Page 111 of Bad For A Weekend

“I’m proud of you.” Ziggy pats my knee.

“Thanks.” I stand, setting Julien on the ground. “I better get to work. Let me know when the pizza is done. I’m starved.”

“I’ll bring you some. If these two get to it first, there’ll be nothing left,” Brandy mutters.

I set myself up at my desk with my laptop, determined to finish this article so I can move on and prepare for my interview. With my fingers poised over the keys, I will them to type, but nothing comes but thoughts of this date and what it means.

Julien hops onto my desk and rubs against my cheek. Setting him in my lap, I pick up my phone and type out a cancellation text to Grayson but stop before I can send it. This is so frustrating. I have no idea what I want.

I could give Julien a couple brothers and sisters, maybe get some plants and take up crocheting doilies. Dad would kill me. He’s dead set on grandkids one day. Plus, I’d really like to experience sex again in my lifetime. Preferably the kind where I get my hair pulled and my ass smacked.

I miss sex.

I’ll bet Owen still has sex.

I let out a frustrated growl. I have to get over this. Living in the in-between is killing me. Tossing my phone, I make my decision. I’m going on this date, and I’m going to give Grayson a fair try. Even if it doesn’t work out, maybe it’ll make the next time easier.

Yes. That’s what I’m going to do.

Pulling up to Claremont High, I ready my iPad loaded with the questions I jotted down while I should’ve been sleeping last night. Once my mind grabs hold of a new story, it consumes me, and it’s all I can think about.

Sam didn’t give me the name of who I’m meeting, but through my research on the district’s website, I learned that retired cop Oscar Muñoz is listed as the school resource officer.

I walk into the main office and show my ID. I’m given a pass and told where to go. The school is older and has a musty smell that makes my nose itch, but the walls are full of motivational posters and the linoleum floor sparkles, telling me the staff and students care.

Finding the room, I knock on the door and hear Oscar tell me to come in. I pull at the hem of my black pencil skirt and smooth down my pin-striped button-up shirt. I’m sure my chosen outfit won’t matter to Oscar, but it makes me feel professional.

I open the door with all the confidence in the world, only to trip over the threshold, sending my iPad and phone skidding across the floor and landing me on my hands and knees. Ouch.

“Shit,” Oscar curses, which I find odd in a school setting, but what’s even odder is that I recognize his voice. That can’t be possible. It’s too much of a coincidence.

Shiny black shoes come into view, and a hand reaches down to help me up. With my stomach in knots, my gaze moves up his black, pant-covered legs, pauses on his trim hips where a black polyester shirt is tucked in neatly, then lifts higher to the face I’ve been trying so hard to forget.

“Owen?” I don’t know why I say it like a question because there’s no mistaking it. I’m gazing up into the brown eyes of Owen Rollins. He apparently didn’t realize it was me until this moment either because his mouth drops open, and a look of shock is on his face.

“You’re not Sam Combs,” he says dumbly.

“No.” I take his hand, electricity shooting through my body at the touch. “She’s my editor.”

He pulls me to standing, then bends over to collect my things. “I don’t think the screen’s cracked.”

“Thanks.” I take my things from him, unconsciously making sure our fingers touch.

We stare at each other for a long minute, both of us stunned and wanting to assess the other after so much time has passed.

He looks the same, his brown hair is styled the same way, and he still keeps his beard trimmed to a scruff, but there are a couple more lines around his eyes than before, and the few strands of gray at his temple have doubled. I wonder if they’re due to stress or just age. Either way, it makes him look even more distinguished and handsome.

“You went into journalism, just like you wanted,” he says, breaking the silence.

“I did.” I open my arms wide. “And you’re back to being a resource officer.”

He huffs. “I am. Smaller district, good schools. It was time.”

I smile, feeling proud he returned to the job he loved. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks.” He motions to one of the chairs while he closes the door. “Do you want to sit?”

“Sure.” I pick a padded folding chair next to the desk, leaving a matching chair next to me and the executive chair behind the desk. Owen has to decide to either sit next to me or across from me. I watch him war with it until he chooses the one closest. Does that mean he wants to be near me?

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