Page 5 of Playing Dirty
“Sounds expensive,” I said, trying to keep my tone casual. “Flights. Hotel. All that for a training?”
He gave a small laugh, the kind that stopped short of being sincere. “Company policy.” Then, standing, he slid his chair back and reached for his briefcase. “Listen, I’m sorry for the short notice. I meant to bring it up last night, but it was already late.”
He rummaged around in his pocket and pulled out a familiar keychain. “Here,” he said, placing it on the table in front of me. “I’ll need you to open and close the store while I’m gone. The spare register keys are in the drawer like always.”
I stared at the keys a beat too long. “Okay. Sure.”
“You’ll do great,” he said, leaning down to press a quick kiss to the top of my head. It felt more like a tap than a touch.
“How long will you be gone?”
“Back Friday—at the latest.”
Matt was already making a coffee to go when I opened my mouth to ask something else, but he was out the door before I could find the words. Pixie jumped into the empty chair, curling herself into a neat circle like she’d claimed the space permanently.
I moved to the window and watched his taillights bounce down the gravel drive.
No goodbye on the fridge. No kiss on the lips. Not even a “text me when you get to work.”
I wasn’t mad, exactly. Just… unsettled. I’d moved in here in a rush, hoping we were building something. Lately, though, Icouldn’t shake the feeling that I was filling space, holding a place in a house that didn’t quite feel like mine.
And today, that place felt emptier than usual.
I pulled the black slacks from the hanger, slid them on, and buttoned them at the waist before reaching for the white blouse I kept pressed for work days. It was simple, clean, and professional—just like Matt preferred. No makeup today. Just a slick of Chapstick and my hair tugged back into a no-nonsense ponytail.
Pixie came in and watched me from the bathroom counter, tail flicking like she knew I was lying to myself again.
I used to dress for heat, for grit: tight jeans, ripped T-shirts, and eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man. That was when Tessa and I lived on Red Bull and fumes, chasing prize money down backroads and living in a dented camper.
God, that camper. Drafty in the winter, sweltering in the summer—but it was ours. We’d sleep four hours, run on caffeine and adrenaline, and hustle like hell for the next sponsorship deal. Tessa was a dragster racer and I handled the logistics, smoothed over the interviews, and made sure her helmet sparkled under the track lights.
We were unstoppable—until everything fell apart. When we finally made it back to Lovelace, we parked the camper in Rhett Callahan’s side yard. For a while, it felt like the perfect solution. But then Tessa and Colt got back together, we sold the camper, and Matt offered me a job. He’d stepped into my life like a sigh of relief. Steady paycheck. Keys to a car. A roof that didn’t leak when it rained.
Stability.
That’s what I told myself I wanted. A life without constant risk. Something safer.
But safe didn’t set your veins on fire. Safe didn’t make you want to scream into the wind with joy or fury or purpose. Safewas waking up in someone else’s cabin, trying not to wonder if you were temporary.
I straightened my collar in the mirror and glanced at the calendar tacked above Matt’s desk. He’d penciled inTucson Training – Back Fridayin tidy block letters.
Three days.
I let out a slow breath, gave Pixie a half-hearted scratch under the chin, and grabbed my purse from the hook by the door.
If I couldn’t control the big stuff, I could at least show up looking like I had it together.
Armor on.
Time to go to work.
I was elbow-deep in a half-built display of taco chips when that god-awful squeaky cart announced its presence like nails on a chalkboard. I glanced up—and there he was.
Rhett.
Just the sight of him made my stomach flip and my blood boil, which felt unfair, considering how good he looked doing absolutely nothing but pushing that cursed cart like he owned the place.
“Big night planned?” I called out without turning around.
