Page 48 of I Want to Know What Love Is

“Nice speech. Maybe you have a career option in Hollywood if the football thing doesn’t work out.”

“Hell, didn’t you know? Acting is part of the job for football jocks these days. I’ll have plenty of promotional gigs in my future as a player.”

“Don’t get too full of yourself---oops too late.” He grins and loops his arm through mine like we’re girlfriends instead of two guys. I hank away from him and he laughs.

“We done here?” I ask. He throws up his arms theatrically returning to his less than serious self, the Dooley I know and love—like a brother because he is one of the guys even if he’s not on the team, or any team, not even the guy team.

“You’re done with me, but you still have some partying to do.”

“That’s right—laissez les bons temps rouler!”

“That’s what I want to hear.”

We return to the party to find Shelby and Heather dancing cheek-to-cheek to a nice slow song until the music changes. They keep dancing anyway. I’m okay with watching, but Dooley jumps onto the dance floor when the DJ ques up Uptown Funk.

I don’t know what Dooley has in mind for the commercial shoot, but I can’t help my irrational hope that it involves the kind of rendezvous with Amanda that I’ve dreamt of, just once, a moment out of time, the kind of thing that no one would ever know about, that wouldn’t lead to trouble, that wouldn’t lead anywhere.

Temptation spins my head so that I truly do understand the dance with the devil, the strength of the dark side of desiring what you can’t have. Against my best efforts, I wonder if my Dad felt like this, if he experienced the kind of obsessive need I feel, the kind of want that doesn’t go away, the kinds of feelings that threaten every-day life as you know it. I shut down that line of thinking because I’m not ready for empathy where my dad’s concerned, so I tune into the music. Desire by Meg Myers is playing full blast, her sultry voice telling me convincingly how she wants to fuck me and I laugh.

Heather and Shelby twirl by me and Dooley returns as the music stops for a breath. The couple comes to rest between me and Dooley and Heather’s face is flushed and her smile wide.

“You enjoying the party?” I ask her. She beams her young smile and Shelby wraps his arm around her shoulder. I try not to react with a protective big brother snarl because this is Shelby, my best friend and he’s not an asshole when it comes to girls.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I slip it out while Dooley tells them he’s going for ice water. Sliding a look, I see it’s a text from Amanda.

“Excuse me. I need to make a call,” I lie without looking up because I don’t need to make a call, but I also don’t need a lecture from my second conscience which is what Shelby’s become to me. But he doesn’t say anything as I back away and make my way through the crowd, past the people I barely know slapping me in the shoulder and telling me how great I am. It’s a minor miracle that I don’t let anyone stop me as I slip into a back hall. There’s a few closed doors, but it’s private enough and I read her response to my earlier text asking about her date.

Her: Never mind my date. Go away and find some coed so at least 1 of us gets lucky.

Me: Yur blowing me off? Least u can do is send another pic of Paul

I wait a few beats working up a sweat over the idea of her blowing me off—in a totally good and more literal sense of the phrase. Fuck, I’m a glutton. My phone pings and I take a deep breath, preparing to get slammed.

Her: Yur saying u don’t want a pic of me? #liar

My breath blows out in a gust of release as my pulse speeds up and my dick goes stiffer than a football in subzero weather and I go with my instincts—aka my dick.

Me: U got me. Send me a pic of u in yur nighty.

Her: U asked for it.

To say I’m shocked into wild heart-beating anticipation is an understatement. Checking a couple of doors, I find an empty bathroom and lock myself inside. She’s fucking with me—in the non-literal sense of the word unfortunately—but my dam dick doesn’t get the distinction and I splash cold water on my face though I need it down my pants more. It feels like forever before my phone pings again. I swipe the screen as my dick presses hard against my zipper.

She’s sent a pic of herself alright. She’s in flannel PJs, some kind of white cream plastered on her face and a couple of rollers randomly stuck in her hair. She looks hilarious and I laugh while my dick throbs as if the clownish get-up is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Maybe it is. Because it’s her and she’s fun even while she rejects me. God fucking damn it. I wish she would settle down and bore me.

At least I know she didn’t take Coach Ryan home with her. Either that or he’s quick on the draw and she’s kicked him out already. Do not go there.

Whether contemplating her with Coach Ryan is good for my psyche or not, it does wonders for deflating my stiff dick, so with my phone in hand, I give into the pounding on the door and leave the bathroom. As soon as I step out into the hall, I’m confronted by Randy. Last person I feel like talking to.

“What the fuck are you doing in there, Jonesy? You alone or what?” He looks past me into the small bathroom as if he expects someone to pop out behind me.

“Of course I’m alone and I don’t think I need to spell out what I’m doing in the bathroom except what one normally does. The two girls standing behind him titter as they stare at me. He’s not happy, but neither am I.

“How many beers have you had?” I ask, being a prick, but I have no patience left. Besides, it’s a legit question because the two ladies he’s with have clearly been indulging judging by the way they’re swaying on their too-tall heels.

“None. Satisfied? Or you want to play cop and do a sobriety test?” The girls titter again and he grins, happy with himself. “What do you have there? You checking out porn in the bathroom?” He snatches the phone from my hand before I realize he’s going for it. His move is so unexpected and the fucker is so quick, that I don’t come close to stopping him. He checks the screen out before I can grab it back, and I re-think a desperate grab because that’ll only make things worse.

“Hey, hey hey. Dirty texting—and a photo. Ha. Who the hell is this?” He squints and I make a grab. He tries to evade, but I’m quick too and I manage to get my phone back. Not before I see the click of recognition register on his face. It’s her fucking spectacular eyes that give her away because no one has eyes like those.