In Her Eyes (4 page)

Ben tossed his backpack on his desk chair and his keys and wallet on his shelf in the closet.

“There’s this thing called practice. You should ask Allen Iverson about it,” Ben said.

“It was an optional Friday night workout. My guess is you and a couple student managers had some nice alone time.”

Parker was right, Ben was the only runner who bothered to show up.

“Relax, it’s like,” Ben looked down at his watch, “It’s 7:08 p.m. I don’t even go out that much and even I know people aren’t going out this early.”

“No man, this is different. It’s Fight Night,” Parker said.

“What the heck is fight night?”

“I know you’re only a freshman, but how the heck do you not know what fight night is. It’s like the biggest night of the year. They convert the dance floor at 8 Seconds into a cage and several local MMA guys go buck wild.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Sounds amazing. Shocked I didn’t know about it.”

“That’s not even the best part. You have to see the girls that show up at these things.”

“I thought we were meeting some girls there or something.”

“No, they kind of bailed…” Parker said. “It’s all good, though, Brad and Jimmy’s gonna meet us there.”

“Brad’s alright, but Jimmy?”

“Why don’t we call some of your friends then? Oh that’s right—everyone else on the team hates you because you’re an ass.”

“I’m not an ass. I’m just honest.”

“So, go get ready, I want to get there early and grab a table up front.”

Ben walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower. “You know these girls likely come out for the ripped fighters and not the skinny runners.”

“That hurts, man,” Parker said.

“Maybe next time you won’t skip those optional workouts.”

10

Nikki

April 3, 2015

Casey stood in front of her bathroom mirror, adjusting the straps on her red and white polka dot chiffon blouse. Nikki walked in as she tapped the face of the black Fitbit on her left wrist. It was 8:37 p.m.

“You’re not wearing
that
are you?”

Casey looked down at her shirt. “What’s wrong with this shirt?”

“No.
That
.” Nikki said, pointing at her Fitbit.

“Umm, yes. I love my Fitbit.” Casey double tapped the tiny horizontal screen. “Plus I still need another three thousand steps tonight,” she said with a smile.

Nikki laughed and leaned forward to dab on some lipgloss with her pinky. She pursed her lips in the mirror, the soft peach matte complimenting her white strapless peplum top and black skinny jeans.

“Remind me why we’re going to this thing again tonight,” Casey said.

“Because there are going to be really cute guys there. And because I never get to hang out with my best friend because she always comes up with lame excuses not to go out. Did I mention the really cute guys part?”

Casey turned around and looked at her jeans in the mirror.

Nikki did the same. “I wish my butt looked that good.”

Casey pointed at her Fitbit and joked, “Maybe you should consider one of these.”

11

Bad Idea

April 3, 2015

Ben looked around at the usually country-themed nightclub. The dance floor had been replaced by The Octagon: an eight sided fighting cage. It was about six feet tall with eight steel posts wrapped in thick plastic covered foam that held up vinyl coated chain-link fence panels. It looked exactly like the cage he’d seen on television, except probably ordered on Amazon and assembled by a few half-drunk college students.

Two fighters were already in the ring, and the referee was speaking to both of them about something. Instead of waitresses, there were Octagon Girls. They were wearing black, boy style, low-cut bathing suit bottoms and a matching bikini top.

It was a little past ten, which meant the first fight was slightly behind schedule. The crowd was already getting impatient and rowdy. Two fights had broken out and quickly ended by three white guys the size of John Cena. They were dragged out of the bar and their spots quickly filled by the line of students outside.

“This has got to be the worst idea ever,” Ben said to himself.

“What?” Parker yelled between hundreds of shouting college students.

Ben just shook his head, “Nothing.”

“This is going to be incredible!” Parker yelled. He put his arm around the girl next to him, and whispered something into her ear that made her laugh.

Her name was Nikki, short for Nicole, unless people actually name their kids Nikki. He’d met her at the bar about twenty minutes ago. She was a cute girl, and seemed nice enough, Ben thought. She also kind of seemed like every other girl though.

Ben looked across the table at one of the only empty seats left in the bar. They were apparently saving a seat for Nikki’s “friend,” who had been in the “bathroom” ever since Parker came back to the table with Nikki.

She leaned forward resting her elbows on the table and looked right at Ben. “You look so familiar.”

Parker put his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “You mean Mr. Benson Wilder?” Parker corrected himself. “The Mr. Benson Wilder, I mean.”

“You’re that runner,” Nikki said.

Brad and Jimmy laughed from across the table.

“What’s so funny?” Nikki asked.

“We’re all runners,” Jimmy said.

He leaned towards Parker. “I’m gonna grab some fresh air.”

“Dude, the fight’s about to start!”

Ben didn’t respond. He just stood up, pushed in his chair and headed towards the front door.

“Okay man, we’ll be here,” Parker added. Nikki made eye contact with Ben as he stood up, said something to Parker and then looked back at him. Ben smiled trying to be friendly and headed back towards the entrance, feeling her eyes still locked on him.

The front of the club was even more packed than the area around the cage. As Ben looked to his right, he understood why. There was a full bar and two unbelievably hot girls behind the counter spilling more alcohol than serving it. Every guy at the bar probably thought they had a chance. Maybe somehow they’d use the right line that would end up with one of the girls writing their number down on a napkin and sliding it across the bar to them.

That was what happened in the movies, anyways. This was real life though, where the girls behind the bar were being paid to dress and act exactly how they were. Stick-on tattoos and all. Ben would bet money they’d probably rather be at home in their pajamas curled up on the couch with a good book and some ice cream. Cookie dough probably. Or maybe mint chocolate chip.

Ben looked over to the front door; the bottom line was exiting the club was starting to seem like a bad idea. There were just too many damn people standing around and the chance of him getting back in were slim to none—which actually sounded like a half-decent plan, maybe the guy version of “going to the bathroom,” is “getting some fresh air.”

He looked back across the room where Parker was sitting with his new girl.
I can’t just leave him, though.

Ben felt a somewhat sweaty arm wrap around his shoulders, “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Track & Field himself gracing us with his presence.” It was the left fielder for the baseball team, Mike Mitchel.

“So what brings Mr. Clean out tonight?” Mike said.

Mr. Clean was another nickname a lot of guys called him. It made absolutely zero sense, but whatever. For some reason athletes go around giving each other nicknames until one sticks. Hopefully this one doesn’t.

“Just out with some friends tonight, man. What about you?”

Mike tilted his head towards the bar and smiled.

Figures.

Forced into a few minutes of small talk, Ben sighed relief when some other guy Ben didn’t recognize started talking to Mike. Well, talking would be an understatement. This guy was yelling. Not in an “I want to kick your ass” way, but in an “I’ve already had too many drinks to realize I’m shouting at you” way.

Ben put his hand on Mike’s shoulder, “I’ll catch you later, man.”

Mike gave him the obligatory head nod.

The commentator spoke up and the room quieted a bit, and then erupted. The fight was about to start. The two guys standing in front of him moved past him towards their seats, and Ben saw a stairwell about fifteen feet ahead of him.

A guy and a girl walked down the stairs and towards the bar. There must be roof access, he thought.

He passed three more people hurrying down the stairs as the fight bell rang. The roof was mostly empty when he reached the top of the staircase. To his right a few guys were facing the parking lot towards the back, smoking what smelled like weed. And with the intelligence level of the people in this bar, it was probably laced with something that was going to send them to the hospital shortly. About fifty feet in front of him a girl in a red shirt, jeans, and sandals was standing on the far end, looking over the railing towards the street. A guy to his left flicked a cigarette over the edge and headed towards the doorway Ben was still standing in.

Ben walked to his left and looked over the railing towards the sidewalk below. He could still see several lines of smoke puffing from the cigarette, until a passerby unknowingly stepped on it. From the roof the noises from the club were muffled, and other than the voices below on the street, it was a quiet night.

The Pepsi Invitational was tomorrow. The Tom Jones Memorial two weeks after that, and then the LSU Invitational. After that it was the SEC Championships. They were all pieces to the puzzle that once finished, were supposed to lead to the NCAA Championships. Yet as he looked out towards the streets of downtown Gainesville littered with students just trying to make tonight the best night possible, all he could think about was a girl named Casey Taylor.

12

Casablanca

April 3, 2015

When Casey Taylor saw Ben walk up the stairs to the roof, she immediately turned around to face the street.
You’ve got to be kidding me.

Yet she smiled, the lines from
Casablanca
ringing in her head:
Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, you had to walk into mine….
She was a sucker for old movies. Probably because several years ago she found out when you’re pregnant, hungry, and wide awake at two in the morning, there isn’t much else to do.

Moving as little as possible, she held up her phone and reversed the camera like she was taking a selfie. It was dark, and at first she couldn’t see anything. She angled it up towards the light to refocus and then to the right where a group of guys were still passing around a joint and laughing. She angled it the other way, but again nothing. She panned back to the stairwell that was almost directly behind her and nearly dropped the phone. He was walking directly towards her.

Casey clicked the lock screen button and dropped her phone back into her purse. She was suddenly glad she wore jeans. She felt almost exposed as he approached her. At the last minute she turned around, not sure what else to do. She thought maybe she should apologize about lying earlier. Although, it really was true, she didn’t have a lot of time for anything outside the hospital.

As she turned around there was only one problem. The guy walking towards her, who was now about five feet from her, wasn’t Ben. She didn’t recognize the guy. Just some random guy from the bar.

From the corner of her eye, Casey saw something move. She looked to her right and Ben turned around, leaning his back against the fence. When their eyes met, he grinned. It was an annoying grin. It was a when-you’re-done-with-that-loser-you-can-come-talk-to-me-but-for-now-I’ll-just-watch grin.

If he wants to play that way, then maybe I will talk to this loser.

“I think it’s time I tell you what people are saying behind your back,” the guy said.

“What?” Casey said, confused.

“Nice ass.”

“What did you just say?”

“You know, the…the thing they say behind your back…” the guy stuttered, almost shocked this pick up line didn’t work.

The guy’s eyes kept wandering all over her body and she realized talking to this guy isn’t worth wiping the grin off Ben’s face. She stepped closer and very quietly spoke. “I think it’s time I tell you what people are saying behind your back.”

“What’s that?” he said, excitedly.

“You got maced on the roof of 8 Seconds by a girl.” Casey reached towards her purse.

“Whoa, okay, okay. Damn girl.” He held up his hands again and backed away. “You don’t gotta go all Ronda Rousey on me.”

This is why I don’t go out,
she thought.

Casey looked over to where Ben was standing, but he wasn’t standing there anymore. Instead, he was sitting with his legs hanging over the side of the building and his arms slumped over the mid-rail. Something about the way he sat there looked almost…sad, she thought.

She was already moving towards him before she could think of a reason not to. The brick wall was cool, but rough through her jeans as she sat down next to him and scooted up to the railing. She sat her purse in between them to act as a small barrier. He looked at her with the same intensity as before.

His lips started to subtly curl as he spoke. “I think it’s time I tell you what people are saying behind your back.”

Casey rolled her eyes. “I’m so glad one of us enjoyed that.”

“Hey, you gotta give the guy a little bit of credit. Most guys can’t even get up the courage to say anything. And when they do, they just get some lame excuse only to see the girl out later that night, completely shattering their confidence and preventing them from ever asking a girl out again. It’s how all the good girls end up with bad guys.”

“That’s not true,” she said. But the moment the words left her mouth she wondered if it was. She didn’t feel good about the earlier exchange anymore, and didn’t know what else to say, which led to Ben being quiet again.

The streets below them were full of trash and beer bottles. Students were making their way from bar to bar, mostly in gender divided groups. Ben was right, most of the guys wouldn’t even approach the girls. Occasionally some idiot would cat call or say something stupid to a group of girls as they passed.
Why on earth do guys ever think that’s going to work?