Page 8 of Off Camera
“Busy night over here. We’re drafting a press release about a free agent we’re bringing in.”
“Wait,what? A free agent? When did this happen? I didn’t know we were going after anyone.”
“Surprise,” Shawn says. “He had a lot of offers, so we moved fast. He’s finishing up the contract right now, and we need to be ready to announce his signing.”
“I can be home in thirty minutes, and I’ll get something up. Who is it? Must be pretty important if you’re working late on the weekend.”
“It’s Griffin Harrison.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Dead serious,” Shawn says. “His parents live in DC, and he’s signing a two-year deal with the intention of retiring as a Titans player.”
“This is huge, Shawn. He’s been with Los Angeles his entire career and is a shoo-in for the Hall of Fame.”
“Why do you think I’m calling you? We want to announce it before the Thunderhawks share their latest roster addition. This is a race for tickets, and if we can get our press release out first, we can make the club a lot of money.”
“What are the Thunderhawks doing?” I ask.
“Signing Malcolm Jeffries at quarterback.”
“The Super Bowl champ from two seasons ago? That’s a big move.”
“A big fucking move,” Shawn says. “There’s three weeks until the preseason starts, and this is the most activity we’ve seen all summer.”
“I’ll head home right now and get something going.” I jump off my barstool and cradle my phone against my ear. I reach for my wallet and see Not Claire’s half-empty glass. Regret hits me and I drop my head back, a groan brewing in the back of my throat. “Dammit.”
“Everything okay?”
“All good,” I say. “I’ll let you know when the post goes live.”
“Great. Thanks, Reid. Talk to you soon.”
We hang up, and I weigh my options.
I can’t rush out of here without telling her I’m leaving. That would be a dick move. After the night she’s had, I don’t want her to hate me too.
I know Ineedto leave, but I really don’t want to.
If I work fast, I could get a post drafted in five minutes and send it Shawn’s way. A simple caption. A link to purchase tickets. Some fancy fonts and bold letters. It wouldn’t be my best work, but it’s cruel of the universe to make me pick between my job and the first woman I’ve enjoyed talking to in years.
I scan the restaurant and spot her heading my way. There’s a pep in her step. Her nose is buried in her phone, and the grin she’s wearing is bigger than any I’ve seen from her all night.
A flash of jealousy hits me.
I wonder who has her smiling like that.
“Hey,” she says when she gets close. “I’m so sorry, but I need to head out. A work thing came up, which is such a bummer, because I was having a lot of fun with you.”
“I was too.”
“Maybe I’ll run into you at another bar after another shitty date one of these days,” she says.
“If you see me wearing Crocs, don’t ask any questions,” I say.
She laughs and squeezes my arm. “It was great to meet you, Reid.”
“You too. Get home safe.”
