Fair Game: A Football Romance Read Online Free

airport like trout swimming upstream. When I make it inside, I plop down on a bar stool and drop my carry on between my feet.
    “A Blue Moon please, and can you turn it up?” I say, pointing to the television hanging over the bartender’s head.
    “Sure thing, lady. Did you watch the news about Adam Silver?”
    My hand freezes on its way to the bowl of pretzels on the bar. I shift my gaze to the middle-aged bartender wearing rainbow suspenders. He reminds me of Robin Williams, and that makes me sad for a moment. I blink twice, dazed, before answering his casual attempt at chitchat.
    “No, what happened?”
    I inhale deeply and hold my breath while he fills a large glass from the Blue Moon tap.
    “Messed up his leg in practice this morning. Might be out for the season. It’s a damn shame with the America Bowl coming up in a month. The Redkings don’t have a chance in hell without him.”
    Oh my God, this Robin Williams look-alike has given me the worst news imaginable. I’m going to need more than one beer.
    “You okay there?” he asks, sliding the glass across the bar into my sweaty hands. I nod and release the breath I was holding. I raise the glass to my lips and my eyes to the TV. Chris Berman is talking about Adam’s injury when a video clip fills the screen. I watch in anguish as his team members, in a play that could end his six-year long career, tackle the previous love of my life.
    The bartender watches as I cringe and turn away. I can’t watch the replay. It’s nauseating. I’ve seen footage of many horrific football injuries in my career, but I’ve never known the injured player personally. It’s different when you know every scar and freckle on the leg of the man lying on the field writhing in pain. Or when you’ve watched him play football since the fourth grade. Or when you’ve listened to him talk endlessly about his dream of playing in the NFA.
    It’s like watching someone jump from the top of a building, the apprehension when they step to the edge, the panic when they step off and the dread of the impact.
    The bar suddenly feels too small; I need to get out of here. Without a word, I slip a twenty onto the bar next to my full beer and leave. Everything is happening in slow motion, like I’m walking through water. I exit the airport and climb into a waiting cab, give him the address of the hospital that Greg texted to me during my flight, and slump down in the seat of the dirty car.
    I notice the strangest smells when I’m stressed. In the plane before takeoff it was men’s cologne and coffee. Now that I think about it, I’ll bet the cologne was probably Josh’s. In the airport bar, it was a combination of beer and cinnamon rolls. Now, in this Virginia cab, I smell curry and Pine Sol. Why do I do this? What makes my brain zero in on smells when I can’t think straight?
    I stare at a big stain on the ceiling that’s the shape of a penis and wonder how the hell so much of whatever that is got up there. I slouch down even further to get as far away from the ceiling of the car as possible and stare at the back of the passenger seat. More splatters, yuck. I wonder what I’m sitting in and decide I don’t want to know.
    My phone dings with a text, and I slip it out, expecting Brea to be telling me about Adam, but it’s not her. It’s Vinnie. We met last week. He’s a nice enough guy, Italian and extremely good-looking, but there is something about him that sets me on edge.
    Have a safe trip to Florida, thinking of you, Vinnie <3
    Even his benign text messages make me feel funny, and this one has a heart at the end. What’s that supposed to mean? We hung out a few times. He hasn’t even kissed me, and he sends a heart emoji with his text?
    Thanks. See you in a few weeks . I message back, keeping it simple. I don’t need the added stress of a new boyfriend right now, even if he is the first guy I’ve seen more than once in years. I’ll have to call him and let him know what’s