Page 3 of Craving the Player

Chapter Two

Sierra

“I’mexhausted,” Igroan in defeat. The three brown bags in my hands—each one filled with enough clothes and uncomfortable shoes to make my bank account and self-confidence beg for mercy—threaten to drop to the floor of the packed shopping mall. Ican’tsay that Iwould honestly complain if the ruby red high heels my sister forced me to buy ended up lost in the crowd of babbling shoppers, though.

"Tell me about it. At least you get to go home and relax now. What about me, you ask? Ihave adaughter just waiting to rip my head off for hiding her tablet before Ileft.” My older sister, Clare, huffs while pulling open the heavy frosted glass door with the name Courier Strip Mall scrawled across the pane and leads us into the packed parking lot.

The autumn sun beams down on my exposed, pale shoulders. "At least Liz is cute." Ioffer her aquick sympathetic smile. Raising ahand above my eyes, Isquint to try and find the car we arrived in.

"Of course she is. She takes after me.” She fishes out her car keys before sending me awink. The shiny, silver car sits tightly between an old van and an expensive-looking SUV when we finally reach it. After shoving my bags in the trunk, Islide into the front seat and cringe when my bare legs stick to the hot leather seats. "Iwant apicture of you tomorrow morning before you go to work, Sierra. I'mso damn proud of you.” Clare plops down in the driver'sseat with agrin so wide I’msurprised that Idon’tsee the corners of her mouth splitting open. “You got hired by one of the top marketing firms in the country! This is amazing.”

My cheeks get warm as Iwave her off. "It’sastart."

"Astart? Sierra, you’ve spent ayear working your ass off trying to market freaking dog food. Dog food that in my honest to God opinion, shouldn’teven be allowed to be labeled and sold as dog food in the first place, all because your boss was atotal jealous bitch! Their name speaks for itself. Imean, come on! Poochie Goo Dog Food? No way the ingredients are even legal. Isay the job switch is happening at just the right time. Icouldn’timagine what other companies Julia would have had you work with had you stayed.” She sucks in ahuge breath before blowing it out just as fiercely.

The car moves out from between the yellow lines of the parking stall and we join the bustle of cars on the main road. Ican feel myself fidgeting in my seat: shaking my leg like anervous school girl and twiddling my thumbs to the point Clare reaches over to place asteady hand on them.

I've worked so hard to get this chance. To find acompany that actually wants to show off my skills, not just shove afailure of aproject in my lap that nobody else wanted so that Ican fall to the back of the herd—alone and unnoticed. Julia Stroll is asuccessful woman. Ihad hyped myself up to the point of near explosion the first day Imet her, naive with the idea that she would want to take me under her wing. You know, show me the ropes. Be my mentor. Or better yet, a friend. Ihadn’thad many of those after Igraduated college. Ispent far too many weekends with my nose buried in atextbook or watching Ted Talks to build any friendships that Iwould want to carry with me in the real world. But from the moment she laid eyes on me—those stone cold, vacant brown eyes—Iknew that my perfect idea, my perfect plan, had already found its way into the shred pile.

Now here Iam, three years and abriefcase full of less than admirable dog food and lice shampoo marketing experience later, about to be the new girl again.

"I'mabit nervous, honestly," Iadmit, gnawing on my bottom lip.

"You'll be great. You’ve worked your ass off for this job. If Liz ever gets lice, Iwould use Itch Be Gone shampoo without adoubt." Ican see her biting the inside of her cheek to avoid laughing.

"Wow, you always know how to say the right thing. How did Iget so lucky?"

"Iwonder that myself." She smiles with satisfaction and flicks on her signal light before turning into my neighbourhood.

The continuous rows of green spruce trees bring asense of familiarity to the air that Ican almost smell and feel brush my skin. As we pass the beautifully bricked, colonial style houses lining the street, Ican'thelp but feel an inch of jealousy climb up my spine.

After growing up sharing the only extra room in our childhood home with Clare, I've always dreamed about owning one that was alittle larger than necessary. Not anything that would feel empty and cold on the days where my future children were at school and my imaginary husband was at work. But somewhere that we would never fully grow out of. Ahome big enough to host holiday dinners and my weekly book club meetings with all the neighbourhood mothers where we would get drunk off red wine and reminisce on the old days.

Ihad hoped that Iwould end up scoring large with one as soon as Ifinished school, but reality hit like abitch when Irealized that Iwas aiming abit high. Okay, way high. Being fresh out of four years of college left me with nothing but aheaping pile of student debt and adrinking problem that didn’tseem too much like aproblem at the time. The negative balance in my bank account kept my housing options pretty small once it was time to move out of dorms. Iwas lucky enough to find adecent-sized apartment within afew weeks of graduating, but my low budget pushed my living quarters way farther away than Ihad wanted from my old job, and even further from my new one.

The car comes to aslow stop outside of my small two-story apartment as Clare turns down the radio. "I'mserious about the picture, Sierra. Ineed to see how beautiful you look tomorrow."

Iunbuckle my seatbelt. "Iwill. Ipromise.” There was no way Iwould live it down if Iforgot to take the damn picture, anyway. Clare would guilt me for it long after Idied. Hell, her parting words while leaning over my casket would be, “How could you forget the picture, Sierra? Iwould have had that picture to look back on today.” Iclimb out of the car and with afinal goodbye, shut the door and wave.

"Love you!" she yells after rolling down the window and pinning me with aglare for rushing away.

"Love you too." Iblow her akiss before moving to grab my bags from the trunk. With the trunk shut and the bags in my hand, Istart walking up the uneven sidewalk and head inside.

As I'mplacing the last plate into the dishrack, the intercom on my wall wails out ascreeching cry. Wiping my wet hands on my cookie monster pyjama shorts, Iblow astray piece of hair out of my face and head for the speaker by the front door.

"Open up. Igot ice cream!" Sophie'svoice pierces my ears. Ishake my head and buzz her in. When it comes to my best friend, Iknow that ice cream means that she has something to talk about—more than likely some sort of drama involving her or something that’sabout to involve her when she sticks her head in the middle of it.

Aminute later, there'sastring of knocks on the door.

"What kind of ice cream do you have? And remember, there'sonly one right answer!" Ishout through the door.

"Cookie dough. Now let me in before someone snatches me and leaves you without abest friend. The crime rates lately have just skyrocketed."

Iunlock the door and step back just before all five-foot-nothing of her plows her way inside, heading straight for the kitchen. The grocery bag she brought is planted on the countertop as she pulls open the cupboard above the sink and turns around with two huge ceramic bowls in her hands.

"Three or four scoops?" she asks, her face hard with concentration as she digs through my utensil drawer for an ice cream scoop. Her perfectly waxed and tattooed eyebrows draw together as she focuses.

"Just two."

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