Page 63 of Bride Games

63

P aige sat at her desk like a statue. It’s just a podcast. Never mind that it was my first-ever podcast, which flopped royally. She rubbed her temples as she paced, wondering if she had made a monumental mistake by putting herself out there. Honesty is always the best policy, but this was dreadful. Awful. The worst. Maybe only the handful of listeners who commented actually heard it. That would be both good and bad.

She picked up her ringing phone. “You were so good, Paige. I know the female fans, in particular, will love your honesty,” Emma said.

“Do you really think so?” Paige swiveled in her chair, staring at the football memorabilia. “Maybe I was too vulnerable. Football is a rough sport.”

“Nope. Everyone loves it when people admit failures and try to do better. I found your words inspiring, my friend. I really did.”

Paige grunted. “Thanks, but did you hear how many people think I suck?”

“Forget them. They’re probably trolls sitting in their mother’s basement wearing?—”

“I don’t need an image. I get it. Thank you, Em. I can always count on you. At least your logo looked amazing, right?”

“It’s gorgeous. How did you get it enlarged so quickly?”

Paige waved to an anchor in the hallway and knew the nightly news had ended until later that evening. “We give our neighborhood printer a ton of business. He was happy to help.”

“You’re awesome. Keep being you. Lucy’s hungry, so I’ve got to run. Let’s talk soon.”

The minute Paige hung up her phone rang again. She smiled when she saw Zach’s name on the screen. “You were so good. Man, you had a tough audience but way to hang in there. I’m proud of you, babe. I wish I weren’t already on the road again. I’d love to take you out for a celebratory dinner.”

Paige snorted. “Nothing much to celebrate. Not yet any way. People still think I’m a fraud. Who’s playing? I’ll watch.” Paige grimaced at the thought of seeing Zach and Marie side by side on the field but truly was in the mood to see a football game.

“Jets versus the Colts. Should be a decent game.”

“Have fun. I think I’ll get takeout and enjoy a glass of wine while I watch. I can’t wait to see you soon, Zach. Thanks for your sweet support. It means the world.”

By the time Paige got her food and drove home, she settled on the couch with cashew chicken, rice, broccoli, and wine. She wolfed down her food. I guess getting called names during your virgin podcast makes you ravenous.

After the first quarter, Paige absentmindedly checked her phone and nearly spilled her half-empty wineglass. Oh, my God. I’m trending on X again. I’m afraid to look. She read the hashtags #Paigesucks and #Paigethefraud and felt like losing the large amount of food she had just consumed. What have I done?

Paige couldn’t stop herself as she clicked on the hashtags that seemingly grew exponentially in number. Mostly men were complaining about her lack of sports knowledge, but to her surprise, several women—and some men—stuck up for her. They said they appreciated her honesty and encouraged others to eat a slice of humble pie. That’s good. Maybe I can get humble pie to trend. Maybe I can win the fans back.

Exhausted after reading through nearly one hundred comments, Paige had enough and moved her phone to the kitchen counter. One-third of the people never wanted her to step foot on a football field again. The other two-thirds were either supportive or said they might give her another chance. I’ll take it. As Paige placed her plate in the dishwasher, her phone lit up with a text.

What are you doing, Paige? My wife and I decided to extend our Mediterranean cruise. At dinner, a few people told me you’re doing some sort of a podcast. What’s this about? You’re supposed to be managing the station. The captain said we won’t have much of a signal next week, but in the meantime, send me an update on what’s happening at ATV 10. I’ll get back with you when I’m able. Mr. Hales

Paige made a face that her boss couldn’t see. Gee, thanks for the support. Paige trudged to her bedroom and changed into PJs. She brushed her teeth but was too tired to wash her face. As she climbed into bed and charged her phone, it rang. She glanced at the screen. Trent. She rolled her eyes. That’s going to voicemail. Paige turned to the other side and punched her pillow. Maybe I should change my stupid number. Maybe I—oh, hell, I don’t care what he thinks.