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Before: Game Fourteen


Nick

Dogface lowered herself into the booth across from me with a sigh, putting her messanger bag down on the leather seat and scooting in. "Shit, Nick, today was horrible." She frowned and reached across the table and took my beer, slugging it down. As she drank, I made a motion to the bar tender for two more bottles.

The Buccs were on TV. It was Sunday afternoon and Dogface and I had found this one obscure little bar that was like a Buccaneers haven and we'd taken to coming here on Sundays to watch them lose -- I mean, to watch the game.

The bar tender came over and put the beers on the table. I nodded my appreciation and glaced at Dogface for the first time since she'd walked in. She was dressed in this weird tweed jacket and a silk, ruffly button up top like she was a seventy-three year old librarian with a whispering complex. "You're not in your lucky shirt," I said disapprovingly, "You're gonna jinx 'em." I took a pull on the beer, "Besides, that shirt should be burned," I added, turning back to the TV.

Dogface took a pull off her beer. "Do you want to know what happened today or what?" she demanded.

I waved at the TV.

Dogface sighed. "Nevermind then." She put the beer down and slid back out of the booth and grabbed her bag. "Fuck you."

"Where are you going?" I demanded, ripping my attention from the TV.

"You're a selfish ass," she said. She pushed the bag's strap over her shoulder. "I don't have the emotional vacancy to put up with your fat ego tonight." Dogface turned an started out of the bar.

It was a moment of truth sort of play happening on TV, so it literally took everything in me to rip myself away from it. As I jumped up out of the booth the entire bar exploded in shouts and applause, and I chased after Dogface on the wave of voices as she ducked out the door and onto the street.

"Hey," I snapped as I rushed the couple feet that separated us. I grabbed her arm to stop her walking and she spun around.

"Don't!" she yelled.

A guy walking by slowed down, eye-balling us. "You okay?" he asked her.

"I'm fine," Dogface said to him, "Thanks."

He glowered at me as he walked away.

"What the fuck was that all about?" I demanded, waving at the bar's neon sign glowing overhead.

Dogface sighed. "I told you I had a horrible day and you didn't give a shit."

"The Buccs are on."

She pursed her lips. "I'm sorry. I wasn't aware the Buccs were more sacred than the Pope for Christ's sake."

"Of course you were aware of that," I said.

Dogface sighed again. "Just forget it Nick, okay? I'm not in the mood for football."

"But you called me a selfish ass with a fat ego," I pointed out.

"Well you are a selfish ass," she answered, "That shouldn't come as a surprise to you."

I stared at her for a long moment. "Are you mad at me?"

Dogface rolled her eyes. "Jesus Nick, what gave you the clue?"

I shrugged.

"I just wanted someone to listen to me, that's all," she said, her tone exasperated. I have a feeling I was supposed to have known that instinctively somehow. I scratched my shoulder. "You were watching the almighty Buccs, I know, I just... I dunno, I thought I was more important. I was wrong. I'm sorry."

I felt bad for some reason. I don't know why. The Buccs are more important than whatever weird girly shit she was going through, I was pretty sure. I shuffled my feet a second. Then I realized I was probably supposed to say that she was more important - that was what the awkward silence building between us was waiting for. But I also wasn't supposed to lie, so I was sorta kinda in between a rock and a hard place and --

"Go watch the game. I'm going home." Dogface turned around and started walking down the street.

"Wait," I called, "How am I supposed to score tonight without my wingman? What about the celebratory sex after the Buccs win?"

"The Buccs never win," she yelled.

"They do too!" I yelled, "They've won at least twice this season!"

"They're on game fourteen Nick!" she shot back.

I shoved my hands in my pockets and watch her shape disappear into the dark as she walked away. I sighed, and walked back into the bar and sat back down at the booth and stared up at the game. I drank my beer. I glanced over at hers when mine was finished and pulled it over. I looked at it. The neck had her lipstick on it. I stared at it's weird orangey hue before wiping it off with the cocktail napkin under it and taking a sip.

I wondered what had made her day so horrible.

When the Buccs lost, I blamed her for not wearing her shirt.




Ashley

I found myself crying on my way home. I wiped my hand across my eyes, which burned as my eyeliner leaked into them. I snuffled, and pulled my coat tighter across my chest. I climbed the steps to my apartment two at a time and slid the deadbolt shut.

My pajamas had never felt so welcoming. I threw the silk shirt into the corner of the bathroom and wished death upon it as Nick's words echoed in my mind. Back in the living room, I paused at the pathetic little Christmas tree I'd put up, clicking its cord into the outlet. It glowed at me, mocking me with its happiness. I sank into my couch and hugged the throw pillow to my face. The apartment was silent.

I'd fallen asleep when I heard knocking on the door. Loud and persistant. I kept the pillow pressed to my chest as I walked over to it in the tree's dim glow. I pressed my eyes to the peephole and was treated with a fish-eye lens view of Nick's big nose. I sighed and opened the deadbolt and unlocked it. I walked away, letting the clicking be Nick's indication to come in. Which he did. He closed it behind him and stared at me as I returned to the couch.

"Lock it behind you," I said, sinking back into the cushions.

I heard the locks click and then his big feet echoed as he walked over. "Hey," he said, sitting down in the chair beside my couch. He was still staring at me.

I curled my knees to my chest, the pillow smooshed in between.

"So they lost."

"They always loose," I said roughly.

Nick was quiet a moment. I could see him struggling with the next words. "I'm sorry I didn't say you were more important than the Buccs."

I wasn't sure how to respond to that. "What an asshole thing to say," I said quietly.

"I'm trying here all right? You know I'm not good at this crap."

"At what crap, exactly?" I demanded.

Nick looked uncomfortable, like he was sitting in a drippy basement with a single lightbulb shining down on him and I was interrogating him. "You know," he said, "Like feelings and crap."

I drew a deep breath and dropped my knees into an Indian position. "I know," I relented.

"So tell me about your horrible day," he suggested.

I shrugged, "It's not a big deal."

"Was someone a dick to you? Do I gotta go beat the shit out of some one?" he asked.

"Yeah someone was a dick to me," I answered, looking meaningfully at him.

A slow grin spread across his face, "I can't beat the shit out of myself," he said.

"Why not? I was looking forward to watching that."

He jumped up and moved over and sat on the couch next to me. "You can slap my face if you want," he suggested. "Just get it out of your system once and for all."

"You'd enjoy that too much, you kinky bastard," I shook my head. "You get slapped enough by the women you sleep with and never call back, you don't need me to slap you."

Nick grinned and snuggled into the cushions next to me, his cheek leaning against my shoulder as he stared at the Christmas tree. "Your tree's crooked," he said after a long moment.

It was true, it was kinda curvy around the middle.

"That's why I bought it."

"You like curvy things?" he asked.

"I like rejects."

Nick laughed, "Then why the hell do you like me?"

I shrugged, "Beats the hell out of me."