Page 33 of Never Date A Player
Astrology is crap—a couple of cat ladies spinning “predictions” in their den—but I can’t walk away without knowing what she meant about romance. That’s just bad karma, right?
She nods, gaze turning serious, and wiggles back in her chair. “Let’s see.” She clicks the mouse a couple of times. “Here it is.” She purses her lips, and for some reason I’m sweating. I look around to see if anyone’s watching my idiocy.
“Virgo, you begin a new cycle. Your past influences your future and your future brings light to things once dark. To cope, be bold and achieve that which you most desire.” She looks at me expectantly.
“That’s it?” This is why I hate horoscopes. They use a bunch of words and never say anything. “What about the love part?”
Her eyes soften. “It’s always about love, isn’t it?” She stands. “Right this way. I’ll show you back.”
I should have never asked. I shake off my confusion and follow her.
The office I’m led to could be a storage annex, it’s that dark and dingy. Piles of unfiled papers and folders lie on every surface, especially the floor. My fingers itch to sort and organize… and open a window.
“Mr. Sallee?” The receptionist raps on the open door. “This is the woman inquiring about the mudder.” She smiles at me and walks away.
A man with tanned skin and weatherworn wrinkles around his eyes looks up from his computer. “You doing the mudder this year?”
“Yes, sir. I mean, I’d like to. Or rather, I’m going to try it.” Jesus, if my confidence falters this much from a conversation, how will I ever get through the race? “There were pictures on the website, but I’m a little nervous. I was wondering if you have information you’re allowed to share that could help me prepare.”
This was a stupid idea. Of course this guy can’t help. Why did Zach send me here?
Mr. Sallee stands and walks around his desk. He’s tall, in jeans and a short-sleeved Sallee Construction collared T-shirt. He rubs his jaw. “Well, I’m not allowed to give out information on the location of the race, or really even obstacle specifications, but I could show you more pictures. I don’t see how that could hurt if they’re already providing them on the website. Might help relieve your nerves, or increase them.” He grins.
That doesn’t sound good, but yeah, more pictures might help.
We walk into a room with tables covered in blueprints, written-on whiteboards, and images taped to every surface. Mr. Sallee heads to a board in the corner with about fifty pictures of various mudder obstacles, the images taken from different angles. Pools of ice, narrow tunnels, and walls—tall walls.
He sends me a side-glance. “Not your typical race, is it?”
“No,” I say.
How am I going to do this? There’s the running portion, which will be easy, but the other stuff? Not so much. I’m athletic, but my upper body strength sucks. I can manage one, maybe two pull-ups. That’s pretty good for the average woman, but this race is crazy. I’ll need more than that to survive.
This isn’t going to build my confidence—it’s going to crush it.
Mr. Sallee presses the corner of a picture that came loose, an image of electrodes dangling from a wooden beam. “So, what do you think?”
I let out a sigh. “I’m screwed.”
He chuckles. “That bad?”
I nod, and a knock sounds behind us.
Lewis is standing in the doorway, a shocked look on his face that probably mirrors my own. What’s he doing here?
Lewis blinks, his gaze cutting to Mr. Sallee. “You wanted me?”
“Son, I was just showing this young lady the Alpine Mudder.”
Son?
Mr. Sallee glances over. “Sorry, what did you say your name was?”
“Gen,” Lewis answers for me. It’s a good thing, because I’m freaking out and the ability to speak escapes me.
Why didn’t Zach tell me… Wait—he may have tried. He was saying something before he had to return to work. Dammit!
Mr. Sallee looks between us, a curious expression on his face. “Gen, how did you say you heard about us?”
