Looking to Score(63)

“Learn from your mistakes and have grace for yourself. You will be unstoppable,” she finished.

After a hug and a kiss on the forehead, my mom asked, “Do you feel up to watching the game? Your dad has prepared a feast.”

I actually did feel like watching the game, so I followed my mom to the living room. In light of recent activities—i.e., their daughter showing up in tears—my parents decided to watch the game on TV instead of going. I loved the hell out of them.

My dad had made enough potato skins and Frito pie to feed the entire football team. We grazed lightly on cheese and crackers in the shape of footballs and tiny meatballs as we watched the pregame show. I hadn’t eaten all day, so I wasn’t too concerned with the calories, but I still picked around the most carb-laden snacks.

The host started talking stats and highlighting some of the players. Oakley’s photo flashed on the screen, and the host greedily started spilling why he wouldn’t be there, like a sorority sister with juicy gossip.

“Oakley Davis, star running back for the University of Texas, was arrested last night by Los Angeles police—” I groaned, and my mom quickly flipped to another channel.

Once the game started, my mom was in her element. She was cheering and yelling at the ref like she had her life savings bet on UT, which was totally for my benefit, because she was a hard-core California girl.

My guys lost, and I felt a pang of disappointment at the score. More guilt laced through me when I realized they probably would have played better if Oakley were there. I also noticed that Dale was benched for the game. I’m glad he at least was punished too.

“There’s always next time. Oakley won’t be benched forever,” Dad said, turning off the game and patting me on the shoulder.

“Yeah. Next time.” I chewed on my nails. Guilt was eating me up. No longer feeling social, I kissed my parents on the cheek, then made my way to my guest room. Giving in to the exhaustion, I finally fell asleep.





“Baby, wake up,” my mother said while shoving me. “Baby. You gotta see this.” My room was pitch black aside from the faint glow of my mother’s cell phone illuminating her tired face.

“What?” I replied, my voice deep with sleep.

“I was just casually checking Oakley’s Instagram…” she began.

I checked the clock. “At two in the morning?”

“Don’t judge me. That boy is fine. And I had purely innocent motivations. Honey, he’s at a bar and is getting tagged in sloppy posts. I know you care about him—”

I grabbed the phone and stared at the screen, groaning when I saw Oakley slumped over a bartop and swaying on his seat. Two girls wearing jerseys were posing with him, pressing against his body like he wasn’t drunk as hell and out of his mind.

“Shit,” I croaked before shuffling out of bed and grabbing my phone. I quickly turned it on and immediately got a slew of messages and missed phone calls.

Oakley: We lost the game.

Oakley: Where are you?

Oakley: R you breaking up with me?

Oakley: solvr what are u doing

Oakley: call me backkmmm

“Oh shit. I have to go get him,” I said, looking at my mom.

“He was tagged at a bar near here. Want me to drive?” she asked.

“Yes.” I probably would need her help to get his drunk ass in the car.





We pulled up to the bar within ten minutes of my mom getting me up. I hadn’t even bothered to change out of my flannel pajama pants and tank top. My hair was piled into a messy bun on top of my head, and I had thrown on flip-flops as I left the rental. I looked a hot mess.

I asked my mom to wait in the car and headed in solo. It didn’t take long to find Oakley; he wasn’t exactly trying to hide. He was sitting at a table, surrounded by women, making a complete ass out of himself. He was definitely drunk. I didn’t see any of the other players. After everything that happened, Coach must have threatened them with their lives if they stepped out tonight.

The girls at Oakley’s table were leaning in as close to him as they could get from across the table, their low cut tops putting everything on display. They were laughing like Oakley was saying the funniest thing they had ever heard. There were a couple of women standing behind him, and one was even perched in his lap. I was too tired and emotionally drained for it to even register that I should be upset about that.

I headed directly for Oakley, prepared to drag him out by his ears if I had to. As I got a little closer, I realized that there was something familiar about the girl with perfect shiny brown hair sitting on his lap. Fucking Legacy.

She ran her hand through his hair, and I saw red. I couldn’t even hear the over-the-top comment she flirtatiously tossed his way over the roaring in my ears.

“Problem,” I said loudly while pushing through the crowd. Some looked at my pajamas and messy hair with disgust. Legacy looked me over and smiled coolly, moving her hand from Oakley’s hair to his chest.

Oakley turned to face me, his expression twisting from confusion, shock, and then finally excitement. “Solbeeeeer,” he replied.

Legacy was massaging his chest, starting at his glorious pecs and working her way up to his shoulders. She clearly thought she had already won a non-existent competition. I wanted to tear her off of him.

“Come on, Baby. Let’s go home,” I cooed. Drunk Oakley was like an excited toddler, coddled and enticed with the temptation of candy.