Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
After shutting off the video, I take the stairs up to the level the front office is on. There’s no one at the front desk when I walk in, so I go back. I know who most of the offices belong to, and it’s not until I turn a corner and walk down another hallway that I find the one I’m looking for: Jules Barlow, Social Media Coordinator.
It’s a newly created position, and a pointless one in my opinion. But due to metrics, online presence, and whatever other bullshit the consultant cited when they recommended this position, we have one now.
The office door is open, but there’s no one inside the office. She probably left early, like most twentysomethings do. It’s always minimal effort and maximum expectations from that age group.
Unless we’re talking about my players. I can still skate and play well enough to school the ones who get lazy, even though my back always hurts like hell that night.
This place seems empty. Most people who work in the front office are in by 7:30 a.m., so I can see why they’d be gone by—I check my watch—4:39 p.m.
There is a coat on the back of the chair in Jules’s office, though, so I check the break room.
She’s there alone, her back against a wall and her face buried in her hands. Her shoulders are heaving and I can tell she’s crying without seeing her face.
My anger dissipates. I walked in on a private moment, and I feel like an asshole. I take a step back, hoping to sneak out undetected, but she drops her hands and sees me.
Her chin falls and I cringe inwardly.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she demands, her voice laced with accusation.
“I said I’d come by your office this afternoon.”
She scowls at me, the polar opposite of the agreeable, bubbly woman I met earlier. “Oh, right. You wanted to lecture me about doing my job without asking your permission. Because, of course, you’re a man.”
Black eye makeup streaks down her cheeks. She’s too upset for me to be bothered by her outburst.
“I take it a man upset you?”
She looks away. “Look, you caught me at a really bad time. Can we talk tomorrow?”
I can be a hard-ass, but my players know they can come to me when they need to talk. I’m not one to walk away from someone so upset their voice is breaking with emotion.
I close the door and walk over to her, coming to a stop a few feet in front of her and crossing my arms. “Let’s talk now. What’s got you so upset?”
She tries to sneer, but instead she breaks into tears again. “Fucking men.” She grimaces. “Please don’t tell Deb I said fuck in the office.”
I fight a smile. “Fuck is a popular word around here. Don’t worry about it.”
She sighs heavily. “Just say what you want to say. You don’t like me filming the players and you don’t want me at practices.”
I ignore her attempt at redirecting the conversation. “Just one man, or all of us?”
“Pfft. The only men I like are gay. The rest of you are assholes.”
She looks away and my gaze slides from her face down her body. I shouldn’t be thinking about how amazing her round, full breasts look in her formfitting shirt. Or the flare of her hips. She has a spectacular body.
I clear my throat and look away, pretending to find the break room refrigerator riveting. “If it makes you feel better, you can yell at me over it.”
There’s a pause, and then she lets loose. “He’s not even that attractive! Thirty-one years old and not a hair on his head. Fuck him. And fuck fucking jazz, too. It’s boring and everyone hates it, but some people say they love it just so they sound cultured.”
“Fuck jazz,” I agree, and she meets my eyes. How can I look at a refrigerator when she’s in the same room?
I don’t know whether she’s about to laugh or hit me with a right hook. And I like it. I have a strong, sudden urge to take two big steps forward and kiss her. Make her forget all about whoever this guy is.
Rubbing a hand down my face, I push away my thoughts of getting my hands on her hips. I’m old enough to be her father, for Christ’s sake.
“Forget about this jackass,” I say. “You’re better off without him.”
“I spent two weeks messaging that bald bastard. And I was open to a date, even though I guarantee he’s never made a woman’s panties wet. He dries out panties. Like, you’re getting a little damp and then you look at him and it turns into the Sahara in there. Fuck you, Mark. And fuck your bearded dragon, too. I hate reptiles.”
I furrow my brow, hiding my amusement. “Wait, are you saying you’ve never even met this guy?”