Free Fair Game: A Football Romance by Emerson Rose Page B

gripping the steering wheel so hard that my knuckles are white.
    Relax, Ame, breathe and get the hell out of here. I brush the tears from under my eyes and pull out of the garage. I wish I were going home to my apartment in St. Louis and not his house. I want my own bed, a box of Milanos, Brea, and my favorite sweat pants.
    Back at the guesthouse, I bypass the main house and the chance of running into motor mouth Casey. She’s sweet, but I can’t take her right now.
    Right now, I need peace and quiet and time to think. I make my way through the house, turning on lights as I go until I’m in the bedroom. I slip off my shoes and crawl under the thick duvet and look around the room.
    I think about Cherry living here. Why would Adam have his girlfriend living in the guesthouse and not the main house? If they were serious, I’d think she would have been sleeping in his bed with him, sharing his home, not bunking in the guesthouse like, well, like hired help.
    Like me.
    Cherry should be the least of my worries right now; I need to wrap my head around Adam’s dual personality issue and my clashing feelings toward them both.
    Tonight on the phone in the parking garage was the first time I recognized the old Adam. He was thoughtful, commanding, kind, and genuinely concerned about my welfare. All the things my Adam was. It was as if he were putting on a show or a front the other times we’ve spoken, and for what?
    Dozing off after a long, exhausting day, I notice the bottle of wine and a glass on the bedside table. I’d been more concerned about getting warm than anything when I got in bed. Someone has been in here, and I’ll bet the clothes are neatly hanging in the closet and all of the jewelry in a box on the dresser. Casey.
    Well, what the hell? I’m alone and sad and confused—may as well add drunk to the list.
    I scoot closer to the table, sit up, and grab the corkscrew and the bottle. I get it open in ten seconds flat. Brea and I used to have contests to see who could get a wine bottle open faster. I always won.
    I pour a glass, which as it turns out, is half the bottle. Adam has big wine glasses, among other things. I snicker at my own joke and nearly chug the whole glass.
    The faster I drink, the faster it will affect me, and hopefully, the faster I’ll be asleep. I pull my knees up and wrap my arms around them, still holding the glass. What a life. This could have been my life if Adam hadn’t left me behind.
    Would I have wanted this lavish lifestyle? No privacy, no way to know if your friends are real or riding your coat tails. Being picture ready at all times. No secrets, everyone knowing the most intimate details of your life. If the press couldn’t dig any up, you’d be appointed some juicy new ones.
    No, I wouldn’t have wanted any of that, I’m sure. But if Adam hadn’t left me, we would have figured out a way to navigate our way through it together.
    That’s what hurts the most about his disappearance, the fact that we would have been so good together. I would have supported anything he wanted to do, including being an NFA player, and he knew it. So why?
    I chug another quarter of the glass while I wonder why about a lot of things.
    My phone vibrates on the table, startling me. When I look at the screen, it’s the same number as the last incoming call. Adam.
    “What do you want, Adam?” I say when I answer.
    “I wanted to make sure you got home okay.”
    “I’m fine as wine, Adam.” I say, already slurring my words. All I’ve had to eat since I landed in Virginia is fruit.
    “You finally accepted the wine.”
    “Didn’t have much choice, you woulda made me drink it eventually.”
    God, I need to shut up and hang up. I sound drunk. I am drunk. This is some strong ass wine.
    “You know I like to spoil you.”
    “You used to like to spoil me, Adam, before you walked out on me.”
    I finish the glass and pour another, emptying the bottle, a bad idea I’m sure, but saying what’s on your mind