I hated Corona. Even when the bartenders would squeeze two limes into the tiny glass neck of the bottle, it still tasted like warm piss and maybe a hint of citrus. Then again, after chugging 12 of them, my tastebuds started to numb and they became a little more tolerable.

"Sir, your card," the petite blonde girl behind the bar chirped.

I looked down at my hands, straddling three beers each precariously between my fingers. I leaned over the bar and grabbed the card out of her hands with my teeth. She giggled, like most girls do. I took one last look at the bartender's red cheeks and low cut tank top that glistened with beer and sweat and who knows what else before muttering a muffled thank you, feeling the sticky plastic of the card against my tongue.

I wove in and out of sweaty people back to the table, dropping the full bottles next to 20 other empty ones on the wrought iron high top.

"I think someone needs to come clear our table," Chris said as he raked a chunk of red hair away from his forehead. He shoved a sliver of lime into his bottle, sending squirts of lime juice in every direction.

"Where's that smokin' brunette that was walking around earlier?" Anthony stood up and leaned on the table, his tall frame able to scan over the heads in the crowd.

"Dude, she was like 35." Cal scrunched his face up as he polished off his beer.

"So?" Anthony shrugged. "Hot moms are in."

They both started laughing and shoving each other in the arm, and I groaned. I wasn't sure if it was the alcohol, or the thought that practice started tomorrow that made my head spin. Our schedule, the playbook, scout day, it all hit me like a train and knocked the air from my chest. I took a long swig of beer, desperate to finish it off before it succumbed to the heat. I needed something stronger than lukewarm beer to drown my thoughts in.

I hit Chris on the chest, nearly knocking the beer from his hands.

"Come with me back to the bar, I want tequila," I said.

We got up from the table and trudged back over to the bar, the afternoon sun beating down on my head and sending beads of sweat down my back. A bass-thumping remix of shitty boy band music pounded through the speakers at the corner of the bar.

I glanced over the top of my sunglasses at a blonde across the bar. She sucked on the straw of her vodka club, wrapping her glossy lips delicately around the plastic. I winked at her over the top of my sunglasses to get a read on her. She smirked at me before sauntering away, swinging her round hips in the tiniest black mini dress.

I pushed myself away from the bar and went to follow her when I felt a hand come down on my shoulder.

"Dude!"

Before I could blink, Chris shoved a heavy bottle of Patron into my hands, still dripping with perspiration in the summer heat.

"Where did you get this?" I asked.

"Don't worry about it. You wanted tequila, I got you tequila." Chris pushed me away from the bar. I clutched the bottle to my chest like we had just discovered sunken treasure. We cackled like hyenas as we wobbled back to our table. I knocked over a tiny blonde girl as my balance continued to deteriorate. I felt bad leaving her on the ground without saying sorry, but all I could think about was flooding my veins with more liquor.

"Anyone down for a fiesta?" I dropped the bottle down on the table, getting cheers from my teammates.

I hated beer, but I loved tequila. Tequila was like a lover you have loud, hot sex with on the beach, and even though you should probably stay away, you keep coming back. It pumped through me hard and fast and muddled the whole world around me. It made me forget, and it made me numb, and that's how I wanted it. We passed around the bottle, taking turns between laughing and chugging.

I looked around for the blonde girl I had been trading glances with earlier, but when I turned up towards the patio deck, I caught sight of a burly man in all black eying our group. The man slowly made his way down the stairs, eyes still on us, and panic set in. I whipped back around to my friends.

"Guys put the bottle down," I hissed. It came out more like one long word in my drunken stupor. If I had a sixth sense, it was a radar for trouble, and it was going off like a blaring siren in my head.

"Dude what's the problem?" Anthony mumbled before taking another shot. I yanked the bottle out of his hands, sending tequila dripping down the front of his shirt.

"The bar doesn't just give out bottles of Patron, dumbass," I said through gritted teeth. "They know we stole it."

Before I could process anything else, my senses slowed from all the tequila, a large hand held the collar of my shirt in a vice grip. I felt their air being sucked out of my lungs.

"What are you boys doing?" the burly man said in a heavy Staten Island accent.

None of us could find our words, stumbling through several "ums" and "ahs" that dripped with too much beer and tequila. The man kept a tight grip on my shirt, and I started to feel dizzy.

"I need backup down at the outdoor bar," the man said into a walkie talkie clipped to his shoulder. "I've got several drunk and disorderly." He glared hard at me, his eyebrows thick over dark, muddy brown eyes. "Among other things."

We all froze. My saliva tasted like metal, and I felt sick as the security guard continued to sway me around by my collar. I couldn't have a repeat of my birthday. Half of us had already been arrested once for underage drinking, and even though McLoon's  Lake Lodge was notorious for serving all the surrounding area teenagers with their parents AmEx's, I didn't know if I had it in me to sweet talk our school's athletic director into cutting us a break again.

I swallowed hard. "Look we're cool here man," I said, desperately trying to steady my voice. "We don't want trouble."

The guys all nodded behind me with wide eyes.

The security guard was clearly growing impatient with his lack of assistance. He let go of my shirt and took two steps back, trying to peer up at the expansive lodge deck to see if his help was arriving.

I glanced over at Chris, his clear crystal eyes as wide as the moon.

Run, he mouthed to me. Run.

Without giving it a second thought, I bolted. Adrenaline overtook the alcohol. I ran hard, strong, and fast as all hell. Down past the bar, nearly knocking over a kid half my size, and onto the dark gravel of the beach, kicking up sand and pebbles as I booked it full speed towards the lake. I didn't bother looking behind me, because I knew they wouldn't catch up. After all, I wasn't one of the best quarterbacks in the country because I was slow.

I ripped off the old Cornell Lacrosse t-shirt that my dad had lent me and threw it into a pile of sand. I hoped he wouldn't miss it too much. I reached the lake and waded through the water until I was neck deep, my feet brushing against the grimy muck of the bottom and the cold water sobering me up as I tried to catch my breath. I floated down away from the bar, keeping my head barely above the water and tasting sand at the back of my throat. I kept floating until all the noise and commotion faded away. The gentle sloshing of the waves slowed my racing heartbeat.

When I was far enough away, I treaded back onto the beach, slipping my sunglasses off and handing them to a small kid building a lopsided sand castle. I made my way back up to the lodge, still dripping wet and shirtless, and walked over to the shop. I was lucky my wallet was still in my pocket. I handed the kid at the register a wet $20 and pulled off the first shirt I could grab. It was two sizes too small and would have ripped across my back if I lifted my arms over my head.

The hot wood of the deck stung my bare feet, and after more distance walking than I remembered swimming, I made my way back into the bar. They had probably already blacklisted my fake ID, so I waited for a group of older, botoxed-up soccer moms walk through security in a pack and snuck through the mass with them. I ducked past the huddle of security guards and walked back down to the outdoor bar.

Relief washed over me as I saw my friends still huddled around the same wrought iron high top table, their heads pushed together in a tight circle.

"You guys didn't even wanna come looking for me?" I said as I approached the table. I slid my flip flops back on that were still sitting under the table. My friends went into an uproar, throwing high-fives at me and jostling my shoulders. I could feel the fabric of the shirt start to tear.

"Dude! We thought you were so screwed," Chris exclaimed as he threw his arm around my shoulder. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm alright." I said with a shrug. I glanced to my right and saw the blonde from earlier, still swinging her hips in her black mini dress when she walked by. She brushed her hand against my arm and winked at me before walking towards the back of the bar where the bathrooms were. "I'm better than alright, actually. I'm fucking terrific."

woah, there's a devil in my head
but i'm cool on the surface, yeah
woah, yeah, i'm trying, i'm trying
but i just can't stay out of trouble

trouble / a r i z o n a

✗✗✗

Hi and welcome to BLIND AMBITION, please fasten your seatbelts for a wild ride.

This story will definitely be a challenge for me, since I really don't know how to write teenagers, but I think by now I know how to write male pov and mental health representation, so I'm hoping that will just outweigh my inexperience in teen fiction. I know my first few establishing chapters tend to be on the shorter side so just bear with me until we get to the meat of the story.

I cannot take full credit for this scene, this was a real life thing that happened to my husband back in 2009 haha I've just given it literary life.

Soooo what's your first impression of Dallas and his crew?  Let me know your thoughts!

✗✗✗