Page 44 of The Future Play

Damn. I’m starting to think everyone else in this family—or my life—is smarter than me.

“Any suggestions on how to do that?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Butnotflowers. My teacher threw those in the garbage and then grumbled something about how he didn’t even show up in person.”

Wow. I’m a little worried about her teacher right now. Maybe I should mention something to Mom about getting the teacher some chocolate from Penny. Seems like she needs it.

Which brings me back to Amanda.

I need to apologize to her in person. The question is, how do I do that when she refuses to see me?

“Can I go back and play now?”

“Yeah. Thanks for the advice.” I hold my hand up for a high five and she smacks it.

“Any time.”

Then she runs out the back door, leaving me to figure out what the hell I’m doing.

Out back, I see Aaron and Joel setting up the bases.

Nothing like baseball—or wiffle ball—to help me figure it out.

I run upstairs to change into some more comfortable clothes, and as I’m walking through the kitchen on the way back to the deck, something on the bulletin board catches my eye.

An event invitation for this Thursday, and at the bottom is Amanda’s name and a logo with the wordsEvent Queen.

We connected while deconstructing an event together. If we’re in that small of a space, she can’t avoid me all night. I can apologize in person. Then I’ll help her take everything down, buy her more sushi, and apologize some more. Looks like I better find a good suit for Thursday night.

Amanda

I love beingin the middle of an event. My brain settles in the chaos, picking apart every little thing that needs to be done and handling it. I go into a weird kind of autopilot and just do all the things. It makes me feel powerful and makes time pass in a second. Yeah, I’ll crash tonight like I always do after an event, but hey, at least there was room in the budget to hire setup and take down for this one so I can just focus on running it.

When I got the call about the event from a friend of Marissa’s, I was instantly on guard, wondering if Jamie had something to do with it—since it happened less than twenty-four hours after that night on his deck. It quickly became clear it had nothing to do with him, though, and I’ve been grateful ever since. This has given me something to focus on for the last month that doesn’t have to do with baseball or a stupid boy who plays it.

That’s what I changed his name to in my phone.Stupid boy.

Something kept me from blocking him, even though by his third apology attempt I wanted to.

Who apologizes over text?

People who don’t mean it.

I tend to think I’m the problem a lot. I blame myself when I shouldn’t and think there’s something wrong with me.

Slowly, over the last few months, I’ve gotten better about not doing that. Having a big supportive friend group helps, but I also have a fuck around and find out button, and when someone pushes it, I go into angry, cut-a-bitch mode. My glare could kill you from across the room, so watch out. Most of the time it’s formy friends, but when someone really hurts me, that hardened version of me takes over to protect myself.

It’s not that I carry myself angrily, but when the person who hurt me comes around, my walls go up. As much for their protection as mine.

A quick check-in with the caterers tells me everything is going well there, so I head out to the main event area to check in with the host. This is the launch party for a small, female-owned legal practice, and I’m honored to be a part of it. They were trying to plan the party themselves before they threw up the white flag and called me. Apparently, Marissa had been recommending me for months. I should send her a thank you note, since I don’t think they’re here tonight.

But when I spin around, I second-guess that and everything else. Because staring at me from across the room, looking stupidly hot in a suit, is Jamie Henderson.

I close my eyes, take a breath, and steel myself. Walls in place.

He can’t hurt me. I don’t know why he’s here, and I don’t care. I have a job to do, and that’s more important than a stupid boy.

The only thingI hate about event planning is having to squeeze in time to eat. If I don’t eat regular meals, I turn into a raging monster until the inevitable blood sugar crash that leaves me shaking and nauseous. Unfortunately, power bars taste like dirt and leave me feeling hungry thirty minutes later, so I usually end up hiding in the kitchen and stuffing my face during a lull in the event.

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