Page 68 of Pucking Wild

“I’ll talk to him,” he says, crossing the few feet of carpet to my side. He wraps me in a side hug, kissing my temple. “You good?”

I nod. “Yeah, it’s fine, Cay. Really.”

He gives me a half-smile that quickly falls. “Please just…don’t stop trying to be his friend, okay? He’ll never admit it, but he needs one.”

“We all do,” I reply.

He nods. “See you later, Tess.”

With that, he turns and follows after the brooding Finn, leaving me alone in the new head office of Out of the Net.

A few hours later,I’m leaning out the window of my car, ordering some fast-food on my way to the office supply store. A pierced kid with green hair takes my credit card, thrusting a large iced tea out the window at me. I’m juggling my drink and the bag of food as the kid tries to hand me back my card and a straw, which I promptly drop out the side of the car.

“Shit—sorry,” I call up to the kid.

He wordlessly hands me another straw as my phone starts to ring, buzzing in the cupholder.

I juggle everything into place, plopping the tea in the other cupholder and tossing my bag of food on the passenger seat. The car behind me honks, clearly incensed that they’re having to wait 3.7 seconds too long for me to move out of the way.

“Hold your fucking horses,” I shout out my window, snatching for my phone.

The name on the front of the phone glows: CHARLIE PUTNAM.

Shit, my lawyer is calling. Never a good sign.

I answer the phone, turning it on speaker. “Hey, Charlie. Can you hear me? I’m in the car on the prepaid.”

“Yeah, honey,” he calls in his thick Kentucky drawl. “I can hear you real good.”

Charlie Putnam is a peach of a man born and bred near Elizabethtown, and he has the accent to prove it. He stands all of 5’0”, and I think his bowties are surgically attached to his body. But he’s a shark in the courtroom, and he doesn’t nickel and dime me, which I appreciate.

“Did he sign yet?”

“What’s that, honey?” he says. “Oh, no, not yet. His counsel has ten days to respond to our request, remember? It’s only been five.”

I don’t even bother to let myself feel surprised or disappointed. “Why are you calling me, then? Don’t get me wrong, I love the sound of your voice,” I add, and he chuckles.

“Well, honey, it’s like this. I’m getting a lot of calls to the office demanding to know where you are and why you can’t be reached. Frankly, it’s reaching the level of harassment.”

My stomach drops out as I turn quickly into a gas station. “Oh, Charlie, I’m so sorry. I hate that you’re in the middle.” I pull up and park in front of the ice box at the end of the gas station mini mart. “What is he saying?”

“Well, he’s saying he’s gonna go to the police and declare you missing,” Charlie replies.

I huff. “That is such bullshit. Have you told him I’m not missing?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve made it clear we’ve been in regular contact.”

“And you haven’t told him where I am?”

“Of course not,” he replies. “Though he did ask me to make an offer to you. We’ll call it an informal mediation.”

I sigh, rubbing a tired hand against my temple. “What does he want, Charlie?”

“Well, he wonders if you’ll take a call from his mother.”

My heart stops. Shit, this is unexpected. “Bea wants to talk to me?”

“Oh, yes. She’s been desperate to get ahold of you too,” Charlie replies. “I’ve been asked to arrange a call.”

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