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I was convinced a little extracurricular rugby not only kept me in prime physical shape, but it also kept my mind at peace and on an even keel. I could only hope that as my physical health started to subside with age, my need to vent would dwindle along with it.
The weight of three bodies hit me at once as I was crossing the try line, but Thatch had them off in no time to celebrate the score. I was barely on my feet before the choreography started, Thatch firing off shots from his crotch like a semi-automatic weapon, the men of our team playing into his antics by hitting the ground one by one as he fired off “rounds.” As the scorer of the try, I was the only one who’d earned the privilege to stay on my feet.
I laughed and high-fived my teammates before jogging back across the pitch to do it all over again. Practice had just started, and now that I’d scored, my body was ready for more abuse.
I ran for the train just before it was set to depart, sliding through the doors in just the nick of time. Starving and ready to be home, all I could think about was getting there, showering, and ordering a pizza.
As my tired ass met the surface of the seat, I took a moment to be thankful for the lack of pregnant women and elderly. I was worn the hell out, but I wasn’t a prick. The rest of these fuckers could fend for themselves.
I wiped some of the lingering sweat and mud from my face with my towel and pulled my phone from my bag.
A message sat waiting from earlier.
TAPRoseNEXT (6:18PM): Gah. The date. The date was amazing. And then it was pretty fucking traumatic.
BAD_Ruck (7:52PM): Traumatic??? Am I going to need to hunt this guy down?
TAPRoseNEXT (7:54PM): No, he’s great, I promise. It wasn’t traumatic because of him. He’s…I don’t know, Ruck. I’ve got this gut feeling that he’s some kind of wonderful.
The corners of my lips started to curve, some weird, unconventional but meaningful relationship between us forming and instilling genuine happiness in me. But before the smile cycle could complete, utter disbelief washed over me in a wave of tsunami-like proportions—the conversations we’d had, the things she’d said. Work relationships and awkward yet somehow easy conversation. The way Rose, despite my more than infatuation with Georgie, managed to make me feel.
None of it made sense, not one single piece of it, until all at once, it did.
No fucking way.
The doors of the subway opened, and I didn’t even hesitate, shoving my way through the throng of people without apology or remorse. I didn’t even know what fucking stop we were on, but I ran for the stairs with single-minded abandon, taking them two at a time and reaching the top on a leap.
New Yorkers scoffed and jumped out of the way, burning me with their dirty looks and judging eyes. The yellow of a cab shone like a beacon in front of me.
I ran for it without thought or pause or respect for my surroundings. The heavy leather of a handbag may have even grazed my shoulder in a glancing blow, but I didn’t care. Words thrummed in my head in time with the memory of her heartbeat, building and buzzing around my brain until I almost couldn’t stand it. The not knowing, the unlikelihood—it was all too much.
“The Winthrop Building. Fast as you can go,” I demanded abruptly to the cabbie, but he didn’t bat an eye at my brusque delivery—grunts and commands were the nature of more than half of New York City.
I dug in my bag for my wallet and fished out the first bill I came to. With a swift thrust, I dropped it through the plexiglass window and jumped out while the last notes of his screeching tires still rung in the air.
Pigeons panicked and people swerved as I wove my way through them, and a woman strummed a guitar on the corner.
The building was locked after hours, but being the CEO afforded me access to the keyless entry code on the main door. Until today, I could honestly say I’d never broken in to my office building before.
Sixteen smashes of the elevator call button, another code, and a fidgety ride later, I stepped off onto the fifteenth floor in all of my sweaty glory and strode straight for Human Resources.
The lights were dimmed, and once again, the outer door to Cynthia’s office door was locked, but nothing could stop me at this point. Not a lock and certainly not my morals.
I ran to my office at a near sprint and around the back of my desk, yanking drawers open one by one in search of my old master key that opened all of the individual office doors. I hadn’t had a need for it in years, so it took me several minutes of digging through pounds of junk to find it.
Priority for tomorrow: My desk needed to be fucking reorganized. Stat.
Mud under my fingernails from practice, I clutched the key tightly and jogged back down the hall.
