Page 8

It’s safe to say that I’m in trouble, because I like Jacob.

Like him , like him.

But is he being real with me? Or am I just a challenge? He held my hand almost the entire walk back to my apartment, but never made any other moves. I don’t know what to think.

Nor do I know how to react when a beautiful bouquet of white hyacinths arrives at the station the following day. He didn’t sign his name, but the only reason I know the flowers are from him is because he wrote “it’s not a white tornado, but it’ll do” on the card.

I acted nonplussed, but internally, I squealed.

“Who are the flowers from?” I jolt as Danica loudly asks from behind me.

“Oh. I’m not sure. No name,” I tell her hastily. Her eyes narrow as she studies me, and I take the opportunity to change the subject. “How’s your ankle?”

She sighs. “It’s okay. I guess I just strained it. As soon as we got in the Uber, I realized I could move it better. I had Levi drop me off at home instead of going to the hospital.”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” I say sincerely. “I can’t believe the sprinkler system went off. That was insane.”

“It really was! I researched restaurant sprinkler systems last night. I’m gonna do an entire series on what Denver restaurants do to prepare for fires. It got pretty chaotic in there last night, and the staff didn’t seem to know what to do. As Levi carried me out, I watched everyone freak out, running around with no idea of how they should act. I’m making it an exposé on the restaurant industry.”

“That’s very cool,” I say. “Did the restaurant have any major damage?”

“Not really. Smoke damage in the kitchen and water damage everywhere else. Brad said they’re hoping to reopen in a couple weeks.” Brad, our station manager, knows everything about any newsworthy stories in Denver. “I have to go. Interviewing a restaurant owner a few blocks away. Oh, Brad was looking for you, by the way.”

Great.

I was hoping to go rest my eyes for ten minutes while eating lunch. Dragging my feet on the way upstairs to Brad’s office, I hesitate at his door. What could he need? I rarely interact with him. He’s more involved with the reporters than the meteorologists on staff.

Knocking twice, I wait until he tells me to come in. “Hi, Brad. Danica said you wanted to see me?”

“Yes. Close the door and have a seat, Becca.” He motions for me to sit in front of his desk, shuffling some papers around. Are those photographs?

“Is everything okay?” I ask as I close the door.

“I’m not sure. You tell me.”

As soon as I sit down, he flings a handful of eight by ten photos across the desk at me.

Jacob with the coffee outside my apartment.

By the pizza place, both of us dripping wet.

Walking hand-in-hand across downtown.

Me looking up at Jacob with a big smile.

“You care to tell me why you’re gallivanting around town with our star forward, Becca?” Brad asks, a stern and imposing expression covering his face.

He’s looking at me like my father would look at me. Disappointed. Embarrassed. Angry.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to apologize. Admit my error in judgment. Tell him whatever I think will make this problem go away. Just like I had to growing up, even when most of the issues never had to do with me. They were almost always my brother setting me up.

I’d get chastised, demeaned, humiliated wherever we were. It didn’t matter where. My brother would stand behind my parents, a victorious grin on his face, as he watched me slowly break down. It didn’t happen all at once, this systematic breakage of my strength. It was so slow. Achingly slow. Like watching a car crash in slow motion. Years of emotional abuse.

Sitting here now, having Brad look at me with the same expression, it’s as if I’ve been dumped in ice water.

And for some reason, that makes me incredibly pissed off.

“How is this any of your business?” I reply hotly, sitting up straight. My hands shake as I force myself to control the tremor in my voice. This isn’t my father. I do not have to sit here and take it. I can stand up for myself.

Brad looks momentarily surprised when I speak. “I manage this station, Becca. And you are essentially a spokeswoman for the station. You have to be on your best behavior at all times. This is not what is in your contract.”

“I’d like you to show me anywhere in my contract where it says I can’t be friends with certain people.”

Brad scoffs. “He’s all over you. That isn’t a ‘friend.’”

I roll my eyes at his air quotes. “He was not all over me. He held my hand. That was it.”

“You’re honestly going to sit here and lie to me? You went back to your apartment with him.”

“He walked me back there —” I stop. “What did you just say?”

Brad’s nostrils flare. “He was there.”

“How did you know he was there? Are you following me?” I ask incredulously. “And how do you know where I live?”

“One of the shots shows you walking into the building, so I assumed you lived there. I don’t know where you live, Becca.” Brad stands, placing both hands on his desk, and leans toward me. I recognize the power move, a move meant to be threatening and imposing to me. Instead of cowering or shrinking, I lean back against the chair, glaring up at Brad defiantly. Crossing my arms over my chest, I lift my chin.

“A photographer followed you. He recognized both of you. You’re lucky he called me instead of selling the shots to the highest bidder.”

“Was this coincidental, Brad? Or were you having me followed?” I ask slowly. His eyes narrow as he formulates an answer.

“Of course I’m not having you followed. Getting candid shots of people like Jax Mitchell is a big business. In any other instance, you’d just be a random woman. A puck bunny. But you’ve got a following here too, Becca. That makes this murky, and we don’t need any more bad publicity at the station.”

“It’s not my fault some of your ‘good ole boys,’” I say, mocking him with his own air quotes, “decided to make stupid choices this summer.” Our evening news team and production staff went out one night and destroyed a restaurant. No provocation. No reasoning. Just straight destruction. Unfortunately for them, cameras were everywhere, and the restaurant went viral when the Denver Police released the footage. It was quite the spectacle.

Brad rounds his desk, coming to sit on the edge of the mahogany in front of me. Leaning forward, he places a hand on my shoulder.“Look, Becca. I only have your best interests at heart. Jax Mitchell is a player. He’ll get what he wants from you, and then he’ll drop you for the next piece of ass. Surely you don’t want that.”

When his thumb seems to jolt against my shoulder, causing it to flutter under the fabric of my sleeveless dress, I stiffen. My voice hisses out slowly as I utter, “Take your hand off of me.”

Brad’s eyes widen, and he swiftly lunges backward as his face pales. Standing, I move around the chair, putting it between the two of us. “Oh shit. I’m sorry. Really, Becca. I didn’t mean anything by that —”

I interrupt him. “I don’t care what you meant. Anything I do in my personal life is my business, not yours. If I want to date Jax Mitchell, or if I only want to fuck him, it’s up to me. You keep your nose out of it.”

Brad throws up his hand in a surrender gesture. “Okay. But the moment it becomes news, we’ll be meeting again. And I can’t guarantee I’ll be this nice.”

Turning, I storm out of the office, making a beeline for my cubicle downstairs, but pass it to head into my favorite women’s bathroom on this floor. Yes, I have a favorite. I even have a preferred stall. Relieved to find the bathroom completely empty, I lock myself in my favorite stall and attempt to take a deep breath.

Focus, Becca.

Breathe, two, three, four. In through the nose.

Out through the mouth. Two, three, four.

In through the nose, and hold it.

You are in control.

How can you be so stupid?

No. My father isn’t here.

I hate how his voice comes in crystal clear when I’m having a difficult time, right on the cusp of a breakdown. Hands shaking, I carefully withdraw my phone from my pocket. Whoever invented pockets, actual usable pockets, on dresses, deserves everything in the world.

My vision starts to blur with tears as I attempt to pull up a search engine. My therapist gave me a variety of different tricks for when I’m really feeling like my anxiety is taking over. The breathing exercises usually help immensely. Now I’m looking up kitten videos. Even though I have a dog, I’ve always secretly wanted a cat. For the longest time, my parents convinced me I was allergic to cats. I only found out recently that it was a lie. I’d love to get a Maine Coon cat, but I already feel bad about the amount of time I spend away from Thunder.

The kitten videos are calming my nerves a little, but I still shriek when my phone buzzes with a DM.

StickUM92: What’s your favorite color?

NerdGirl1025: Turquoise. I’ve always wanted to go to one of those exotic places where the ocean water is so clear and turquoise that I could watch the fish for hours.

StickUM92: There’s a place in the Maldives where you stay in bungalows above the water.

NerdGirl1025: I’d love that! It would be so nice to escape. I’d love to go right now.

StickUM92: Sounds like you’re having a crappy day.

NerdGirl1025: You could say that.

StickUM92: Want to talk about it? I know we’ve maintained a rule of not sharing personal information, but I’m here if you want to vent.

NerdGirl1025: I just got reamed out by my boss for something incredibly dumb, and it was none of his business anyway, because it involved my personal life.

StickUM92: Are you a public figure?

StickUM92: Never mind. Don’t answer that.

NerdGirl1025: In some ways, yes, I’m in the public eye. But mostly I’m not.

StickUM92: I love how you worded that, because it describes my life too.

NerdGirl1025: Oh? Has your boss ever told you who you can and can’t be seen with?

StickUM92: Kind of, yeah. But more in a “don’t make bad decisions” kind of way. Just reminding us that lots of people are dishonest, and trusting the wrong person can end up being an eighteen year sentence.

NerdGirl1025: Woah. That’s blunt.

StickUM92: My boss is pretty blunt, but I appreciate it. He wants the best for me.

NerdGirl1025: Funnily enough, my boss used that exact phrase, wanting the best for me, and I’m not sure I believe him.

StickUM92: I’m sorry you’re in a bind, darlin’. Sounds like your boss needs a reality check. My guess is he has the hots for you, and he’s acting out because of jealousy. I bet you’re a knockout, and he’s grasping at straws to keep you in his claws.

NerdGirl1025: Don’t you remember? I’m really a middle-aged man.

StickUM92: Fuck. I forgot that. Oh well. Maybe your boss swings that way.

NerdGirl1025: I don’t think so? I guess I could be wrong.

NerdGirl1025: Thanks for this conversation. It’s exactly what I needed.

StickUM92: I’m glad. Kismet, because I suddenly thought I needed to check in with you.

NerdGirl1025: Perfect timing.

StickUM92: I’ve felt that way about a couple of our conversations. Like the one about my mom and the olives. Had I not talked to you, I’d probably have spiraled into one hell of a depressive night with a bottle of Jack. Instead, you got me laughing about fake grapes. I don’t know if I ever thanked you for that conversation, darlin’. But it was what I needed too.

NerdGirl1025: I’m glad.

StickUM92: Still think you’re a gorgeous woman.

NerdGirl1025: How can you be so sure?

StickUM92: Sixth sense. It’s a gift, honestly. All of my teammates make fun of me for instinctively knowing weird details about blind dates, catfishing, and other crap.

NerdGirl1025: Teammates?

StickUM92: Shit. Sorry. That was a personal detail. Forget I said anything.

NerdGirl1025: Extracurricular activities don’t really count as a personal detail, do they?

StickUM92: It isn’t extracurricular. It’s my job.

NerdGirl1025: Your job.

StickUM92: Yeah. I’m gonna regret telling you this, I think. But I play hockey. Professionally.

NerdGirl1025: Oh.

StickUM92: I’m guessing that wasn’t a good oh.

NerdGirl1025: I just haven’t had a lot of good experiences with professional athletes. I’ve met a few, and they’ve all turned out to be assholes, StickUM.

NerdGirl1025: Not that I’m automatically assuming you’re an asshole. Or that you’ll turn into one.

NerdGirl1025: I shouldn’t lump everyone into a general category based on one detail.

NerdGirl1025: But it’s difficult, when all of my experiences are shouting at me that hockey is a red flag.

NerdGirl1025: I bet you have other red flags, though. You probably hate cats. Or sleep with socks on. And only have missionary sex in the dark.

NerdGirl1025: Oh my word. Can I delete a message in here?

StickUM92: Nope. And I already saw it. You’re cute when you ramble.

NerdGirl1025: You’re assuming I’m cute.

StickUM92: I know you’re cute.

StickUm92: I like cats. All animals, really. I don’t sleep with socks on. If you must know, I sleep in boxers.

StickUM92: And I’ll fuck you anyway you want me to.

StickUM92: Shower.

StickUM92: Counter.

StickUM92: Wall.

StickUM92: Car sex isn’t fun, but I can manage.

StickUM92: But NerdGirl?

NerdGirl1025: (blushing) Mmmhmm?

StickUM92: You promise me you’ll do what I say when I finally get you wrapped around me?

NerdGirl1025: Oh my.

StickUM92: I think you will. You’ll be my good girl, won’t you?

NerdGirl1025: This conversation went off the rails so quickly.

StickUM92: No, darlin’. This is exactly where we were supposed to go. And for that reason, I think it’s important for you to know my name, because at some point in the near future, I’m gonna make sure you scream it.

NerdGirl1025: I don’t need to know your name. I highly doubt we’ll ever meet, StickUM. You’re in Texas. I doubt I’ll ever get there.

StickUM92: I’m from Texas, but I don’t live there.

StickUM92: I live in Colorado.

Warning bells go off in my head.

Details … details …

StickUM92: My name is Jax.

StickUM92: And I guarantee we’ll be meeting soon, NerdGirl. Now how about you tell me your name?

I don’t answer, because my phone slips from my fingers, dropping to the tile floor, and shatters the screen.

StickUM is Jax. My Jax. My Jacob.

I don’t know why I’m surprised. My luck is abysmal.