Page 15 of Play Me

CHAPTER

NINE

Astrid

“There’s this guy …” Gianna sighs on the other end of the phone. “Don’t laugh.”

I don’t.

The sun hovers ahead, just above the horizon.

Stately buildings standing tall on either side of the road frame the sunset like a picture frame.

It looks like I could drive straight into the vivid oranges and pinks if I keep my foot on the accelerator.

Considering my destination and the day I’ve had, testing that theory doesn’t sound like a bad plan.

“How many is that? Twenty-eight?” I ask, trying to remember how many times Gianna has started a sentence with that phrase since Audrey and I started counting a year ago. “No. Audrey said you used ‘There’s this guy …’ on Sunday when you went out for drinks without me.”

“Don’t start. You were invited and chose to stay home.”

“So that’s twenty-nine.” I ignore her comment about me bowing out of drinks because I had a headache. I did have a headache, and his name was Gray Adler. It’s just that particular headache is of the seven-days-a-week variety. “Anyway, what about him?”

I take a right onto Pinecrest, saying goodbye to the gorgeous sunset. I can’t help but acknowledge how metaphoric the moment really is. I’m leaving the light behind and descending into darkness.

A thought nags me in the forefront of my mind, telling me to turn the car around and go home. To save myself. Nothing good will come out of this evening with Gray because his whole point is to make me miserable. As much as I hate to admit it, his plan is already working, and I’m not even there yet.

Although he doesn’t know it, he got an assist in the form of my ex-boyfriend Trace this afternoon.

“An email came in a few weeks ago from this guy who said he’d been fucking his employee’s wife,” Gianna says.

“ What ? His employee’s wife?” The things Gianna gets into … “Like, the guy works for him and he’s banging his girl?”

“Yeah. Just like that. According to him—and who knows if he’s telling the truth, but that’s neither here nor there—he didn’t know it. He met her while he was getting his tires rotated.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

She giggles. “No. They were at an actual mechanic shop.”

I slow down for a red light and try to piece together where this story is headed. It’s much more entertaining than thinking about Trace’s crap. “So how did he find out she was … who she was?”

“His employee got an award, and they had a company dinner to celebrate him. He walked in with her on his arm.”

“Bet that was awkward.” I proceed forward, making a right at a fancy bar called The Swill, and quickly enter a residential area.

Apartment buildings are interspersed with small homes that have tidy front lawns and flowers hanging off the porch.

My window is rolled up, but if it weren’t, I bet I could smell cookies baking somewhere.

If this is where Renn houses his employees, I should negotiate housing in my nonexistent employment contract.

Damn. “Did he tell the guy he was banging his wife or what?”

She smacks her lips together. “I hate this color on me. I got three new lipsticks, and I’m trying each of them. Why haven’t you ever told me coral isn’t my color?”

“Gianna, can you focus?” I sigh, knowing that if she goes off track too far, I’ll never get her back—and I kind of want to know the end of this story. “I’m almost to Gray’s.”

“Shit. I just dropped my earrings. Can you hold on a sec?”

I roll my eyes. “Sure.”

I reduce my speed, coming to a crawl, as I survey the scene in front of me. Gray’s apartment is on my left, and even if I wasn’t sure which was his, I’d recognize that ridiculous truck.

My body tightens, pulling so hard that I wince as I park along the curb. I’ve been nauseous since I got the mail this afternoon. This isn’t helping.

Everything inside me screams not to go inside with a volume so loud that it’s deafening.

I need to go home and deal with the letter I received this afternoon while I’m still clear-minded, not walk into Gray’s for another pointless battle.

That’s especially true since, as much as I don’t want to admit it, my feelings are still hurt from yesterday.

“That would be hard to do, considering I don’t think you have one.”

I fight the lump in my throat and turn my attention back to Gianna.

“Sorry about that,” she says. “To answer your question, no, he didn’t say a word to the guy about banging his wife, and that’s why he was writing into the column.

He wanted to know if he should say something or let her handle it since it was her marriage and he was a semi-innocent bystander. Sort of.”

The lilt to her voice gives her away. I sigh, knowing there’s more to the story than what she’s shared. “What are you not telling me?”

“I may have asked him to meet me for dinner tomorrow night.”

“What? Why would you do that?” I stop myself. Well, she did meet a stranger in an empty parking lot for a urinal, so is this really that surprising? I sigh yet again. “You don’t even know this guy.”

“I like the way he emails, okay? But the dinner isn’t confirmed, so don’t panic yet.” She giggles. “Okay, that’s my news. Update me on your life, please.”

I grip the steering wheel like I’m trying to disintegrate it and glance at the envelope on the passenger’s seat. Bile coats the back of my throat. Even though my instincts say to keep this to myself and handle it on my own, I know that’s unhealthy. I need to lean on my friends in hard situations.

Here we go … My damp palms slide down my thighs.

“Oh, I have a dandy update for you,” I say. “Guess what I got in the mail today.”

“No clue.”

I take a deep, shaky breath. “I got a letter from an attorney stating that I owe almost twenty thousand dollars because Trace, who kicked me out, keep in mind, didn’t pay his rent.

” I twirl the earrings that Audrey brought me from Boston.

“Then when he did leave, he left it a disaster. Broken dishwasher, ruined carpets. Apparently, he trashed the entire place.”

“How is that your problem?”

Good question . I breathe deeply to try to put out the fire burning my chest. Trace was such a bad decision, and I can’t escape him. It’s been years since I’ve seen or communicated with him at all, and he’s still throwing wrenches in my life. I’d cry if I weren’t so numb.

“Because I paid the rent a number of times, and the trash pickup was in my name, so that somehow makes me legally liable for the rest of it. Sounds unbelievable to me, but I’ll have to get an attorney, I think.” I groan, sinking into my seat. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Don’t pay it. That’s illegal.”

I shrug. “Let us pray. But I don’t want to talk about it, and I need to go anyway. I have more immediate headaches at hand.”

“Okay, I have to go, too. I’m having dinner with my sister. She’s in town for a couple of days.”

“That’s right. Have fun with Lucia and tell her I said hi.”

“Will do. Bye, friend.”

“Bye.”

The silence wraps around me, sucking the air out of my lungs. It’s going to be torture sharing space with Gray—especially when I’m already on edge. But if I don’t deal with this asshole, I won’t have the money to deal with the other one.

Twenty thousand dollars? My stomach churns, and I shove the thought out of my mind.

“Go on,” I mutter, turning the car off and grabbing my bag. “Get this over with.”

I get out, locking up behind me, and start up the long sidewalk to the four apartments on this block.

They’re more like townhomes from this angle, each with a garage and a small porch.

A child plays with a puppy on one side of Gray’s home.

On the other, an older man sits on a porch swing, smoking a cigar.

He waves like we’re old friends, and I can’t help but smile at him in return.

Gray’s front stoop is the only one with no welcome mat or flowerpot. Seems fitting .

Blood thunders in my ears as I raise my fist to knock. I lift my chin, hiding any vulnerability that might be streaked across my features, and rap against the door. I might be anxious, but he can never know that.

After a few seconds, the door swings open, and I drag in a quick breath. Of course, he’s shirtless.

I don’t allow my gaze to drop from his eyes. “Where are the boxes?”

He steps aside, face blank, and motions for me to enter. “In the corner.”

“Great.”

I march by him as if he’s not standing in a pair of shorts and bare feet, and with his hair damp from the shower.

I’d bet he dressed, or undressed, perhaps, like this just to see if it would bother me.

He’ll just have to try harder if he wants a reaction out of me.

I’m laser-focused on the boxes and not on his body. I wonder if that bothers him .

His apartment is cool but smells warm, like body wash and cinnamon. It’s cozier than I expected. A few nice touches—a plant, a couple of pictures, and a candle—and this place could pass as a real home.

The door slamming makes me jump. This is a lot of stimuli to process at once.

I drop my bag onto the sofa and straighten my shirt, gathering my composure. “Are there any boxes you don’t want me to open?”

“Nah.”

I roll my eyes with my back to him, trying to create a plan. The mere sight of the boxes so haphazardly tossed into the corner of the room melts my brain. He’s just lived like this for days. How?

He really is an animal.

“So just sort through them and put the stuff wherever I want to put it?” I ask.

“Yup.”

“Fine.”

“Great.”

I huff, grabbing one box on top of the stack and hauling it to the floor. Gray sits at the kitchen island with a permanent marker in his hand, signing papers for the media department. Neither of us speaks or even looks at the other.

My chest cinches like a belt is strapped around it, as if it’s bracing me for the moment the brittle air between us shatters. An invisible pressure makes it difficult to breathe.