Page 94 of Second Down Fake

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I listened to the message again, the shock still not subsiding.

“Hi, Ms. Barton. This is Harmony with the Norwalk Hospital System. Thanks for applying for the receptionist's position. I’m pleased to let you know that you’ve been hired. Please call me back at your earliest convenience!”

A hollow emptiness settled in the pit of my stomach. I swallowed hard before replaying the message again.

True to her word, Sandy made a decision and a few days later, I had a job offer.

Happy. I should be happy. That’s the emotion that should have been flooding me. The office had been nice enough, most of the people had been fine, and the job was easier than corralling drunk tourists through downtown at ten p.m. And even if it sucked, I’d have health insurance and a retirement plan and a reason to stay in Norwalk past Thanksgiving.

So why wasn’t I happy?

I’d immediately called back, and Harmony had laid out a salary. Not quite enough to afford Becca’s rent, but enough to find a smaller apartment in a less desirable part of town. The health plan was a mystery, but the retirement sounded decent. And there were opportunities to go back to school.

If I called Mom or Becca, they’d infuse me with enough enthusiasm for two.

DIEGO

Dinner? I’m starving and lonely.

Diego. I’d soft launch the job to Diego and then to Becca and Mom. Diego’s enthusiasm wouldn’t be the over the top, world-changing shock, and that’d make me feel better about the offer. Because I should feel better. I should want this.

Sounds good.

DIEGO

Be there in ten.

Rather than listening to the voicemail again, I moved onto my second favorite anxiety-producing activity, reading gossip sites.

Diego had warned me, and for good reason. The initial thrill of stumbling over my name in print or my picture online faded away, replaced with a faint unease that at any minute, someone might be watching me. A manageable anxiety once I realized no one really cared about me unless Diego was by my side. And when I had Diego around, I didn’t care who saw us, anyway.

No, I wandered out of the comment section and into the wide-reaching conspiracy theory surrounding Diego’s relationship history. A five-season long revolving door of beautiful, successful women who flitted out of his life just as fast as they showed up.

Like all good conspiracy theories, the proof was laid out in extensive PowerPoint presentations and long form essays with time-stamped posts and quotes from news outlets. None of it concrete but, coupled with my sister’s assessment of Diego’s track record, damning even if a bit unfair.

The assessments were all the same: Diego fell in love quickly and fell out just as fast.

But approaching Diego with FiestyGirl77’s drama post expecting an explanation sounded off the wall, even to me. And I knew Diego. I’d spent days with him, playing video games on his couch, visiting his mom, dragging him along on ghost tours. We’d laid next to each other until the earlier hours of the morning, naked and exhausted and talking absolute nonsense but feeling seen.

All that had to count for something, right?

Diego showed up exactly ten minutes later, holding a brown paper bag and a six-pack. Fresh from practice, his black hair was slicked back, still wet. He wore a pair of faded jeans and a Breakers t-shirt that hugged his shoulders and pulled tight over his chest.

“Hey,” he greeted me, passing the six-pack to his other hand so he could pull me closer. His stubble grazed on cheek as his lips made their way to mine for a brief, almost haphazard kiss.

“Wow,” I said, the casualness of the kiss contrasting with the hot bolt of lust that ripped through me. “You really meant ten minutes, didn’t you?”

“I tried to call when I got to the restaurant but didn’t have reception. I rolled the dice.” He unpacked the bag on the table as casually as if he lived here. “So, how was your day? What’d you do?”

I launched into a story about a kitchen faucet I installed backwards. The conversation turned to football practice and game footage, and soon, the food was gone, and I hadn’t so much as mentioned the job.

“I have other news, actually,” I said after we cleared off the table. I turned on the sink, running my hand under the faucet and waiting for the water to heat up.

Diego stood beside me, a clean towel in hand to dry the dishes. A sweet but useless gesture. The dishes could easily fit in the dish rack. But then I’d have no reason to stand close to him, his fingers brushing mine as we passed utensils. “I got a job.”

“Oh, yeah?” Diego raised an eyebrow, setting the plate in his hand in the cabinet and leaning against the counter to face me. “Something good?”

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