Page 15 of Crashing into Love

“You’re expecting kindness? You just basically called me at least a jerk, if not worse, even if you didn’t use the exact word. Then, essentially, you said it was disappointing meeting me when I didn’t ask to be your idol. I just want to get on my board, pop in headphones, and race. That’s it. I’m the happiest when I’m bothering no one because I’m three seconds ahead; sure as hell not when I’m minding my own business, reading a shitty crime thriller where it’s obvious on page thirty who the killer is, and getting picked on by someone who doesn’t know me at all but seems to think she does because she and I are in the same sport and have been to some of the same places together.”

“Drew, I–”

“I’m going to bed. I’m still a little drunk, and I don’t want to say anything I might regret in the morning.”

“You don’t regret anything you’ve said so far?” Selma asked.

“Do you?” Drew tossed back.

Then, she walked off toward the elevator, hit the button, and within seconds, the door opened and closed behind her right after.

“Yes,” Selma whispered to herself.

“Hey, boss,” Howie said as he walked out through the kitchen.

“Hey, Howie,” she greeted and stood up.

“Quiet down here this late, huh?”

“Yes, usually,” she replied. “Thanks for covering tonight.”

“No problem. Anything need done right now? I clocked in.”

“Actually, yes. Can you put in the system to send up breakfast to three-thirty-three tomorrow?”

“Sure. What do they want?”

“No idea,” she said.

“Sorry?”

“Just do the super one,” she said, referring to one of their breakfast options that came with a little of everything.

“The whole meal?”

“Yup.”

“How many people?”

“Just one. Juice and coffee, but maybe put orange and grapefruit on there. I don’t know what she drinks.”

“Okay. Sure,” he replied. “I’ll put it in now.”

“Thank you. I’m going upstairs, but call me if you need anything.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, make sure we’re good on cookies. There should be more in the kitchen. They baked a tray before they left for the night,” she added on her way to the elevator.

“Got it.”

Selma pressed the button and turned back to him.

“Have a good night, Howie.”

“You too,” he replied and walked behind the desk.

She got into the elevator, pressed the button for her floor, waited for the door to close in front of her, and let out a deep breath. Somehow, she’d managed to screw this up yet again.

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