Page 52 of Win Big

He’s still laughing, so hard he almost can’t speak. “They think I was trying that on... for real? Ahahahaha. And the dude who works there... bahaha.”

“They think you’re gay.”

He laughs more, gasping for air. “Jesus Christ.”

“This isn’t funny, Wyatt.” I glare across my office. He thinks everything’s a joke. Well, this is not.

“Sure it is. It’s freakin’ hilarious.”

“You were just named the team ambassador to Hockey for All.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re supposed to support inclusivity and diversity.”

“So?”

I grind my back teeth together. “You’re not gay.”

“That is correct. You figured that out, huh.”

“Smart-ass.” I close my eyes, my jaw aching. “This could be a huge problem. I don’t know how huge. But if management finds out about this...” I stop.

“Who cares?”

“You have no idea.” He should know something about optics and image and public relations.

“Come on, if people think I’m gay, it’s no big deal. Not these days. And I don’t give a shit what people think.”

“I know you don’t, and it wouldn’t be a problem if youreally were gay.” I rub my forehead. “Look, never mind. Let’s just see how things play out. Maybe it’ll blow over without attracting any attention.”

“Okay. Whatever. So... do you want to come over to my place for pizza tonight?”

My eyes pop wide open.Nowhe’s asking me on another date? Good God, I should never have gone with him last night, and this whole shit show wouldn’t be happening. “No. I can’t.Look, Wyatt, we should never have gone out. Now this has happened... I can’t do that again. Sorry. I have to go. Bye.”

I end the call and toss my phone aside. Elbows on the desk, I bury my face in my hands. That was rude. I feel bad. I’m such a bitch.

It’ll be fine.

I’ll just spend the weekend imagining the worst, having anxiety dreams, and knitting up a storm. There might be wine involved. It’ll all be fine.

It’s not fine.

Of course word gets out about the blog post and the picture. Monday morning, when everyone’s back in the office, there’s a big meeting about it, including Murray and... my dad.

I’m not included in the meeting. I don’t work for the team. But I’m aware it’s going to happen at eleven o’clock. I sit in my office, swiveling back and forth in my chair, my palms sweaty, my stomach churning, debating what to do.

At about five minutes to eleven, Wyatt appears in my door.

I stop my mindless twirling and plant my feet on the floor. “Wyatt.” I’m getting dizzy anyway. Or is that the effect of seeing him again? “What are you doing here?” He better not be here to see me and try to persuade me to go out with him again, because that isnothappening.

“I was asked to come to some meeting. About that blog article.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t know what the big deal is.”

I stare at him. My heart is galloping in my chest. I rub my sweaty palms on the upholstery of my chair.

What should I do?

Throwing up probably isn’t a good option.

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