Page 6 of Bad Run

“Thanks, I will. Love you.”

“Love you,” she returns and then disconnects the call.

Dropping my towel on the floor, I reach for the blue perfume bottle and give the nozzle two pumps in front of me. I tilt my head back and walk through the powdery-floral mist, making sure it lands on my neck, arms, and body.

The French perfume was a high school graduation gift from Gigi, and I’ve been wearing it ever since.

The sweet memory of my signature scent now pales in comparison, overshadowed by the memories of his gravelly voice whispering, “Fuck, you smell so good,” across my neck as he licked and nipped at my skin.

I close my eyes to the cold shivers racing down my spine from the memory.

When I open my eyes, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed, and my aqua eyes glow with … Nope. Not putting a name to that look.

“Do not go there, Gwen. You have a job to do, and that job is not to think about a certain baseball player.” I take a deep breath and pull my shoulders back.

My pep talk does little to keep my mind off him.

Every thought as I dress and drive to the stadium is about Lance Taylor and the night we met.

two

Gwen

Past

“Here’s to getting smashed by a hottie tonight!”

The crowd of people near us cheers as my best friend raises her overfilled shot glass into the air, spilling some of the tequila.

A mischievous grin fills Jenna’s face as her eyes dip to the shot in my hand and back. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

My bestie is determined to make the most of our time together before I fly to California while she stays behind in New York. Living in LA has been an adjustment, but it’s home.

“I’m not drinking to that. I do not need smashing of any kind,” I remind her.

I’m technically at a work event, and the last thing I need is to say or do something stupid. When your family owns one of baseball’s most lucrative franchises, you are always working.

Poise, professionalism, and propriety. One misstep, and it could backfire on the family or, worse, the team.

“That’s where you’re wrong. If you don’t do something about your sex drought, you’re going to grow cobwebs down there.” She points at my crotch and wiggles her eyebrows.

I push her hand away. “No.”

“Come on,” Jenna whines, lifting the shot in my hand up toward my lips. “No one is around; just drink it.”

“You’re a bad influence.” My admonishment gets a devilish grin.

“I know.”

Jenna’s bad influence is one of the reasons I love her, and she knows it. She forces me out of my comfort zone. She’s the yin to my yang. My ride-or-die. We’ve had each other’s backs since day one, and nothing will ever change that. Which is why she’s the only person who could convince me to do anything.

A smile tugs at my lips. “I hate you.”

“Nope, you love me.” Jenna’s grin rivals the Cheshire Cat’s. “Besides, you’re moving back to Cali in three days, and I’ll be left here in the city all alone.” Jenna pouts and gives me sad puppy eyes.

“You’re a terrible friend for giving me a guilt trip,” I tell her.

Jenna throws her head back and laughs. She knows exactly what she’s doing and that I can’t say no to her. I’ve missed her so much since I moved.