Page 15 of Fair Trade

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I grab my stuff and make my way through the room, trying to collect my discarded items. I know my panties are shredded somewhere in here, but those are a lost cause, so I’m going to have to go commando.

I get dressed in the living room area and make a plan to pee in the lobby bathroom, where I’ll fix my hair and makeup.

I’m in the clear, ready to take off, but something doesn’t feel right.

I know I’m new to this, but it feels wrong leaving without a trace.

I’m Latina. It’s ingrained in me to never show up anywhere empty-handed and never leave without saying goodbye to yourhost multiple times. Even if it takes almost an hour to actually get out the door.

I look around the room, and my eyes snag on some stationery.

How do I write a “thanks for the great sex” note?

I don’t want to be cringey, and I’m not giving him my phone number when it’s obvious that this was a one-night thing. I refuse to come off as the clingy girl who can’t differentiate between casual sex and dating.

I’m sure he’ll wake up in a few hours, feeling satisfied, and go on about his day, business as usual. So I don’t need to overthink it.

I land on the dumbest idea, but I decide to do it anyway. I draw two small angel wings.

Huh. Not too shabby.

I rip the paper off the pad and place it on the entry table.

But instead of dropping the pen, I linger.

C’mon, Luisa. Don’t be so sentimental. This isn’t a rom-com, just a hookup.

And yet… it doesn’t stop me from being a little reckless.

Because between the two little angel wings, I finally give him what he’s been asking for all along.

I write down my name.

six

She’s gone and I’mlosing my mind.

We’re not done here. Not by a long shot.

But it’s going to be all right.

Because my Angel left me her name.

I’ll play the role of the nice guy and give her the weekend to come down from our high.

But come Monday morning, I’m coming for my Luisa.

seven

It’s Monday morning andI’m freaking out.

Daisy texted me that the new team owner will be available to have a quick fifteen-minute coffee break with us in an hour, so I need to get to Monarch Stadium before his tour of the facilities ends.

It’s a bit unconventional to be meeting my new boss this way. There’s usually some form of a soft handover when a team gets transferred to a new owner. But since Arthur passed away and apparently left the entire organization to a family member in his will, we’re playing by different rules today.

I want to make a good impression, since the rest of my career will hinge on how well we work together. Even though it’s my call who we trade, hire, and fire, it’s still their team, and therefore they can veto me and have final say.