Overtime

19

The following morning is tougher than I imagined. Amber lies in my bed, still sound asleep. We didn't speak another word for the rest of the night. I must have already been passed out when she came in here. I'm surprised I even made it to my bed, and I'm not still on the bathroom floor. I wonder if Riley helped me to bed.

Emma is nowhere to be found. She's not in her room, but it's lunchtime. She's probably already started her day. Maybe she has an early gig. I wish I had checked on her again after the brawl.

I wish I hadn't gotten so fucking drunk. My head is pounding. I have every curtain shut in the house, not wanting an inch of brightness inside as I wake myself up with a cup of coffee and swallow probably too much Advil, but I don't care. I feel like hell.

I haven't found the energy to check my phone to see if Miles messaged me. I wish I could have told him Good Luck at the game. God, I'm a terrible girlfriend.

I take my coffee to the couch and groan when my body hits the cold cloth. I turn the television on, lowering the volume as low as it would go, but I can still hear. I found the pre-game show for the Titans and Eagles, which will start soon.

Should I wake Amber? She would get mad knowing I was watching the game without her. I don't need her insulting the shit out of me with a hangover.

I get up to wake her, but the camera cuts to the field where the players are stretching on the field. Where my man stretches on the field. The cameraman films him from behind as he stretches into a pulsing lunge. God, that is insanely fucking attractive. They know exactly what they are doing. Miles, for sure as hell knows what he's doing. As he said, he did it on purpose.

When the camera cuts back to the studio, I roll my eyes and walk back to my room to wake Amber. I quietly walk to the side of her bed and touch her shoulder, "Amber?" No response. I shake her again, slightly harder, "Amber?"

She finally grumbles, her hair covering her face. She doesn't open her eyes. Is she still drunk? Shit.

"The boys are about to play," I tell her, looking around my room, unsure what to do. She mumbles again, and suddenly, her throat makes a gurgle, and before I know it, she leans over the bed and throws up on my feet. "Shit!" I scream, jumping back as the vomit hits my feet.

Amber shoots out of bed, covering her mouth. "Julia-."

I cut her off, "Please go get a washcloth. I'm about to throw up, too." My throat gurgles as I feel the slime on my toes. She's not moving fast enough, and I'm on the verge of crying or screaming. I'm not sure which one.

A towel is thrown over the bed from the bathroom, and I snatch it as I hear Amber heaving over what I hope is the toilet. Fucking hell. I bend down, cleaning my feet before scooping up Amber's dinner in the towel and disposing it in the trash. I debated using the window and throwing it out there so it wouldn't smell, but she's definitely taking the garbage out after this.

I grab another washcloth and cleaner, scrubbing my carpet clean to avoid a stain. I peek at my bathroom to see her curled over the toilet seat. I hope she didn't fall asleep.

I dispose of the washcloth, strip out of my clothes, and take a shower. That was fucking nasty. She owes me one.

She hasn't uttered a word since I've been in the shower. No sorry or anything. Maybe she's incapable of those words since she definitely didn't apologize to Emma.

I step over Amber to get out of the shower, keeping my distance from items that may spew from her mouth again. I do not have the energy for any of this. I throw some comfortable clothes on and grab my phone before leaving my bedroom. Why couldn't that have gone down in her room?

I unlock my phone to see two messages from Miles, one from a few hours ago and one from around one this morning. Thinking about you...Turner won't cuddle with me either. Kinda pissed. The following message reads, Hope you aren't too hung over this morning. See you in a few hours.

Though he won't see my reply for hours, I end up saying, Violently hungover. Don't ever let me drink wine out of a straw again. Amber puked on my feet. Not a good day.

Sitting on the couch, I realized the Eagles had already scored, and I had missed almost the entire first quarter. I sigh, leaning my head against the back of the sofa.

-

The Titans ended up losing tonight after one of Miles's passes was intercepted because the running back wasn't where he was supposed to be. Philly ran the ball all the way to the end zone with a minute left in the fourth.

Miles didn't seem to be in a horrible mood when he called me after the game. His words were, "Shit happens. We'll do better next week." He didn't dare to blame any of his teammates or himself for the interception, which made me see he truly was a team player.

Their plane had landed a little while ago, but it felt like ages. I was jittery with anticipation, waiting for Miles to call and say he was outside. I told him to get me the hell out of this apartment. I sat on the couch, looking at my phone every second to see if he had texted me.

I sulked all day but finally felt better after eating a large meal from Waffle House, which Amber gladly ordered and picked up. She felt horrible about what happened this morning. She spent an hour cleaning my bathroom and whatever she felt was necessary after she regained consciousness of the world.

Riley nor I dared to mention Emma or anything about last night. Amber left right after the game to go home, and Riley and I were still stumped on what to do. Emma returned about an hour ago, and we didn't mention anything. The three of us just decided to grab three spoons and eat ice cream straight from the carton, talking about whatever we could think of.

I jump at a knock at the door. What the? I told him I'd come down to him. I open the door to see him smiling, holding a bouquet of red roses. "Miles!" I squeal, wrapping my arms around him, breathing in his scent: leather and whiskey.

His free arm wrapped around me, pulling me closer, "Hey, sweetheart."

"You got me flowers?" I ask, pulling back and looking at them. I leaned in and smelled them. They're fresh.

I led him into the apartment, looking for our vase in one of the cabinets. "Wanted to make you feel better after your bad day." After looking in the sixth cabinet, I found it, pouring water in it and sticking the roses in after I cut the stems.

"You're too sweet. How was Philly?"

He groaned, leaning over the island table, "So boring. You're not allowed to skip any more games." He looked exhausted. He probably just wanted to sleep.

I grab my overnight bag off the floor, "Let's get you home."