop by the bank and deposit my tips on the
way to my mom’s appointment.

Scrolling through my e-mails, which
were few and far between, I saw a new one from Coach Hawkins. I
hadn’t seen Coach in person since the day I was released from the
hospital almost three years ago, but he kept tabs on me with
regular e-mails. Usually they were filled with updates on that
year’s team and how the season was going. I rarely responded unless
he specifically asked me a question. It was still too hard to even
watch a game on TV, let alone discuss with my former coach how my
former team was doing.

It was really stupid, and I felt like
a fucking pansy every time I had to turn away from the TV or avoid
a conversation with a customer when it turned to talk of football.
But I couldn’t help it. The entire sport, a sport I used to love,
just brought up too many painful memories. Like I didn’t already
have my mom wasting away in front of me to remind me that I had
failed.

If only I had slid instead of going
for the first down, I would be playing in the NFL right now and my
mom would have the best medical care available. Instead, because of
my stupid split-second decision, I was stuck in this small town
tending bar while my mom was slowly dying of cancer.

This e-mail started out like all the
others with a recap of the season so far and Coach’s thoughts on
the matchups they had left. LSU was a powerhouse in the SEC, and I
wasn’t surprised to hear that they would likely be in the national
championship game again. Then the e-mail took an unexpected
turn.

The real reason I’m
writing is to ask you about your plans for the future - long term.
We will have an opening on the coaching staff after this season is
over, and I want you to consider a position as an assistant coach.
The team always respected you and your opinion, and I think that
you are a natural choice. Of course, there will be a formal
interview process, but I will make the final decision. And, Ford, I
want you. Think about it and let me know.

Coach

Well, shit. If I was being honest, the
idea of getting the hell out of this town and going back to LSU and
being part of the team again, even if it was not in a playing
capacity, was exciting. However, quick on the heels of excitement
was the realization that I couldn’t leave my mom. Sure, I could
move her with me, but this was her home, where she had lived for
most of her life. On top of that was the fear that I couldn’t do it
- couldn’t go back on the field, even if I was wearing a polo shirt
instead of a jersey. Could I coach some of the nation’s top players
when I couldn’t even watch a game on TV?

Sighing, I tossed my phone on the bed.
This was a worry for another day. Right now I had to drag my ass
out of bed and get my mom to her appointment. I also had to make
time before my shift to go through the bills and see if anything
needed to be paid before the end of the week. Hopefully not,
because I didn’t get paid until Friday, and we were already running
low.