Page 5 of Bad Run

As planned, I start work with Maryse in the marketing department. She hasn’t specified my role yet, but the conversation we had left me feeling hopeful.

If only I could stop stressing about my other problem, I’ll be good to go.

“Okay, fine, I’ll wear them.”

Jenna tilts her head to the side, and I already know what she’s going to say before she does. “Is seeing your dad the only reason you’re nervous about today?”

No, the voice in my head says as the organ in my chest twists at her question.

“Yes. What other reason could I have?” I ask. My high and pitchy voice gives me away.

Jenna smirks. “I don’t know, maybe running into a six-five, blond-haired hottie has you nervous.”

My brain immediately jumps back to the night of the World Series party. Back to him and his rough hands as they mapped every inch of my skin, right before his mouth followed in their wake.

I shake my head. “I’m not nervous.”

Lies, my brain hisses.

“If you say so,” Jenna hums.

She knows all about what happened that night and what happened next.

Or rather, what didn’t happen.

“J, I can’t think about him. If I do …” I shake my head, refusing to let myself go down that road and say the words aloud. “It’s better if I tell myself it was one night. It was fun while it lasted, but we’re back in the real world. I work for the team he plays on, and my dad is his boss. It’s over. Done. Six feet under.”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” she says with a sigh. “But I think you’re making a mistake. You should have tried to contact him.”

For the past three months, we’ve had this same fight. Like the hundred times before, I’m not changing my mind.

“I left a note,” I remind her.

“He obviously didn’t get it.”

“Or he got my note and didn’t want to get in touch because it was what it was, a one-night stand.”

“Ugh. This is all my fault,” Jenna groans, throwing her hands into the air in frustration.

“No, it’s not. Now, go get ready for your audition, and don’t forget to break a leg. Not your arm,” I tease.

She’s trying out for the part of Ophelia in a modern take on Hamlet. It’s an off-Broadway production, but according to her, the director is an up-and-coming “it” guy.

“Ha-ha.” The brat sticks her tongue out at me.

“Chat tonight?” Since I moved back to LA, chatting at the beginning and end of our days has become our ritual.

“You know it. I want to hear all the juicy details.”

“Jenna,” I warn. “There will be no juicy details. I have a plan. To stay as far away from the players as possible.”

She throws her head back and laughs. “Famous last words, my friend.”

“Jerk,” I grumble, making her laugh more.

Famous last words, my ass. I’ll prove her wrong.

“Have a great first day, G.” She wiggles goodbye with her fingers.