Page 18 of The Run Option

“Jason said you would say that.” The first tinge of amusement comes through. I’m not sure how I feel about the timing. “We can reimburse you if you want later. Does an hour from now work? It would be one of the rooms on your office’s floor.”

“That works,” I say, staring at my beige wall.

“Okay, see you soon.”

He hangs up before I can say anything else. My phone drops into my lap. I’m not sure I want to look at any of the notifications now. But I know I need to be aware of what the story is so that I can help Jason and Brock shape it. I swipe a hand down my face.Why couldn’t it have been another girl?It was foolish of me to get drunk, and even more foolish of me to let the infamous Jason Kingsley carry me for all to see and then drive me home.

Drawing in a breath, I pick up my phone. There’s no use in wallowing. I’ll assess the damage and then find a way to repair it. And if it all goes up in flames…well, I’m leaving the country anyway.

The damage is bad. Like my hair after I tried to bleach it myself in middle school bad. Jason’s reputation is as fried as my ends were. Thebad boy of footballsuddenly looks like a creep who takes home drunk girls. There are plenty of people criticizing me as well, but most of the heat is on him. Though if I see one more‘so this is how she got the job’comment I might start writing back to people instead of blocking them. My messagewould entail some minor–okay, major–threats and a thorough criticism of their lack of grammar skills.

I sigh as I slide out of my car in front of the practice facility. There are plenty of players and staff here prepping for the game tomorrow. There isn’t a practice scheduled today, but I know that a lot of the players meet with physical therapists to ensure they’re in the best condition possible. Hopefully I can avoid talking to people though. I at least want a plan before I have to address this.

Thankfully, my family isn’t on social media much. I’ve gotten some messages from people I knew in college and even high school. All of which I’ve ignored. It’s one thing to say ‘no comment’ to a reporter–several of which I’ve gotten emails from today–but it’s another to say it to someone you used to share geometry notes with. I’m sure Brock will have a plan ready to go and we can do our best to salvage both Jason’s and my reputation.

I walk into the practice facility. My ankle is sore, but it’s not as bad as last night. I won’t be taking the stairs today, though, that’s for sure, so I head to the elevators. The offices are situated on the second floor above the indoor field and lockers. I manage to make it onto one without seeing anyone, but I know that’s liable to change as soon as I step out onto the second floor. While the players might be busy, the office gossips aren’t.

My stomach rolls when I hear the ding signaling the doors are about to open.Just breathe and get to the conference room.

I draw in a shaky breath as the doors slide. A few people’s heads turn as I walk past. None of them say anything, but I can feel their judgmental stares. I straighten my spine, though it’s difficult under the weight of their eyes on me. One embarrassing moment isn’t going to define me, even if that moment is plastered all over the internet. It’ll die down, and it’s not like Ihave to worry about these people’s opinions anyway. I’ll be in Canada in less than two months.

I swallow down the emotion that rises with the thought of leaving behind all that I've worked for. The Lions’ social media was abysmal before I showed up. I built it from nothing and convinced the manager and owner that social media could be a powerful tool for the team. Now my legacy will be that I got carried out of a party by the bad boy of football.

Said bad boy is currently sitting in conference room C, drumming his fingertips on the table. This is one of those times that I wish the rooms here had blinds or drapes. I don’t want everyone spying on us. Though I suppose if they tried to, they’d get caught because we can see them too. But I doubt that will stop them.

I walk in and Jason’s head pops up. He gives me a half-hearted smile that doesn’t match his usual flirty demeanor.

“How’s your morning going?” he asks and I huff out a laugh as I close the door behind me.

“About as well as yours.”

“And your ankle?”

“It’s better.”

“Good, that’s good.”

He gestures to the seat closest to him. I hesitate, but decide to sit where he suggests. He’s at the end of the conference table and I’m on the right side, with my back to the windows. It’s probably for the best that I can’t see the office.

I glance to the left at the projector screen. It’s not even turned on.

“When is Brock supposed to call?” I ask, turning back to Jason.

He rubs the back of his neck. “We’re going to call him when we’re ready. I had something I wanted to talk to you about first.”

I shift in my seat. Why does he seem so nervous? In the months I’ve known him, I’ve never seen Jason nervous. I did aninterview series the week leading up to the Super Bowl, and the entire interview Jason cracked jokes and talked about it like it was a breeze instead of the biggest night of his career.

“Did something else come out? I haven’t responded to any messages, so if they said I made a statement, I didn’t,” I tell him.

He shakes his head, a small smile on his lips. “No, nothing else came out. I just have something to ask you that I thought I’d be asking under much different circumstances.”

My brow furrows. What on earth could that mean? I stay silent, waiting for him to elaborate.

He clears his throat. “Last night you said you were being deported,” he begins and I blanch. In the chaos of the morning, I’d forgotten about that confession.

“You haven’t told anyone, have you? No one knows.” His brows lift in surprise. “I found out the day of the party.”

“You came to a birthday party after finding that out?” he asks, incredulous.

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