*Author's Note: Arena football is real. The Dallas Guardians are not.
******
"Please score. Please score. Please score," she said quietly.
"Ain't happenin'. It's over. They lost," the man sitting next to her said. "There's three seconds left, and the way they're playin', there's no way they're gonna score."
The man got up to leave, and in her heart of hearts, she knew he was right. But she also knew that if they lost—again—he'd be hell to live with for another week. Then again, he wasn't exactly a lot of fun to live even with when they won. But he was at least decent after a victory.
When she'd first met him, he was everything she thought she wanted. He was big and tall and good looking and rough around the edges. In a word, he was her kind of man; the kind everyone who ever knew her told her was wrong for her in every way.
But Melanie Carver had a mind of her own, and no matter how many times they'd been right, she'd never listened. And over the years she'd paid a heavy price for it, but her attraction to bad boys was so strong she wondered if the vicious cycle would ever end.
For now she held her breath and prayed for a miracle as she watched her boyfriend, Landry Sanders, a was a talented wide receiver. He'd been drafted by the NFL five years ago and had made it all the way to the final cut. When he was let go, Landry was lost without football and began drinking heavily while living off the signing bonus he'd received out of college.
Three years later, a friend brought up the Arena Football League, a version of the game that uses a shorter field, and where passing ruled the day. In fact, about 90% of the plays involved passing, and scores could get as high as a hundred points in a single game.
He knew about Arena football, and also knew there was a team in Dallas not far from where he lived. He'd never given it any real consideration because the minimum salary was $31,000, less than one-tenth of the signing bonus he'd nearly blown through in since being cut.
To his credit, he'd been smart enough to buy a small condo in the nearby city of Plano, after having been let go by the Dallas Cowboys.
The only good news was he was still good enough to make twice that amount of money in Arena football which was a pittance compared to the NFL's minimum salary of $450,000. Even rookies who sat on the bench and never played a single snap earned that amount per year.
In comparison, fifty- or sixty-thousand dollars was nothing, but it was fifty or sixty grand more than he was earning, and it would allow him to continue doing the only thing he knew how to do—play football.
He tried out with the Dallas Guardians after cutting down on the drinking and getting himself back in reasonably good shape for three months and made the team. They signed him to a one-year contract for $52,000, and he jumped at the opportunity. Like every other Arena League player, his hope was to be picked up by the NFL and given another shot, but the shot never came. Now, in his fourth year, he was earning $70,000, an adequate amount to live on in modest comfort in the in the large Dallas suburb with a population of around 285,000, but not nearly enough to put away for a lifetime of ease.
Melanie first met him at a bar in Plano where she'd been hired that very day to wait tables. Landry was quite the local celebrity, and although the Cowboys were everyone's favorite team, Arena football had a small-but-fierce following in the local area.
Landry occasionally even drank for free at a handful of bars where fans were happy to buy one of their favorite players a drink. Or two or three or more as Landry Sanders never had a drink or even two. It was always at least six and often twelve or fifteen, depending on practice and game schedules. But at 6' 4" and 215 pounds, he could hold his liquor with the best of them and still tear it up on the field.
It was Melanie's very first shift, and Landry, along with every other man in the bar, noticed her from the moment she walked in. Even in her white Henley, three-button, short-sleeved shirt and black pants, the bar's uniform, it was obvious she was hot as hell.
Melanie wasn't gorgeous, but she was most definitely a very attractive woman for someone in her mid-30s. She was a bottle blonde with soft, shiny hair that fell to about her chin, framing a full-but-very-pretty face along with two very soft, kissable lips, and a perfectly white, rather-toothy smile that dazzled every guy she served; guys who tipped very generously after even the slightest bit of flirting from this 35-year old cutie pie with the tight ass, long legs, and great boobs who still looked closer to 28 than her actual age.
Landry wasn't gorgeous, either, but he was ruggedly handsome, and the three-day stubble he typically wore only added to his bad-boy image. Melanie was immediately attracted to him, and one of the other, more-experienced waitresses warned him about her within minutes of seeing her new peer flirting with the wide receiver.
"Just be careful, okay, hun?" the other woman told her.
Melanie only smiled and said without taking her eyes off her next future ex-boyfriend, "I'm many things, but careful isn't one of them."
By the end of her first shift, she'd given Landry her phone number, and by the end of their first date, she'd invited him back to her place where he did things to her body she'd only ever dreamed of.
The following morning, she made breakfast for him, and he poured on the charm causing her to think she'd finally hit the jackpot. Having been a cheerleader at one of Plano's high school, Melanie knew enough about football to hold her own when Landry explained what he did for a living, and she was able to comment about whatever he said.
As to money, she didn't care how much he made. Just having a steady job put him head and shoulders above most of the guys she fell for who stuck around for maybe a few days or on rare occasions, maybe a handful of weeks.
Landry invited her to a Guardians game that weekend, and when they won in a 72-58 matchup against the team from Washington DC, he'd been so 'jazzed' that he'd taken Melanie to one of the nicest places in town for dinner, something else she couldn't remember a man doing for her in a very long time.
Thoroughly impressed, she'd said 'yes' later that evening when he asked her to move in with him in spite of barely knowing him or much of anything about him.
She'd just paid the mortgage on her own condo, and wasn't about to give it up. She fell fast and easy, but she was smart enough to know it never lasted.
The 'honeymoon' had lasted for the better part of one whole week, and ended abruptly after the Guardians loss to the team from Baltimore in another high-scoring matchup. The loss came in the final minute on a touchdown pass to Baltimore's wide receiver. Making matters worse was Landry's dropping a very well-thrown, game-winning pass in the end zone just as time ran out.
Melanie watched him rip off his helmet and throw it into the turf, but had no reason to think the anger would last beyond the locker room.
She was waiting for him when he came out and said, "Hey, baby!" expecting at least a hug and a kiss.
Instead he snarled at her and said, "Shut the fuck up," as he stormed right on by.
Having seen this sort of thing all too many times, Melanie immediately apologized as though she were the one who'd done something wrong. Landry ignored her as he strode on while Melanie did her best to keep up.
When they got outside, the gentleman who'd been opening doors for her with a smile on his face was nowhere to be found. In his place was a still-angry man who only wanted a drink, and the one thing Melanie did already know about him was that meant something closer to a dozen drinks than just one.
He did unlock the passenger door remotely once he got inside, but before Melanie could even get her seat belt buckled, Landry floored the Camaro as the tires squealed and the buckle Melanie was holding slipped out of her hand. When he stepped on the gas, the force of the acceleration caused it to hit the glass next to her hard enough that it made her wince then lean forward.
And that was enough to cause Landry to throw his huge right arm out and shove her into the back of her seat.
"Sit the fuck down!" he said as though she'd tried to get out of the car.
Cowering and trying to look over at him to gauge how angry he was, Melanie said, "I'm sorry, baby. It just flew outta my hand. I didn't mean..."
The arm turned 90 degrees and his big hand pushed hard on her chest pinning her to the seat.
"And I said shut the fuck up!" he roared.
Still unwilling to admit Landry was another abusive man, Melanie sat silently as they drove to his favorite watering hole. He didn't say another word to her until maybe an hour later after Landry was on his fourth double. When he did, it was because he thought she was looking at another man.
When she told him truthfully she wasn't looking, he'd flown into a rage and started cursing. Had he not told her to get the hell away from him—now—she knew she'd still be with him. But after asking what he meant by that, she understood when he backhanded her and said, "Leave! Now! And don't ever let me see you anywhere near my place again, you fuckin' skank!"
