Page 16 of Offside Devil

This is the worst.

I rip my gloves off and chuck them into the locker. As I’m peeling off the tape, I catch a glimpse of my arms.

My scars aren’t as noticeable now as they used to be. Since moving to Phoenix, my year-round tan has hidden them pretty well. But even still, they’re there. An ugly reminder of what happens when I can’t fight back—when I don’t fight back.

Today, they look as fresh as the day I got them.

I swore to myself a long time ago that I’d never be that person again. I’d never cower in a corner and let life beat the shit out of me.

Isn’t that what I’m doing now, though?

I promised I’d build the life I wanted for myself, but the only thing I see in my future is a mushy banana for dinner and an eviction notice stapled to my front door.

Refusing a paying job because I’m scared of being recognized is the same as hiding in a closet and hoping no one realizes I’m home. I’m not that little girl anymore—and it’s long past time I proved that to myself.

My hands are shaking as I fish my phone out of my bag. I fire off the text to Taylor before I can second-guess it.

I want you to recommend me for the nanny job. I can start immediately.

9

MIRA

“I can’t believe you talked me into this outfit.” My phone is wedged between my cheek and my shoulder while I wrestle with the hem of Taylor’s unseasonably warm wool dress.

“What are you talking about? That is my go-to ‘dress to impress’ outfit. It’s very ‘kick ass and take names,’ but in, like, a respectable business-y way. It toes the mid-thigh line gracefully, y’know?”

On Taylor’s petite, fairy-like frame, this dress probably is business-y. On me, it’s a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen.

“This thing hits me mid-thigh… if, and only if, I never breathe or talk or move.”

Just saying that brings the hem up another inch.

“Okay, well, if you’d actually listened to me, then you would have heard me tell you that this interview is casual.” She enunciates the word slowly. “There’s a reason my dad was the point of contact. These people are rich enough to go through an agency if they wanted to, but they chose word-of-mouth. No one expects Mary Poppins.”

“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t dress like a professional.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince Taylor or myself. Considering I’m standing in front of the nicest apartment building I’ve ever seen and it’s way too late to change clothes, I decide to focus on the latter. “I’m dressing for the job I want.”

“Do you want to be a hot weatherwoman?” Taylor teases.

“You’re not funny.”

Her voice turns disturbingly breathy. “‘There’s a heatwave coming through, ladies and gentlemen. The forecast is hot and wet. You’ll all be dripping with?—’”

“Shut up and remind me who this guy is again.” In hindsight, I should have skipped scrounging through Taylor’s closet and done an aggressive Google search instead. “He isn’t, like, weirdly religious or anything, is he? No cults or weird diets?”

“Girl, I’ve seen your pantry. You don’t get to judge anyone’s diet.”

The glass front doors automatically opens and I walk into a cool, sleek lobby. A woman in a shiny black bob sits behind a high desk, but she doesn’t even glance at me as I walk past.

“Just tell me what I need to know,” I hiss into the phone. “What’s he like?”

Taylor sighs. “I don’t really know him. My dad is weird about me being around the team too much. He’s afraid my ethereal beauty and effervescent charm will distract them from winning.”

“Of course. That’s rational.”

“It’s ridiculous. Those guys are swimming in puck bunnies already. If they were going to get distracted by a woman, it would have happened long before me.”

I whistle low. “Okay, well, we’re definitely going to circle back to what a ‘puck bunny’ is later. Right now, you have sixty seconds to prepare me for this interview.”

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