Page 1 of Shatter
Darcy
It was official.I was ready to give up on dick forever.
“He’s still here,” I hissed into my cell, trusting the shower water to cover my words as I sat on the toilet seat, praying for a miracle.
Thursday night drinks were a tradition my best friend, Allie, and I had established as soon as we were both twenty-one. We would head out to the local sports bar — my condition — and drink cocktails — her condition, until we were ready to pass out or one of us decided to take someone home for the night.
After months of working in the newsroom on my internship, I had finally been offered a trial story. My dream of becoming a sports journalist was so close I could taste it. So last night, we were celebrating.
After a few drinks, I decided a quick, anonymous fuck would be the perfect way to round out the celebration, and the guy taking up space in my bed had seemed like a perfect candidate — the “hit it and quit it” type — so we came back to my place. He had impressed me with his knowledge of sports stats, and the difference between scotch and whiskey. Fine, he was hot, and I was sure he would have forgotten my name if I had bothered to tell him.
There was one thing I hadn’t factored in.
Mr. Smooth-talker turned out to have a pregnancy kink. Anything else would have been preferable. I wasn’t about to kink-shame anyone, but having a virtual stranger breathing heavily in your ear, insisting he was going toput a baby in your bellywhile trying to give your labia chafe burns in search of the clit was not my idea of a good time. Thankfully, the experience didn’t last long. He came hard, screaming, “Fuck, your stomach will be so round,” slapped my ass, and fell asleep. So deep that I checked his pulse to make sure sex with me hadn’t killed the idiot. After having slept on my couch to avoid his octopus-like grip, I holed up in my bathroom as soon as it was light outside and called Allie for moral support.
“Just tell him you have to go to work. It’s the truth,” Allie said absently.
“I know, but I don’t want to talk to him. Who sleeps over after a one-night stand?” I whispered, peeking around the bathroom door at the guy who was sitting up in bed, watching my television like he owned the place.
“Men are stupid, unpredictable creatures. You of all people know this. Just… I dunno, give him an apple or something and send him on his way.”
“An apple?” I asked, closing the door again and checking my makeup in the mirror.I had been productive during my meltdown in the bathroom, at least, and was looking as professional as my budget allowed, in a smart pantsuit and bright red lipstick.
“Tell him he was a terrible lay and you want him out of your house. I don’t care, but you’re going to be late if you don’t pull up your big girl panties soon. So, hurry up. Me and my hangover are going to sleep for a few more hours, then order in the greasiest thing I can think of. Love you. Now stop being a chicken.”
She hung up before I could say another word, and much as I didn’t want to admit it, I knew she was right. With a deep breath, I opened the door and prepared my goodbye speech.Just tell him you had fun, but that you don’t want to be late for… My internal pep talk screeched to a halt when I noticed a familiar face on my television. Dark hair and even darker eyes that hid the demon beneath stared out through the screen as though he knew I was watching. Perfectly straight, white teeth flashed in a grin as he seemed to banter with whoever he was speaking to.He is not attractive, I reminded myself as a ringing filled my head.He’s not really here.
“...so cool.”
“What?” I asked, realizing the man in my bed was speaking to me. He arched a blond brow, smiling crookedly.
“I said Kane Bryson is so cool. He’s the ultimate stud. Like, bro kills it in the pool, and then double kills it with the ladies. You didn’t even know I was in the room a minute ago.” He huffed a laugh. “I get it, don’t worry. He’s the GOAT. Can’t wait to see him on the national team.”
“Get out,” I said, woodenly. My lips were numb. Was that normal?
“Babe, what…?”
“I said get out. And turn that shit off while you’re at it.”
“Whoa, ok, chill. Geez, I didn’t realize you were a psycho bitch. Fuck. You weren’t that great of a lay, anyway. Don’t bother calling me.”
He continued to rant as he collected his clothing and headed for the door, but I couldn’t have said what the words were. I stared blankly at the black screen of my television as thoughhewould crawl out of it any minute like the girl fromThe Ring.
Kane Bryson.
It had been five years since I last saw him. The sole reason I had such a firm no-athletes policy on my dating life. They were worse than bad news, they were hazardous to your health.
Screw him.
I shook myself out of my stupor and headed for the door.
There was no room for ghosts today. I was about to take the next step in my life plans. I was going to be a sports reporter.
* * *
The Swenton Timeswas a medium-sized daily newspaper in a medium-sized city. The headquarters for the illustrious rag sprawled over two stories of a building in the city center. I hammered my feet into the cement stairs, physically working out my frustration at the Out of Order sign that had been hanging on the elevator, right when I least needed the delay.
Bursting through the fire escape door, I threw a wave at Sahra, Mr. Fagan’s PA, as I strode through her workspace.
