35. Reese

We lost.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise. We’ve been on a losing streak for years now. But every year, every game, Husker fans convince themselves this is going to be the turning point.

It’s heartbreak on a platter.

Skyler loves Husker football, but he’s a grownup and doesn’t let disappointment over a game affect his behavior. Wish I could say that for the rest of these knuckleheads.

We probably should have gone home like Skyler suggested, but I was so caught up in the game, I forgot all about his dating lesson.

We tried to find a quiet bar to finish out our date, but downtown is crawling with sad, drunk Husker fans. Eventually, we give up, picking a place in the Rail Yard that seems the least combustible.

Skyler snipes an empty stool. Watching me slide onto it, he steps in, caging his arms around me like a dog protecting a bone.

We pick at our soggy, cold order of French fries, attempting to make conversation over the racket of the crowd. I want to know how he treats his dates. What they talk about.

But I can barely hear him and we’re practically shouting at each other. Skyler orders another round of drinks while I fight my way through the crowd to go to the bathroom.

Despite the dismal atmosphere, I’m kind of having fun. It’s like Skyler and I have courtside seats to a very grim slam down. I’m secretly proud of him. The rest of these fans are acting like spoiled toddlers, but my man is above that.

Not my man, I remind myself.

My friend. My project.

Finishing up in the bathroom, I push back into the hallway, running into a wall of muscle. I get a hint of cigarettes and tequila. Definitely not Skyler.

I crane my head up, trying to step around this human roadblock. He’s tall and blonde and has a bargain bin haircut.

He puts his hands on my waist, steadying me even though I’m perfectly capable of standing on my own.

“My bad. Didn’t see you there.”

I pluck his hands from my side. “No worries.”

He shifts to the side, blocking my escape from the crowded hallway. “What’s your name, darlin’?”

I stare up at him, wanting to snap that I’m not his darlin’, but he probably weighs three times as much as I do.

He smiles, but there’s a glint in his eye. “Don’t be shy, now. I’m Clayton.”

He reaches out to take my hand.

I slide it out of his grasp, some of my irritation showing on my face.

“Okay, Ice Queen. Be like that.”

He frowns. “If you don’t want attention, don’t dress that way.”

“She doesn’t dress like that for you, asshole.”

Skyler shoulders past him, pulling me into his arms. “Fuck off.”

Skyler is about the same size as Clayton. There’s a tense moment while Clayton’s ego wars with his laziness. Finally, he shrugs, holding up his hands. “No harm, no foul.”

Skyler watches him go, taking my arm to check for bruises. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Except, I’m not. I feel stupid.

Embarrassed, because yet again, I’m feeling like a floozy. I just wanted to look cute for the game. And yeah, I wanted to look cute for Skyler. But I wasn’t trying to get anyone else’s attention.

He tucks me under his arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

Skyler tows me behind him, parting the crowd with a don’t-fuck-with-me glare. Once we’re outside, it’s like somebody hit the mute button. The deafening roar of the bar drops away and we’re stuck looking at each other.

Evening has settled in, and with it, an autumn chill.

Goosebump prickle my skin and it takes an effort to mask the shiver that wracks my body. I will not add dressing inappropriately for the weather to my list of offenses.

“I figured this would happen.”

He says, scanning my body.

“You figured I’d get assaulted by an asshole?”

He winces. “We all know what it’s like down here after the Huskers lose. And then, you’re dressed like that.”

“Fuck you.”

I meant for them to be fighting words, but they come off shattered, breaking partway through. My eyes burn, tears threatening to make an appearance, and I turn away in embarrassment. “What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?”

“You just draw attention, that’s all I’m saying.”

His voice is soft as he pulls me back into his chest.

His arms are warm and sheltering against the cold.

“Bare legs are not an invitation.”

“You’re right. They’re not. They shouldn’t be.”

“If I wanted to go in there dressed in a bikini, I should be able to do that without every shithead thinking they have a right to touch me.”

He chuckles, the sound vibrating against my chest. “Might be a little chilly outside for swimwear.”

“I’m serious.”

He sighs, tugging me closer. “I know. I’m just trying to laugh about it because I’m pretty fucking furious right now.”

“At me?”

“At you?”

He spins me around, staring down at me with a fierce look on his face. “Not at you, Reese. Never at you. I’m mad at that piece of shit in there. I want to rip his head off.”

“Not a bad idea.”

I slide my arms around his body, pressing my cheek against his chest. “Can I watch?”