CHAPTER THREE
HEATH
"Saw varsity's horns off! Saw varsity's horns off! Saw varsity's horns off!"
"Short! A!"
"Woooooooo!"
The bar erupts around us in a blur of screams and "Gig 'em!"s. Clark hoists Aidan up on his shoulders with Jack. That slick bastard scored the winning touchdown in OT and he's about to get laid eight times over before we even leave Northgate.
"Varsity's horns are sawed off!" The Aggie War Hymn keeps spiraling onward and my chest could straight burst from pride. We don't play TU often anymore, but when we do, the spectacle is outrageous.
For the last three hours, we've been hopping from bar to bar, accepting free shots and stirring up another eight rounds of the War Hymn to get everyone jazzed. When I glanced at myself in the pisser before we got to the Chicken, I had lipstick smeared all over my neck and cheek. Didn't even bother covering that shit up.
It is a good goddamn night to be Heath Davis.
We tackle the rest of the bars on Northgate before heading to Antonio’s for greasy pizza. Somewhere along the way we lose Jack, good riddance, and Wayne ducks out with his girlfriend before we hit the pizza parlor. The rest of the guys scatter to a frat house party but I don't feel like heading out just yet.
"Lots of tail waiting for the quarterbackin' hot shot." Clark teases, flipping through his texts. I catch a few pictures of tits and one of a bald dick.
"That shit right there is what you get for giving out your number so freely." I tap his screen and magnify the cock. "Right there."
"I hate you." Clark deletes the text and looks around. Antonio’s is packed and we're more than a little popular in the tiny restaurant. Which means a forever wait. "Party at Kappa Sigma's house tonight! Topless chicks get in free!"
"You're an asshole!" Someone yells from the back of the restaurant. There's a mix of cheering and laughing, but Clark takes a bow either way.
"Guess you assholes better haul it over there before the Heath man hits the keg!"
Within minutes, a few tables open. Clark grabs us a few slices while I secure a table next to two girls with two bottles of wine and an extra large to share between the two of them. One looks vaguely familiar, but every blonde on campus starts to blur after a while.
They all look the same. They really do. Makes one night stands a hell of a lot easier, though.
"I know you!" Clark drops the pizza and turns to the table who, I noticed, was actively trying to ignore me. "You work at Wings ‘N Brew!"
"We do. And now we're leaving." The blonde snarls our way and gathers her purse.
"Everyone at Wings ‘N Brew should love us. We tip like mother fuckers." I turn to study them. The blonde looks murderous and her friend, a brunette, doesn't look much friendlier. She's got a great mouth, though, that lets the mind wander a bit. "Why the sour faces, ladies?"
"Sorry, we aren't topless so I don't think we'd strike your fancy."
"Oh, that?" Clark puts on his best look of innocence. "That was just to clear the place out so we could get a table. We don't do frat parties."
"Frat boys are asswipes." I nod after Clark kicks me under the table. For reasons I will never fucking understand, he always goes for the psychos. This leaves me chatting up the brunette with the big lips, though, which isn't anything terrible.
"There, we agree." Brunette raises her wine bottle in a toast and takes a swig.
Well hello, opening. "I'm—"
"I know who you are." Blondie rolls her eyes at Clark. "You guys sat on our shift two nights ago."
"I had the worst fucking hangover after that night." I wince at the memory. "Had to wear sunglasses for like three hours. I don't know what the fuck I had—"
"Eight shots of fireball, to start." Brunette eyes me. "And then you tried to start shit."
I don't remember much from that night after Clark brought up my ex, but I wouldn't put any of that past me. Drunk Heath is a sour mother fucker and I love to bring him out anytime I can. He handles all the shit I'd rather avoid.”
"That guy sounds like an asshole." I notice Blondie sat back down and is chatting up my boy awfully close despite her offense at being topless only a handful of minutes ago. Not surprising, really. "I apologize on his behalf."
"He made a waitress cry." She studies me over her bottle as she takes another swig. "And called them all bitches."
"It was probably in the nice way. You know, the same way guys are dicks and girls are bitches. It's a term of endearment."
"Sure didn't sound that way." She nudges Blondie. "I think we should go."
"You can't go!" Clark grabs Blondie's hand. "I just got here and I've got so much more about you to learn."
"Oh for fucks sake." Brunette and I say in unison.
I flash a grin at her but she doesn't return it.
"Okay, so I got drunk and was a dick at the restaurant. I'm sorry." I change angles as easily as I throw footballs. "It was a shitty thing to do."
"It was. And you aren't sorry."
"I'm not? Well that's news to me."
Brunette rolls her eyes. "People don't change when they are drunk, not really. They say and do the things common decency otherwise prevents them from saying and doing. You'd already had those thoughts in your head, called us those names, and Pitbull helped pull them out of you when you felt the tiniest bit inconvenienced."
"I'm not really a Pitbull guy." I flash a grin. "More of a Labrador fan."
"Y'all are all the same." Brunette drains her bottle and sets it down. "Think you own the fucking place because you know how to throw a ball."
"Football is a lot more intensive than just arbitrarily throwing a ball."
"That's an awfully big word for a meathead."
"Meathead?" I stare at this chick, who clearly hates every fiber of my being. Whatever I said two nights ago must have seriously pissed her off. "Oh, like waiting tables is rocket science?"
"No, waiting tables involves pretending to flirt with a bunch of dumbasses to pay for my very expensive education." She flashes a smile, but it's fully pointed and thoroughly unfriendly.
"So your job doesn't define you? But mine defines me? Interesting."
"Serving wings for six hours is a lot different than playing football. But I wouldn't expect you to know the difference."
"Look, I don't what the fuck I said two nights ago, but I already said I was sorry, okay?" Agitation swells up in my chest. Who the fuck is this chick? Doesn't she understand we just played the game of our fucking lives out there? I should be heralded as a goddamn hero, not raked through the mud. "Sometimes, I'm an asshole when I drink. Alcohol does lots of stupid shit to lots of people. I don't need to be sacked over something I said when my mind clearly wasn't there."
"You're all alike. Every last one of you. Think you own everything on campus because you have a jersey. Think everyone should bow down to you just because you win a game centered around running around in circles. You're an insult to the caliber of this institution and, frankly, no one actually likes you. You're just a good excuse to drink."
She spits out this last bit like a viper and grabs her bag. Without saying anything to her friend, who is practically in Clark's lap, or having the decency to say goodbye, she storms off with her emptied bottle of white wine. Whatever, it's a great excuse to check out her ass while she storms off.
"Where did Leigh go?" Blondie suddenly looks up. "Oh, shit."
"Heath!" Clark smacks me on the shoulder. "The fuck did you say?"
"Nothing!" I rub my arm. "She got all pissy and walked out. No big deal."
"I gotta go find her." Blondie grabs her shit and Clark begs her to stay while shooting me daggers.
"Jesus. Fine." I swallow down my pizza, going cold after the frosty reception from Brunette newly named Leigh. "I'll go bring her back. You two stay and keep eye-fucking."
The shit I do for friends, man.