Page 13 of What If I Hate You
Ledger
Yeah but that time it was a meme. This time it’s an actual woman with a pulse dragging him. Progress.
August
You think he’s into it?
Harrison
You mean like, masochistically?
Bodhi
Bro, it’s Bear. He’s only alive for the pain.
Me
You’re all dead to me. See you at practice.
I toss my phone onto the coffee table and chug half a bottle of water. The truth is, I don’t care what Blakely Rivers says about me on TV. I’ve had worse. I’ve played whole seasons with theentire league chirping my name, and there’s nothing a sports journalist can say that I haven’t thought to myself at 3 AM when the ghosts of the last five-hole goal come back to haunt me.
But the boys are right. There’s something about Rivers that gets under my skin. I can’t stand that she’s probably sitting somewhere, legs kicked up on a battered coffee table, cackling at her own sharpness while my name trends for all the wrong reasons. Maybe that’s the real problem: She’s not just good at her job, she’s better than me at being a cold bastard. I drink the rest of my water, glare at the blank TV screen, and promise myself that next time, I’ll give her something to really talk about.
CHAPTER FOUR
BLAKELY
The first thing I hear when I walk into the press room is my own name, pronounced not like I’m a person but a punchline, and I know right away it’s going to be one of those days.
“—Rivers was brutal last night. She gets off on it, doesn’t she?” That’s Greg from the Tribune, the one with the swoop of gray hair that looks like it’s been shellacked to his scalp since the nineteen seventies. He’s got a voice like a car alarm and a face to match.
“Nah, I bet she just likes to see how far she can push before Cunningham finally snaps and fucks her in the janitor’s closet,” Troy laughs. He usually covers the Anaheim Pirates baseball team but hangs around our rink like a barnacle these days. He’s got a permanent nacho cheese stain on his tie. The image is so on the nose I almost laugh.
I hover just outside the doorway, out of sight, phone in hand. There are three possible plays here. One: Make a hard entrance and obliterate these jealous assholes with my quick wit and foul mouth. Two: Go in soft and pretend I didn’t hear a word. Or three: Stand outside and record every word for HR, not that HR ever does jack about it. Instead, I text Marlee, who is up in heroffice already getting started on the day and has been known to be better than caffeine for a rage spike.
Me
Coworkers are already speculating about Bear raw dogging me in the supply closet. Are we surprised?
Marlee
Let them talk. Eventually the rumor will be that you pegged him. At least that’s the way I see this unfolding.
Marlee
Wait, did I say that out loud?
Me
What the fuck Mar? You don’t honestly believe that.
Marlee
Well, you did obliterate the poor guy on national television last night.
Me
Okay I have all sorts of questions. 1. What makes you think my not putting up with Cunningham’s bullshit means I want to go to bed with the guy? and 2. Was my line of questioning and description of his last game play not accurate?
