Page 128 of Well Played

“That goes for you, too,” I snap, pointing at Tim. “And you should know better.”

“You sound like a total dick right now.” He barks back.

“Welcome to my world.” Summer offers a fake-ass smile, and this time, she reaches across the table to clink bottles. Tim and Kaitlyn are all too happy to join in.

6

Summer

“I have a huge favor to ask,”my boss Shannon says, approaching my cubicle. “I know I told you I needed the ROI numbers by the end of the month, but my meeting with E-staff got moved up, and I really need the details by the end of the week. I also need the quality control assessments for the different vendors. I’ll stay to help you, but it means we’ll be here late for the next couple of nights.”

Great. Tonight, I planned to meet the girls from the league at Brews and Burgers for music trivia. To me, the appeal is as elusive as hanging out with old ladies playing bingo, but Kaitlyn invited me, and I don’t want to be written off as anti-social. The whole point of joining the group is to meet new people.

“I hope it doesn’t interfere with your plans,” Shannon says when she sees me pull my phone from my purse and send a message.

“It’s fine,” I lie, rubbing my right eye and dreading the extra strain I’ll be putting on it. It’s already overworked and tender. “You saved me from a night of bingo.”

“You’re a lifesaver!”Shannon says as we go over the slide show I put together. “Take Monday off.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Shannon pauses, scrutinizing me. “Summer, are you okay? The right side of your face looks swollen.”

“Yeah, my eye’s been bothering me.”

“It’s not just your eye. Your face looks swollen all the way down to your jaw.”

“I don’t know what’s going on. My eye started hurting a few days ago. It feels like it’s strained, or maybe something’s in it. It hurts every time I move it.”

“So reading a bunch of documents on the computer is exactly what you needed to be doing.”

I shrug. “We got it done. That’s what’s important.”

“I appreciate you.” Shannon smiles. I hope she remembers this when she works on my review. “Get some drops. Maybe that will help. If not, see a doctor.”

“Sure thing.” I agree.

She’s right. I probably should call a doctor. Except I don’t have one. I’ve suffered in silence all week, but any time I touch my eyebrow or forehead on the right side, it feels like I have a million tiny needles on my fingers. And my skin burns. Like the area under my head is on fire.

I don’t want to make too much of this. I’m just going to go home and spend the night on the couch or in bed watching TV. That will help. I’ve been going non-stop since I moved here three months ago. Rest is what I need. At least, I hope it is.

Ava, another spikeball buddy, is having a get-together at her house tomorrow, and I’d like to go. If I don’t show, they’re goingto stop inviting me to things. I don’t even care if it means I have to socialize with Nico.

I expect the next time I see him, he’ll have a shitty-ass attitude and chew me out for bailing on him last night. I hoped I’d have the reports done by the end of business yesterday so I would make it to the game. I should’ve given him a heads-up that I might not. He has every right to be miffed.

After I sent him the last-minute message that I had to stay at work late, I watched my screen for five minutes. I expected him to give me the third degree and lace into me over text, but there’s been radio silence. Which has me concerned.

Although he looks like a Greek god, Nico’s temperament leaves a lot to be desired. On second thought, he’s a lot like Aries: quick-tempered and aggressive. Especially when it comes to spikeball. He likes to think our team and the league are the most important things in my life. Or that they should be.

Before I leave work, I take the hundredth dose of acetaminophen I’ve taken this week. After I change into comfortable clothes, it will be time for my supersized strength ibuprofen. Hey, whatever gets me through, right? Maybe Ishouldgo to the doctor in the morning.

I lookat my cell phone sitting on the nightstand to check the time. It’s five-thirty in the morning. Shit. I can’t take any more medication for another two hours, and the urgent care doesn’t open until nine.

Mom should be up in the next hour or two. I can give her a call. Maybe she’ll know what’s wrong with me. This is the part that sucks about being far away from home and all the people I love.

On second thought, I don’t need to worry my parents, and I don’t feel like sitting through a lecture on how I shouldn’t have accepted the transfer to North Carolina. Once they hear that I’m not feeling well, that’s exactly where my father will go.

The little niggling voice in the back of my head can’t help but wonder if he’s right.

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