Page 28 of Just One Season
Paul Harrison zooms past my office, and then the click of heels reveals his wife, Savannah, close behind.
“Paul, wait up.” She sounds flustered, and she’s practically running in her heels. “Can we talk about the bar later?”
What’s she talking about?Abar, with alcohol?Thebar, as in the bar exam? January went to one semester of law school and then bailed. She said it was the most boring shit she’d ever experienced, so she never came close to taking the bar exam.
I hope I never chased Ron down the hall like that. As much as the DC FC staff were nice to my face, I bet they hated me. The daughter of the team owner. Engaged to a VP who was the team owner’s pet.
I should call my mother.
When I was in college, I asked her why she and Dad divorced. I knew, but I wanted to hear it from her, adult to adult. She’d caught him cheating. Mom suspected there’d been others, but this one was right in front of her face. Mom was in her early fifties and decided there was no way she was putting up with a cheating husband for the rest of her life. One who thought she was not pretty enough. Not funny enough.
Not good enough.
She didn’t say I told you so when I broke it off with Ron.
I’m instinctively suspicious of Paul Harrison. Rich older man, much younger woman. It’s an uncomfortable power imbalance. Makes sense he’s friends with my father, whose fourth wife is only five years older than I am. I remember what Atticus said—they’re part of the Rich White Guy Team Owner club.
I clench my jaw and spin a pen on my desk, attempting to grab it as it shoots past my laptop and off the desk, skidding to astop outside my office door. I prop my elbows and drop my head into a palm.
It’s no wonder Dad didn’t understand why I had to leave DC FC. For him, this behavior is normal. Cheating and trading down for younger models.
If he’d have fired Ron, would I have stayed? Maybe. Probably.
I pick up my water bottle and lift it to my lips, filling my mouth, lost in thoughts of the destination wedding I’d started to plan with Ron, and how it all went up in flames with one scroll of his texts.
“Lucy.”
I gasp and then spew water all over my laptop, my notebook, and the man who’s appeared in front of my desk holding the pen that I spun into the hallway.
Then I proceed to choke on water I inhaled with the gasp.
“Christ, are you okay?” Kellen darts around the desk and pats me on the back with increasing intensity until it feels like I’m being whacked from behind with a baseball bat.
I wave a hand in the air and end with a thumbs up.
“I’m fine,” I rasp, clearing my throat.
A thumbs up. I am the least cool person ever in the history of people.
Still catching my breath, I scrunch my face and can’t bring myself to make eye contact.
Kellen walks back around to the front of my desk. I’m hoping he walks out the door and saves me even one more humiliating moment.
“Here.”
I jolt my gaze up. He’s holding out a tissue from the box on my desk, and when I take it, he grabs one for himself.
He’s got droplets of water on his face.
For the love of god.
I wipe my face with one tissue, and after dropping it into mytrash can with foundation smears, I grab another and dab my keyboard.
I’m a hot mess. Like, the hottest mess. If I was on a planet that was covered entirely in lava and trash, I’d still be the hottest mess there.
“Uh, sorry about that?” I think this is the universe’s way of ensuring I’m not tempted by the most attractive man I’ve ever seen without a shirt on.
Who is in my office.
