Old Fashioned - Becker Brothers

All I thought of was that Jordan and I couldn’t happen, that Randy would never let it happen, and that perhaps more than anything, I wasn’t ready for it to happen.

“I’m pretty tired,” I continued, still washing. “I think we both better get some sleep.”

The water was scalding hot on my hands but I didn’t move to change it. I just scrubbed and scrubbed until the soap was a frothy foam of bubbles on the sponge and the glass in my hand was clean enough for the Queen herself to drink from.

I could still sense Jordan in my home, hear his breaths, feel the mixture of longing and regret swirling inside him the same way they moved in me. But slowly, without another attempt to speak to me, he gathered his belongings, and with one last look in my direction that I didn’t return, he let himself out my front door.

And I fell to the floor, the water still running as I backed myself into the cabinet and squeezed my eyes shut, running my hands through my hair.

What have we done?JordanWas it possible for a hangover to last forty-eight hours?

If anyone would have asked me on Monday afternoon thirty minutes before football practice, I would have responded with a resounding yes.

My head still pounded, gut churning like I was in danger of forfeiting what little I’d been able to eat at any given moment. I knew there were bags under my eyes and that I was in rough shape as I ran over my plans for the day’s practice.

And I also knew that none of it had anything to do with the alcohol I’d consumed.

I hadn’t been drunk — not at Sydney’s, not in the car on my way home, and not the next morning. If anything, I’d nursed those drinks to make them — and the conversation with Sydney — last.

I wasn’t hungover from the whiskey.

I was hungover from her kiss.

I’d been in that state of absolute worthlessness since I left Sydney’s house on Saturday night, spending the rest of the weekend ruminating on my actions, and even more on her reaction.

I’d kissed her.

Like a damn fool, I’d kissed her.

And she’d torn away from me like I was the devil himself.

Here I’d been chastising my team the past few weeks, telling them to be respectful of Sydney, and it had been me who had crossed the very line I’d put in place. She’d trusted me — not just here on the field and at the school, but in her home, too. I was there to work with Paige, to reassure Sydney that it was all going to be okay, and instead, I’d put her in the worst-possible situation.

I felt like a predator, and even more, like a joker.

Because the worst part of it all was that I really did think she wanted to kiss me, too.

I’d thought I’d read the signs right, that she’d leaned into me and looked up at me with eyes that silently pleaded for me to break the rules and lower my mouth to hers. I thought she’d opened up to me, and that I’d opened up to her, in return, and that we’d crossed into a new territory that could no longer be defined by our roles on the Stratford High School football team.

I’d thought we’d shared something that night — hell, that entire day.

What. An. Idiot.

I’d run over my mistake in my head for the rest of the weekend, and nothing could save me from my thoughts. Not even taking the Bronco out mudding or dinner with my family on Sunday night brought me relief. Mom commented on how I was even quieter than usual, but I couldn’t even open up to her about what had happened — that was how stupid I felt.

More than that, I felt irresponsible.

I decided long ago that relationships were not for me. I knew too well how they could fail, how one partner could be left behind, how the pain that came with love almost always outweighed the pleasure. I never wanted to be in that line of fire, and more than that, I never wanted to be responsible for someone else’s demise, either.

Football was the love of my life, and I was happy with that.

So, when I’d crossed that line with Sydney, I’d done so not with the intention to hook up with her, to have a one-night stand, to have something casual.

I’d done it with the knowledge that I didn’t do anything half-assed.

I wanted her. I wanted to court her and date her and take things slow and worship her and eventually call her mine.

I wanted all those things knowing that she’d already been through hell once, judging by the ugly breakup with her and Randy, and that I would likely put her through it again, because that was just the way love worked.