Losing the love of my life taught me that inactions have consequences. My new bookkeeping job teaches me that numbers don't lie, but people do.
Sharing yoga with others is my refuge from the darkness pulling me to stay home. A ginormous pro footbal...
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"You need to shave that," she whined. "You look like a homeless man."
"Nope." I took a swig of my Shiner, tossing back a long chug. "Playoff beard."
"I don't like it." A smack of skin hit my thighs. I grunted under the heart-shaped ass compressing my balls. The blonde offered no hint that she was affected, wrinkling her upturned nose. "Isn't it itchy?"
Her sugary, strawberry hair overwhelmed the preferable scent of my sweet, malty lager. "You have strong opinions." I snorted. "Do you know who you're sitting on?"
"Bless your heart." Two blue eyes pierced over her shoulder at me. "'Course I do. Strong opinions? You should know better than to mess with a Texas girl, Sam Pearson."
I fucked Candace three times that night, and she never left my bed until three weeks ago. Attending Baylor on a dance scholarship, she walked up to me during that party, plopped on my lap, and declared herself my girlfriend. I was too drunk, or stupid, not to argue, but we connected the next morning over breakfast.
Now that she wasn't here, I missed the idea of sharing my house with someone else. She was by my side, my rock for every milestone, until...Until she didn't want to be.
Reminders of her lingered within every inch of my house, leaving me a stranger within my damn walls. I threw out her girly throw pillows and half-burned candles but packed a box of things I assumed she wanted and shipped it to her parents' house. Photos were hard to remove, but I replaced them with pictures of my parents and old football ones I pulled out of storage. Despite her physical absence, Candy haunted me most with resurfaced memories.
"We never go out anymore," she whined. "I wanna try Southern Comforts. Mel said they have a mechanical bull."
"Go then," I suggested, wrapping my hands around her ass and tucking my fingers into her back pockets. "Call Mel."
"What's the point of having a hot-ass man if I can't show him off on the dance floor?" Her throat vibrated under my lips, kissing and sucking the soft skin.
"Or..." I whispered between soft pink marks, squeezing my fingers into her ass. "You can stay here and ride me."
Palming the bathroom counters, I hung my head low under the weight of my mistakes. Our life revolved around me, my career. Candace never complained when I put up resistance, but I took her pacification for happiness. I was so fucking wrong. Her parting note showed I'd lost her trust and support before the accident. Unable to read it or throw it away, I settled for stuffing it in a bathroom cabinet drawer.
"Sam, can't you transfer to Dallas? You've been ridin' Houston's bench for two years."
"No."
Taking Michael's suggestion, I took a long look in the mirror. Gray circles pressed under my swollen eyelids. My beard approached an uneven, brillo texture on the ends. It hadn't quite reached hipster lumberjack level but needed a trim. Tingles vibrated my skin and the buzz of my razor filled my ears. Puff after puff fell onto the counter, which I swept into the trash. The smooth skin under my chin line was pricked with exposure from the cleaner and moisturizer.
