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Rowdy(4)

By:Jay Crownover


The group that was watching us bent their heads together and the guy I figured was the leader met my gaze and flipped me off with a sneer.

I set my beer down and looked back at Jet.

“The natives are getting restless. We probably wanna go.”

I didn’t mind a good old-fashioned bar brawl. After all, I had played football up until I had dropped out of college at the end of my freshman year. I was still built like an athlete even if on the outside I looked more like James Dean. I was taller than most of them and definitely in better shape, but I liked to think I had grown and matured in the last few years. Avoiding bloodshed and broken knuckles that would mean I couldn’t tattoo was obviously the better option.

Jet looked over my shoulder and dipped his chin down in agreement, only our decision to depart came a split second too late. We were walking toward the door, eyes up and alert, when the men decided they couldn’t just let us walk away. I stopped and Jet paused next to me when we were suddenly faced with three fairly drunk, middle-aged guys that looked like they worked long hours doing manual labor. The one that had flipped me off made it a point to scan me from the top of my head to the toes of my worn black cowboy boots. He made a face and elbowed one of his buddies in the ribs hard enough to make the other guy grunt.

“Who do you think this joker is supposed to be? Elvis?” His gaze flicked over to Jet. “And who are you supposed to be? Ozzy Osbourne? Marilyn Manson? Someone needs to remind you boys that Halloween is in October.”

I felt Jet tense next to me but neither of us moved.

“How long did it take you make your hair all fancy like that? It would be a real shame if someone went and messed it all up.”

I had awesome hair and it did in fact take longer than I liked to admit to get in the lifted, retro style. If this dude thought he was putting his hands anywhere near my head, he had another thing coming. I was going to tell him that we didn’t want any kind of trouble, that we were happily on our way out the door, when I saw his arm start to lift up. I was going to grab his wrist and tell him to fuck off, when the guy he had tagged in the ribs beat me to the punch.

He reached out and smacked his mouthy buddy’s hand out of the way and pointed at me.

“You look familiar.”

I cut Jet a sideways look and he shrugged.

“I don’t see how. It’s our first—and last—time in here.”

The guy considered me. I mean really looked at me for a long minute until it got kind of awkward. The guy with the mouth looked like he was ready to pipe up again when the gawker suddenly snapped his fingers and broke out into a huge grin.

“I know! You played college ball for Alabama.”

I blinked and it was my turn to stare. No one recognized me from that part of my life. I mean no one. Those days were long past and I had only been on the field for one season.

“Uhh . . .” I heard Jet snicker a little next to me but I didn’t want to waste this chance at making a clean escape. “I did play, a very long time ago.”

“I graduated from the University of Alabama, so I follow the Crimson Tide like it’s my religion. You were a running back. I remember everyone saying that you had a boatload of potential. I remember thinking the coaches had some serious balls putting you in first string. You were fast, fast enough to help them get to the Sugar Bowl that year. Rowland something . . . right?”

I reached up and rubbed the back of my neck. The rest of the superfan’s cohorts had fallen quiet and were now looking at me in an entirely new way. Nothing like football to soothe the raging blue-collar beast.

“Rowdy St. James.”

He nodded. “Right. Rowdy, because you were wild and unpredictable. No one could ever tell what kind of pattern you were going to run. Something happened, though. I don’t remember what but I remember you didn’t play in the bowl game or the following season. I remember them taking about you on ESPN. You just vanished and everyone wondered why.”

That was not something I wanted to discuss, especially not with a group of guys that had been all too eager to start shit a second ago.

I shrugged and forced a sheepish grin. “Well, you know, the pressure got to me. I wasn’t ready for the big show. It just wasn’t meant to be.”

A professional football career really wasn’t in the cards for me, but it had nothing to do with the pressure and everything to do with me not being invested in it. But I wasn’t about to share that with these guys.

“You were a talented kid. It’s a shame you didn’t follow through.”

I gritted my back teeth and offered a shrug. It had nothing to do with follow-through and everything to do with the fact I nearly beat the starting quarterback to death with my bare hands a few weeks before the bowl game. Man, what was it with the ugly past rearing its head and refusing to stay in the dark where I left it?