Page 19 of Play Me

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

Astrid

“I think you need a hobby,” Audrey says, poking at her salmon with a fork. “You need something to think about besides work.”

“Unless we’re going back to berry picking and cave dwelling, I have to think about work,” I say. “That’s what happens when no one teaches you financial responsibility, and you’re up to your eyeballs in debt by the time you’re a full adult.”

Audrey rests her fork on the edge of her plate and looks at me with the sweetest blue eyes. “In your defense, you were surviving. And you were just a baby. Let’s give little Astrid some grace.”

“I’d rather we had given little Astrid a personal economics class,” I mutter.

Stupey’s is packed for a Wednesday night. We waited thirty minutes for a table, which has never happened on a weeknight. Kim saw us waiting and snuck us two sangrias and an Arnold Palmer. Apparently, a food vlogger gave them a glowing review on Sunday, and they’ve been smashed ever since.

Social media ruins everything—almost as quickly as men.

“You don’t need a hobby, Astrid,” Gianna says, lifting her lipstick-stained glass. “You just need to get fucked.”

“There are children around,” Audrey whispers with cheeks to match her cardigan.

I take my third glass of sangria and sit back, considering Gianna’s advice for once.

I usually assume she’s saying things for shock value—and that might be true.

But I can’t deny that I need to work some of this tension out of my body, and what better way to do that than to have it screwed out of me?

It’s better than the fucking I’m taking from everyone else in my life.

Hell, I’m still getting reamed by a man who cheated on me, kicked me out of his house, and made me get a round of antibiotics as a party favor.

It never ends. Between my bills, legal threats, and losing my extra pay over Gray’s bullshit, I’m bent over a barrel, and there’s nothing I can do about it … and I hate it.

Might as well be bent over something else and get something out of it.

I yawn, the sangria giving me the first taste of relaxation I’ve felt since I got that damn letter. Stress management is typically one of my strengths—mostly because I keep everything in my life in tidy little clusters. But I’m one wrong word from crashing all the way out.

“Do you know what, Gianna?” I say. “You might be right.”

Audrey shakes her head. “ No . Don’t take Gianna’s advice.”

“And why not?” Gianna asks, feigning offense.

“Well, for one, your answer is always sex. Sex doesn’t cure everything.”

Gianna gasps. “I beg your finest pardon? Don’t go spreading misinformation like that. Isn’t that against your doctor’s creed or something?”

“I believe you mean the Hippocratic oath, and no, philosophy PhDs don’t take an oath. We’re not dealing with life-and-death situations.”

“I agree with Audrey that sex doesn’t cure everything .” The sharp edges of my frustration soften, allowing me to actually inflate my lungs all the way. “But neither do multivitamins, and I take them every morning.”

Gianna beams. “That’s my girl!”

“Let’s talk this through,” Audrey says, ignoring Gianna’s celebration. “You’re angry with one man. You don’t need to bring another into the mix.”

“Or she could take it out on that one.” Gianna looks between us and shrugs. “I’m agreeing with you, Aud. It would be irresponsible to bring another poor, innocent man into this mess. The most effective thing would be to fuck the brains out of the man you’re pissed at in the first place.”

I sigh, narrowing my eyes at her. “I wouldn’t fuck Gray Adler if he were the last man on earth and it was my duty to repopulate the planet.”

“Let me point out that you immediately jumped to Gray and not Trace.” Gianna grins.

As if he were summoned from the depths of Hades, my phone buzzes with the four-thousandth text I’ve received from Gray today.

Gray: I would really like to talk with you.

Audrey lifts a brow. “Is that him again?”

I nod, wishing I had turned my phone off. He hasn’t said much in his million messages—just that he wants to talk in various iterations. But each time I see his name on my screen, I want to talk to him less .

I let Renn down, and I’m angry with Gray for putting me in that position.

I’ve taken pride in never failing the Brewers in any task they’ve given me over the years.

Not one. Hell, I’ve gone above and beyond, even helping Tate on a few occasions, and that’s equivalent to taking a grenade to the face.

That man is a walking disaster. But I’ve never failed … until now .

A rush of emotions burns the bridge of my nose, but I battle them back—like I should’ve with Gray. I let my feelings call the shots, and that’s so weak of me. Worse? It cost me a raise that I desperately need.

I woke up in a panic this morning after a sleepless night filled with nightmares and sweats.

I kept dreaming that I was in a deep pit and a group of men stood at the top, throwing credit cards and rental agreements at me.

Each piece of paper and plastic cut my skin and left me bawling in a heap of tears and blood …

and no one came to help me. So once I was awake and certain that no one was hurling anything at me, I called two law offices and inquired about retaining their services.

It turns out that I’m either selling feet pics or auctioning off a kidney.

The buyer would have to pay the hospital bills for my organ removal, though.

“Have you responded to Gray at all?” Gianna asks, crunching on a crouton.

“No. I have nothing to say.”

“Seems like you have a lot to say,” Audrey says. “Maybe you should just tell him how he made you feel?—”

“ Ew .” I wrinkle my nose. “Why would I do that?”

Audrey grins. “It might surprise you. I bet you’d feel a lot better.”

“I told you what would make you feel better,” Gianna says, grinning, too.

I glance from Audrey to Gianna and then back at Audrey. Have they lost their minds? “You two give the worst advice.”

Gray: Could you just hear me out, sweetheart?

“ No, he did not .” I gasp, staring at the phone.

“What?” Gianna asks.

I barely hear her question, my mind choosing to focus on the perceived threat and not my harmless best friend. I can’t believe my eyes, and I must reread it five times before it sinks in. The fucker called me sweetheart.

My fingers hit the keyboard and flurry away.

Me: Eat shit and die.

His response is immediate.

Gray: FINALLY.

“That bastard,” I say, my jaw skimming the table. I’ve been played . “I took the bait.”

“Well, he is one attractive lure,” Gianna mumbles to Audrey.

I stare at the screen in disbelief. Heat paints my face as I battle back waves of humiliation. I don’t know what to do now. My friends chatter beside me, giving their opinions on how I should react, but I don’t make out their words. The voice screaming inside my head is much louder than theirs.

Gray: I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, and if my texts make you feel that way, please tell me and I’ll stop.

Me: THEY DO.

But I stop short of hitting Send.

The glasses of sangria I’ve consumed feel like ten in my stomach. They slosh around, splashing against the bottom of my esophagus and burning it. Making it uncomfortable.

Out of the twenty-two words he sent, that’s the one that stands out.

“I can’t work with him, Renn. His personality is all over the place, and it makes me uncomfortable.”

“That’s all I need to hear.”

My conversation with Renn didn’t last long—it was far shorter than I anticipated. He called to ask how it was going with Gray, and I didn’t even really get to fully explain the situation. As soon as I told him I was uncomfortable and didn’t want to work with him anymore, the call ended.

It can’t be a coincidence that Gray used that term.

I erase my response and type out a new one.

Me: They annoy me.

Then I hit Send.

“Since you’re all feisty tonight,” Gianna says, “this might be a good time to bring this up, Astrid.”

I look at her over the top of my phone, lifting a brow.

“We were brainstorming at work on Monday, and looking through old magazines for inspiration,” she says. “We came across this column where they took a question and then had a few different people answer it. I thought you might find it fun—and it pays. Not a ton, but a couple of hundred dollars.”

“A couple of hundred dollars for my response to a ridiculous question posed by a random person on the internet?” I ask. “That’s it? No catch?”

“That’s it. No catch.”

“I’m in,” I say, as my phone vibrates in my hand. Guess I’ll use that to start a legal fund.

“Great! Give me a few days to get everything together, and then I’ll give you more info.”

Gray: We’re better than this.

Me: Speak for yourself.

Gray: You are the only woman in the world who would argue with someone who’s trying to say nice things about them.

Me: Your point?

Gray: This is not going how I imagined.

Me: Great. Lose my number.

I turn my phone to silent and place it face down on the table.

Focus—and not on him . “I need to find another form of income,” I say, accepting another glass of sangria from Kim. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Do you ladies need anything else?” she asks.

“If you want to bring me the check, that should be about it,” Audrey says.

Kim winds her way through the maze of chairs and dirty tables.

“You need another form of income.” Audrey loops us back to my statement. “What kind of a thing are you looking for?”

“Something that pays heart surgeon dollars for administrative assistant tasks,” I say, blowing out a breath.

“I’m in the same financial boat that I was in pre-Gray as long as the Trace thing doesn’t cost me the only arm that I have left.

But I don’t have twenty thousand dollars to pay his bills, not to mention the attorney fees I'll incur to fight it. It just never stops. My financial boat is full of holes.”

Audrey pats my hand. “I’ll jump in your boat and help you bail water. Just let me know what kind of a pail to bring with me.”