Lowell

“Do a few interviews, don’t give away too much. Everyone is looking for a sound bite to play from now until the Super Bowl.”

“You think we’ll make it that far?”

“I think I’ll enjoy the cash if you do.”

My agent is cockier than the best ball player out there, but it might be because he represents the best of the best. Me included. Donnie Hayes has been with me since I was a know-nothing prospect. He had me right out of college and then never let go. Since then, I have gotten the highest signing contracts and bonuses, the best endorsement deals, and the most lucrative publicity campaign any player has ever had. Now anyone who follows football, and especially the team, knows all about my sad story Donnie played to fit whatever narrative he needed. It’s always his play, what fits the narrative, what kind of story he can tell, and how much of the truth he can leave out. I know it isn’t always ideal, but after five years, he hasn’t steered me in the wrong direction yet.

“Of course, you will. Remind me again why I am going to this?” I get it. We made the playoffs… but this event is for the industry and not necessarily the players.

“Because the politics of this sport is what matters most. When they know you as a person and not some ball thrower, things go in your favor. All the refs know each other, and they know the people at this mixer tonight.”

I want to roll my eyes. Donnie doesn’t even know much about sports or football, hence, why he still refers to me as a ‘ball thrower’ and not a quarterback. And Jacob who he also reps, ‘guy who catches’ instead of wide receiver. Donnie is short and very much the ‘little guy,’ but he talks up a storm and makes everyone forget how much he looks like Adam Sandler.

“Right. Got it.” I turn away from him and look out the window, the black suburban hiding us in the line of cars up to the red carpet. It’s not that I hate the interviews or all the flashing cameras, it’s just a bore. I live for the thrill of the game—there is nothing like my heart racing for every second of every quarter, my body doing the work my soul burns for. Only one thing has compared to that, and it’s long gone now.

I spot Jacob in the crowd posing with fans passing by outside the white fence line and get out of the car despite Donnie’s protests. My gray suit was perfectly tailored and moves with me when I jog across the blocked street to get to him.

“Hey, you can take over this photo scene now.” He nods at me. Jacob has barely aged over the years. His face still sells on anything it gets put on, and outside of football, he leads a civil rights group for students at the college here in the city. We both do our own thing outside of the game, and I’m glad to say it’s the plan we had all along.

“Glad I could help.” We shake and half-hug hello, but I only just saw him at the game last week.

Most of the fans coming by have tickets to the event, but a few came to see the players before they go in.

They charge an arm and a leg for these events, and I don’t know why, but people still buy them, though a lot of them can’t. And they are usually the ones who sit and watch the games at home with their families or record it because they still have to work on Sunday. It’s the socialites and social climbers who pay to come to these things.

Jacob and I finish up and start weaving through the crowd of photographers, reporters, and anyone running press for these events. We try to catch up with each other over the crowd of voices, which amounts to him telling me his wife declined to come tonight, and his two daughters marked pink paint all over the dining room wall. They’re three and four, and he’s married to Sandra, whom he met in our last year of college. He was always the most mature of the two of us, but I never thought I’d see him so domesticated.

That shock is nothing compared to the one that follows. When it replays like a sappy memory in my head, I think it’s so far from the truth that I ignore it until I realize it’s really happening.

When I see Charlotte again, it feels like the first time after my win back in college that arguably made my career, and now the win that’s the story of my career… and she looks the same—so gorgeous I can’t breathe, and it’s not the crowd suffocating me.

Her sweet brown eyes find me in the crowd, and my ocean-blue eyes do the same, and for a moment, I stop to take her in. To just… look at her. The perfect glow of her skin, almost golden in the browns, and her slight features—the smooth bridge of her nose and arched curve of her lips, painted glossy tonight, the way I remember.

“Blake, what’s up?” Jacob stops behind me, hand on my shoulder to bring me back to the present. I hadn’t realized how close I got—enough to hear the line of correspondents calling Jacob and me to answer questions. It’s not news that we come as a pair most of the time.

But all I hear is Charlotte asking for a line as if she doesn’t know who I am. I go right toward her ignoring the woman on her side and the man holding the camera.

“Lowell Blake, how do you feel knowing your team has made it into the playoffs and has a real shot at the Super Bowl?” Her voice is the same, the only difference is how she talks to me—hard on her words. If I were asked, I’d say we left off amicably, but the way her eyes narrow at me tells me she wouldn’t agree. I glance to notice Jacob giving me an odd look and try to compose myself. Charlotte was… I never told anyone about the time we spent together my senior year, not even Jacob. And I don’t know why.

“It feels great.” I clear my throat. “There are lots of new opportunities on the horizon not just for me but for the team.” I formulate the response Donnie fed to me.

“Thank you,” Charlotte nods to herself and glances at the woman next to her who nods as well. “That’s all we need from you.” Charlotte looks right at me, and it takes me a moment to notice after I look her body over—fuller around her hips and middle, the beauty marks on her left collarbone still there, and the curve of her breasts make my vision almost blur at how much I still react to her. She has grown up, but she is still the same.

“You’re welcome. See you inside.” I don’t phrase it as a question, and she doesn’t retort me.

“What was that about? Not like you to get frazzled over some cute chick.”

“She’s not just some…” I catch my tone and stop talking. Getting defensive probably won’t make this any easier.

I turn from the bar to look at Jacob patiently waiting for an explanation. When we move to the standing tables circulating the white lit, contemporary-themed room, I manage to get into things without sounding like a complete idiot. And I’m as surprised as him when I see it the way he probably does.

“Did you love her?”

I need the drink before I answer him. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t have been so easy to leave if I did.”

“Well, you never know.” He rolls his shoulder and takes the colored handkerchief out of his dark sports coat, one of his endorsement deals. “Sandra and I weren’t serious until last year. We both dated other people before and after the girls were born because we never made things official.”

I nod. “I guess so. I mean I missed her for a while but… we were young. She was a junior, one year behind me. I don’t know, it was college, you know?”

“Yeah. She didn’t look at you that way, though.” He laughs at my dismay, and I shake my head at him.

“Right. I’m going to look for her.”

He is still laughing when I walk away. But all I can think about is the reality that Charlotte is here. Over the years, I tried loosely to get back in touch with her through social media, mainly. Before I left, we never… it wasn’t a conversation I thought to have, so when I got drafted early and left one day with Donnie, I wanted to tell her, but I thought I didn’t need to. I thought a lot of things back then. And a few years later, on one of my somber nights, I tried to call her, but her number had been disconnected. And even right when I left in April of that year back in college, she never called me either.

So, I don’t know why she seemed…

“Charlotte.” I finally find her practically alone in a corner on one of the white lounge chairs. “Can you excuse us?” I ask the tall, blonde woman next to her. After checking for approval, she walks away.

I set my eyes on Charlotte again, and my smile creeps up easily because I am happy to see her. It reminds me of a different time in my life—perhaps a better one. I’m not sure yet. Back then I was just a good football player, but now I’m rich, I have influence, and I can help other people when I’m in the mood for it—but it is still hard to tell.

“Don’t bother sitting.” She crosses her arms and looks away from me. In my shock, my eyes rove over her shapely legs as she crosses them, her pink painted nails catching my eye.

“Okay. Can I get you a drink then? Or I guess if I leave, I may not find you when I get back.”

“I know how that feels.” Her brow arches at me, and her full lips peek at a smile.

I lick my lips and shrug my shoulders feeling weird talking down at her, but I sit down anyway. She doesn’t move. I turn to her and inhale the sweet scent of her perfume—part of me still remembers that too.

“You look amazing, Charlotte. Beautiful as always.” I lean forward, elbows on my knees as I find her gaze. She turns her body on the lounge chair to look at me—close up is even better when I look into her eyes.

I still feel the same things I did back then. My body still reacts before I can even think. I set my hand on the warm skin of her thigh, closer to her knee than anything else.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t get a compliment, too?”

“No.” She giggles, and the sound is glorious to me. “You don’t need it.”

“I will take that as a compliment then.” I chuckle. “So, what are you doing here?”

“Working.”

“Obviously.” I lean a little closer to her, and she doesn’t pull back.

The longer I sit with her, the more I think she isn’t mad—maybe hurt.

“I’m happy to see you, Charlotte. I… I mean college was a long time ago, and I know I probably should have said goodbye to you.” I swallow, thinking maybe this isn’t the venue for this conversation, but I don’t want to wait.

“Lowell…”

I stop her for a moment transfixed by the way my name rolls off her tongue, the way I used to hear it.

“No, I mean it, Charlotte. I was wrong. And I think about it a lot. I regret it. I’m sorry.”

She sighs, twisting her lips as she looks from me to what’s behind me or around us. After she stares down at my hand on her knee for a moment, her hand covers mine, and the warmth and softness of her eyes makes my skin pulse everywhere.

Looking at me, she smiles, and it’s real. “Thank you, Lowell. But I wasn’t mad, I knew we were just… I wasn’t mad. I missed you, too, and I wish things were different, but I was never mad.” She gives me a look that tells me she was hurt, though.

“Different?”

She gives a clipped nod. “Different. More. But it is different now.” She looks away from me like she is afraid the truth will slip out. “I have to go.” Charlotte is up and out of my sight before I can process it, and once I do, I go after her.

Losing her in the crowd along the way politely responding to people who stop me and then continuing on, I spot her passing the valet to go in search of her car herself, and I catch up to her easily. The sprint feels like nothing until I catch up to her.

“Charlotte, wait. What did you mean back there?” I block her path, and she walks around me. I let her go but follow her to her car. When she is safely there, I have half a mind to walk away like she wants me to, but I don’t feel like I should.

Maybe not this time.

“Lowell…”

She can’t stop me from kissing her once I get the idea—once I get my hands around her waist, press her body to mine, and bring her closer to me. When I taste her again, I feel better than a winner, than anything I ever had before because it’s still there. That beautiful fire between us, a connection I never thought could exist.

My tongue slips over her soft lips, and she lets me in, her fingers curling up in my hair as she rises to me. The soft planes of her body drive me insane, the taste of her lips even more, and my loss of breath means nothing when all I want to do is keep kissing her.

And so, I do.

I don’t release her until I have to, and we are left panting, gasping for air with each other. Her eyes meet mine again, and the sadness in them makes me want to kiss it away.

“Charlotte, I thought you said…”

“I know.” She licks her lips and combs my hair back with her fingers before she cups my face in both hands and then releases me. “There are no hard feelings, but that doesn’t mean we have to make any more. It really was… nice to see you, Lowell. I’m sorry.”

Mostly in shock without the right response to her words, I let her drive away.