Player Loves Curves Box Set #4-6 by Hope Ford
Carter
I stare backat the man in the mirror and barely recognize myself. My face is swollen like I’ve gained ten pounds. My eyes are puffy, and I look as if I haven’t slept or showered in a month. I’ve been on a downward spiral, and I’m pretty sure I’ve hit rock bottom. If not yet, it’s coming.
A month ago I was traded from the Mavericks to the Nationals. And today, my coach benched me, telling me my game was shit, that he’s not putting up with my drinking, acting out, and disrupting the team. I wanted to argue with him and fight for my spot on the team, but I’m to the point that I don’t care anymore. Not really. When he told me that I had thirty days to get my shit together or go home, I never even thought about what I needed to be doing. I didn’t make a plan or get motivated to get my life together. No, I went home, started drinking, and had an Uber pick me up and bring me here to the strip bar.
The sound of the music outside the restroom is pulsating, echoing off the walls, causing my head to pound. But it’s like the pain is welcome, I’ve grown accustomed to it, and in a way it soothes me. I know what I’m doing; I’m looking for any way I can to erase my past and forget it. I’ve used so many women, hoping I can find someone so I can move on. I’ve treated them like shit, been a dick to my teammates, ignored my family—every despicable thing, I’ve done it. And I hardly ever give myself time to dwell on it. As soon as those feelings start to rise up in my throat, I search for ways to bury them. Usually in a bottle or trying to find a woman that can make me come alive again.
The thought of one woman comes to mind, and I shake my head as if I’m trying to push the thoughts away and the movement almost makes my eyes cross at the pain shooting through my head. I turn on the cold water and splash some onto my face. But it’s useless. I can still remember her. Everything about her. I’ve had almost two years, but it doesn’t matter. I know that I’ll never forget. Everything about her has been deeply embedded into every pore of my body. The way her hair always had a clean fresh scent. The way she always smelled of sweet peaches, and I loved for her to borrow one of my shirts so that when she gave it back to me I would sleep with it just so I could imagine she was right beside me. The way she always, no matter what, even when we were arguing, wanted to hold my hand and make me promise to never let it go. She was everything I wanted. She was my past and my future. We met in grade school and when we went to the eighth grade dance together, we were inseparable after that. We started as friends but ended up in love. It was the most innocent, all-consuming love that I’ve ever felt in my life. She’s all I wanted. We graduated high school together, and I was given the opportunity to play professional baseball. It’s what I dreamed of, but even then, she was more important to me than that. Well, she was—until she wasn’t.
The music gets louder, drawing me out of my head. A man who is as bleary-eyed as I am comes into the restroom and besides a quick nod of his head, he walks by me and into a stall.
I dry my hands off on my pants and stumble out of the bathroom to where the music is louder and the scent of smoke and alcohol fills my lungs. I look to the bar and sit down on the stool and order another beer. The bartender looks for a second like he may turn me down, but he doesn’t. He pulls the knob and fills up a frosty mug and sets it down in front of me.
I nod at him and spin my chair to look out, my back to the bar. Before I even question it, I know what I’m doing. I’m looking for a woman that will help me forget. Forget her and the way she felt in my arms. I’ve not been successful so far, but I’m not giving up because I can’t live like this, like there’s a hole in my heart and it can’t be filled. I rub my hand over my chest, almost like I can actually feel the pain there and am trying to soothe it.
A woman slides up on the chair next to me and puts her hand on my knee. I turn my head to her, and just looking at her I know she’d be an easy lay. As a matter of fact, she wouldn’t even require a dinner or even a drink. She’d probably let me take her in the nasty ass bathroom I just came out of. But I’m not even tempted. I’m emasculated. I can’t get hard and I could blame it on the drinking, but I know that’s not it. No, ever since I walked away from her, the love of my life, I’ve been a worthless man that can’t even get it up for anyone else. I get hard when I’m home, dreaming of Hanna, but never with another woman. Damn, I’ve tried, I’ve dated, I’ve done everything I can think of to replace her, but I can’t. Physically, my body won’t let me. And I always end up treating a woman like shit because of it. I’m scum and I know it. As soon as I look into the woman’s eyes next to me, I shake my head, dismissing her. She has the same light blue eyes as her, the woman that I’m trying to forget, and I know there’s no way I could look at her. Not for any extended amount of time. I remove her hand from my leg and she gets the drift as she gets up and walks over to another man down the bar from me. I’m feeling antsy and my stomach is all knotted up, but I don’t know why. It’s like I know something is about to happen, but I don’t know what. I look around the room and it looks like all the same regulars are here. Since I got traded, I’ve been here quite a few times a week, and there’s nothing new that I can see. The same overweight man is still drunk, passed out in the corner like he is every other night. The same skinny stripper is shaking her nonexistent ass on the stage and it’s the same watered down beer that they always have. I try to ignore it, but the feeling is almost strangling me, making it hard to breathe.
The room darkens and a low, throbbing beat comes out of the speakers. I can feel my heart rate pick up and my chest feels as if it might explode. I look to the stage in anticipation.
