Page 50 of Pitch Perfect (Boys of Summer 1)

She strode up to 1805 and was about to knock when the interior lock jostled and the door opened. Cassandra Dano was in the process of having a hearty laugh about something and was actually tossing her long blonde hair. Tossing it, like she was some sort of ’80s video vixen. The laughter stopped dead when she saw Emmy standing in the doorway.

“Oh,” the anchor said, clearly not expecting anyone to be in her way. “Hi.”

Emmy stared back. Cassandra’s hair looked more tousled than the usual controlled waves she sported on camera, and there was a faint glow in her cheeks. She appeared radiant, and it pissed Emmy off in a way she couldn’t

have imagined.

Rather than a polite greeting, Emmy asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I was, uh… I mean, Simon and I were…”

“Cass, who are you talking to?” Simon’s voice preceded him around the corner, and then he appeared, his dress shirt unbuttoned and his own blond coif rumpled.

“It’s Emmy,” Cassandra informed him.

Emmy waited in the hallway, staring at the woman who was between her and her boyfriend, trying to come up with any logical reason why Cassandra would be in Simon’s room after eleven o’clock at night.

“Emmy,” Simon said.

“Why do you seem surprised to see me?” Emmy asked. “I told you I was coming by after the game.”

Simon was buttoning his cuffs, and each gesture he made caused Emmy’s frustration to increase. “The game ended over an hour ago.”

“I had things to do.”

“I went looking for you. Jasper said you’d left.”

“So because I didn’t come over right after the game you decided to settle for the next best thing?” Emmy glowered at Cassandra, and the skinny newscaster flushed guiltily.

“It’s not—” Cassandra started to speak, but Emmy shot her a look that dared her to continue the sentence. Cassandra didn’t rise to the challenge and fell silent.

“You think that’s what this is?” Simon asked.

“Look at it from my perspective and tell me what else I’m supposed to think. I go see you in Chicago, and she’s on her way over. Fine, I believed you then. But I’m supposed to think this is all sweetness and innocence when you have another woman in your hotel room this late at night? I’m not an idiot, Simon.”

“Neither am I, Emmy,” he shot back.

Emmy sputtered, her cheeks hot and most likely very red. “What does that mean?”

“Guys, I’m going to go…” Cassandra tried to edge around Emmy, but Simon stopped her.

“No, you stay for a second,” Simon said.

A pit of fear settled in Emmy’s belly. Guilt swirled uncomfortably in her gut.

Simon continued, “You’ve been avoiding me. You barely replied to my text messages today. You refused to meet me for dinner after the game. How do you think that looks from my end?”

She hadn’t realized her avoidance was so apparent. As it turned out, she was as bad at passively avoiding conflict as she was at facing it head-on.

“I’m sorry.”

“When you didn’t come over after the game like you said you were going to, I called the only friend I had in the city. And yes, believe it or not, that’s all this is. Friendship. Cassandra and I have been working on a book together about legacy sports franchises in Chicago.”

“Oh.” Emmy hadn’t the faintest clue he’d been working on a book. “I didn’t know.”

“No, because you don’t ask. You never ask. We don’t talk anymore.”

“I know.”

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