Page 13 of Double Fault

Tired and still mildly amused fromthe disaster of an interview, I drag myself into the house and toss my bag onto the counter.

Lucy is kneading bread dough on the counter, her hands working it carefully back and forth, then around. “How’d it go?”

I drop into one of the barstools with a huff. “He hated me.”

“Hated you? Why?” Eyes wide, she lifts her chin and peers out into the main living space.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t do anything that would embarrass Alyssa. He just… didn’t like me.”

She hums. “I need more information than that.”

Groaning, I force myself back up and fill a glass with water, adding a slice of lime for pizzazz. Normally Lucy keeps lemons in the house, but she’s apparently developed an aversion to them.

“Sabrina?” she prompts when I sit back down.

Plopping my head in my hand, I puff out my lips. “From the moment I walked into the room, he was checking me out. He was clearly attracted to me, and because of that, he didn’t want to hire me.”

“What?” She freezes, her hands squeezing the dough a bit too tightly.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I’ll figure something out.” I snag a grape from the bowl on the island and pop it into my mouth.

“This job would’ve been perfect for you.”

“Apparently not.”

She transfers the dough into a bowl and covers it with a towel. “Maybe Alyssa can talk to him?—”

I hold up a hand. “Nope. I don’t need her to step in like a pseudo-mommy and try to solve my problems for me. I’m a big girl.”

Lucy frowns, washing her hands. “Maybe you could get a long-term sub position.”

“Maybe.” Every time the local district posts one, I apply, but time and again, I lose out to people who are more experienced.

Before she can continue her inquisition, I stand and pick up my water. “I’m going to change and go for a run.”

Running always helps me clear my head. The problem is I keep running in circles, ending up back in the same place.

Lu wants to argue, I can tell from the pinched set of her lips, but she lets me go.

I scurry away before she can change her mind. There’s no way this is the end of the conversation.

Upstairs, I trade my dress and boots for a pair of running pants and a tank top. As I lace up my shoes, the disastrous events of this afternoon haunt me. I didn’t think I’d get the job. I’ve learned by now not to get my hopes up. But the way he dismissed me so easily grates on me. IknowI’m qualified.

Noah Baker is a pretentious asshole.

At least his daughter is sweet.

Earbuds in place, I put on my favorite running playlist. It’s heavy metal—yeah, not what most would expect from someone who wants to spend her days teaching young kids—but it soothesmy racing thoughts while I run. And running, for me, is about escaping the torment of my own brain.

I use the first mile to warm up.

By the fourth, I’m running at a much faster pace. I never time myself. If I put too much emphasis on my pace, it’ll send me right back to thinking too much. Seconds don’t matter when all I want is to quiet my mind.

I’m on the sixth mile when my ringtone plays through my earbuds.

I’m hot and drenched in sweat and still about a mile from Lucy and Alyssa’s house. Tank clinging to me like a second skin, I slow to a walk and answer. It’s probably a spam call. Someone I can tell to fuck off. Now that I think of it, that may help my mood.

“Sabrina?”

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