“And I’ll take a burger when you get a chance.”
“Damn, Stevie,” Jax exhales. “Stop making me fall in love with you.”
He shoots me a wink over his shoulder before redirecting his attention to the computer where he places my food order.
My food has taken a little longer than I thought it would, but I don’t mind. The bartender’s attention and the first quarter of the basketball game keep me plenty occupied. Not to mention my second beer.
Tara’s little remark about my uniform is less so at the forefront of my mind, though I realize now why it bothered me as much as it did. It’s not just because that’s an insecurity of my own, but how she said it was very similar to how my mother talks about my body.
It’s never direct. It’s always backhanded because how dare a Southern lady speak so directly. They don’t do that. I understand that my mother is a perfect Southern belle with an overactive metabolism, but that’s not me. And it’s never been me. I’ve got big tits, a big ass, and an even bigger desire never to become the kind of woman she is.
I love her, but she’s judgmental. I’ve never felt like enough in her eyes. I grew up playing with the boys because my twin brother was my best friend, and he was much more fun than any debutant ball or pageant my mother was so adamant about me participating in.
When I was in college, I refused to rush a sorority, which almost did her in. It’s big in the South, and my mother’s entire side of women have all attended the same University in Tennessee and rushed the same sorority. I’m a legacy. It would’ve been easy for me, but I don’t want to be anything like them.
And once she realized she lost the battle of me being a real proper Southern woman, her attitude towards me quickly shifted to disappointment. Her attention was no longer focused on how great I’d be in Southern society and instead, how different my body looked from hers.
Unfortunately, it’s become ingrained in me, making me believe something is wrong with the way I look. My shape became more womanly the older I got. But my mom, she’s not used to curves, and in her mind, I’m overweight. But I don’t know what she expected. Her husband, the other half of my DNA, looks nothing like the ginger hair, freckled, thin-framed side of my mom’s family.
I want to be proud that I’m half of a remarkable man, but it’s hard when my own mother is disappointed in the way I turned out. And for some reason now, it seeps in more than it used to.
As the bartender places my burger down in front of me, a quick regret paces through my mind. The more I think about my mother, the less appealing this food sounds. Maybe I should’ve ordered a salad with the dressing on the side. Maybe my uniform will fit a little better tomorrow if I eat that instead.
“If you don’t start eating that burger, I’m gonna scarf it down myself,” Jax, the bartender says, pulling me out of my self-doubt trance.
“I don’t share food,” I tease, pulling my plate closer to me.
His chest heaves in a laugh as he pours me another IPA, placing it next to my previous one that’s still half full.
This guy is good. And there’s a good chance he’s going to get lucky tonight. If not from me, then by one of the beautiful women filling this bar and desperate for the attention of the hot bartender. But at this rate, I wouldn’t mind it being me.
My eyes stay glued to the game on the screen as Ryan starts the second quarter. He’s leading the team in assists tonight, as he should. He’s the point guard and the best playmaker in the league.
The Devils run a motion offense on their first time down the court as Ryan gets open for a three in the corner. His teammate kicks the ball to him, and he sinks the shot.
“Fuck yes, Ry,” I ring out, much louder than I intended.
“Devils fan, huh?” Jax asks, his eyes panning to the TV then back to me. “Stevie, I hate to break it to you, but this might be the end of our love affair.”
I laugh mid-chew. “You don’t have to be a Devils fan. Just a fan of number five.”
“Ryan Shay? Who isn’t a fan of Ryan Shay? Best point guard in the league.”
“Damn right he is.” I pop a fry in my mouth. “And he’s my brother.”
“Bullshit.”
I continue to eat, not needing to convince him one way or another.
“Are you for real?”
Before I can respond, someone in my peripheral view holds an empty glass in the air for a refill, drawing my attention.
My gaze immediately falls on two guys from the plane. The one holding his glass up is the player with dark curly hair who promised a peep show next time he changed on board. Rio, I think his name is. And the other one is the person I was happiest to see get off the plane.