Looking to Score(39)

“You know, I could go for a cocktail. Do you think I could get a martini delivered to our seat?”

“I figured you’d want to have some fun,” I said. “Here.” I slid my bangle flask off my wrist and handed it to her. Security patted everyone down before entering the stadium, so it was nearly impossible to bring in outside alcohol. But this little buddy of mine looked like an inconspicuous, oversized bracelet. I used to bring it with me to quite a few places back in the day.

“Oh!” Mom exclaimed, twisting off the small top and knocking some of the burning liquid back. “How fun! It’s like 1994 all over again.”

My dad’s eyes went wide, and he shook his head, probably already mentally calculating how far my place was and if he’d need to order a car or carry her there.

The game started, and slowly Mom started to feel the buzz. I watched Oakley, this time with a bit more knowledge under my belt. He was so skilled. “SACK HIM!” Mom screamed. “Gosh, I love football,” she added when a player bent over to stretch in front of us.

Being right next to the field meant I got a front row seat to how seriously Oakley took the game. His steel eyes were trained on the field. And when he wasn’t watching the game...he was watching me.

“Is that Oakley?” Mom asked in a shout. “He’s handsome, honey. Y’all would make beautiful babies. Oh my God. Do you think I’ll be a hot grandmother? Like a GILF?”

I giggled, and Dad had to cover his mouth to keep the snort from escaping. “You’ll always be totally fuckable, Mom,” I assured her, deciding to graze over the conversation about Oakley and me making babies. Hell. No. I mean, I wouldn’t mind practicing though.

“I just love you so much. You’re doing really great out here. I’m glad you got away from it all. I just miss you all the time,” Mom said while wrapping her slender arm around me. Dad stared at the scoreboard. It wasn’t even half time and Mom was hella buzzed. I was beginning to wonder if my bangle flask held enough vodka to get us through the rest of the game, the way my mom was pounding it back.

“Crosby, look!” my mom said excitedly, pointing to a vendor carrying brightly colored frozen drinks in giant plastic cups shaped like footballs. “Look, look, looooook! They are just like the ones we had on our first date!” she said, booping my dad on the nose. Nobody could say that my parents weren’t madly in love.

My dad waved over the guy selling the drinks and forked over an ungodly twenty dollars each for my mom, himself, and me. He probably didn’t even realize what he’d done. I guess it was hard for them to understand that I couldn’t have just one sip. One taste. One drink. Both my parents could easily handle a glass of wine at dinner or a bender once a month. But not me. I thanked my dad, took the drink and immediately set it down by my feet. I didn’t even want to guess at how many calories were in it. I was also technically working, so I didn’t think getting buzzed was the best idea.

My mom started cheering wildly and yelled, “GO OAKLEY!!! WOOOOO!” and then broke down into a fit of giggles. I giggled along with her.

The players cleared the field, and the cheerleaders came bouncing onto the field, yelling and waving their pom poms. They got into formation and started their first routine. To my horror, my mom was doing it right along with them, yelling the words and swinging her hips like she owned the place. She was bumping into everybody on all sides, but she was having the time of her life. I thought it was pretty funny until the whole stadium started going wild, and I saw my drunk, cheering, dancing mother on the jumbotron.

Nope.

This was not happening.

“Look, Crosby! I’m on TV!!”

I gave my father a look of pure pleading. “Fix this,” I hissed in a low voice.

“Uh, babe. Sweet cake!” Dad yelled over the crowd, grabbing her arm. “You know what else happened on our first date?” Oh God. No. I needed to plug my ears, but my fingers weren’t fast enough as he propositioned her, “Why don’t I get us a hotel room so we can recreate it?”

“Oh, Crosby, you devil!!” Mom playfully patted him on the chest. “What about the game?”

I was trying not to vomit but managed to speak up. “I have to work the rest of the night anyway, Mom. We can catch up tomorrow.”

She giggled and pinched my father’s butt.

Yep. I saw that.

“Well, if you insist!” Both my parents gave me quick goodbyes and started fumbling up the stadium stairs and out the door.

I would have to scrub my mind with bleach after this. I loved that my parents were in love, but I hadn’t expected the bangle flask to work that well.

The rest of the game went by quickly. We won the game, scoring in the last thirty seconds. Everyone was going fucking wild. I loved the adrenaline of it, and even screamed. Maybe I liked sports after all.

It took me a while to get to the locker rooms. I struggled through the crowd of drunk, happy coeds, and by the time I made it there, I had booze in my hair and a sweat-soaked shirt. When I walked in, the players all started shouting, “Ball!” I didn’t even have to remind myself that it was a term of endearment. I was surprised by how happy it made me that they were all happy to see me.

Oakley ran up to me, practically giddy, and wrapped his thick arms around my waist. He easily lifted me and twirled me around. I briefly wondered if he could lift me over his head Dirty Dancing style, but he set me back down. I giggled at the look of pure happiness on Oakley’s face.