Page 34 of Playing the Field
“Or get laid, man.” Jimmy’s advice last night might normally have been a good fix. There’s a reason I’ve always had a healthy sex life, and the women who’ve come and gone have seemed more than willing to help in that regard.
But now, the idea of meaningless sex to get my rocks off leaves me cold. I don’t want to think that my reasons have anything to do with a certain brunette roommate working in the corporate offices, but who am I kidding?
My eyes travel upward to the floor where she works. The sun hits the glass hard, and there wouldn’t be any way to see inside the offices. Still, I can’t help sneaking one more glance in that direction. Wondering whether she’s thinking about me.
CHAPTER 18
Gracie
The conversationwith my work friend Ashley goes something like this:
“Hey, you’re still new in town. Let’s hang out, and then I’ll introduce you to some people.”
“Oh, you’re sweet,” I say. “But I don’t want to be a burden during your free time.” In other words, I’m a homebody, and I don’t want to disappoint her if she thinks I’m fun.
“Nonsense,” Ashley says, which is how I find myself at lunch, trying to come up with something to talk about. I settle on our common element, work, and try to glean some information about corporate communications, which I know nothing about.
“What are you working on this week?” I want to roll my eyes at myself for asking the worst question ever.
We’re sitting in the cafeteria, where tables for four break up the cavernous space and a large hot food counter takes up onewall. The choices are pretty standard work lunch fare—sandwiches, salads, burritos, chips, drinks.
My burrito is getting cold while I decide whether to pick it up or cut into it. It’s covered in red sauce, so I opt to cut it down the middle. Melted cheese oozes out, and I scoop up a forkful on a tortilla chip.
Ashley munches through a Greek salad, avoiding the olives.
“I handle all media requests for interviews with players, and I head up our social media team, which is a major way we stay in touch with fans. You know, behind-the-scenes videos, player spotlights, days when we mic them and hear their commentary while they run drills.”
She seems a little bored answering my question about what she does for the team. Like she’s said these words a hundred times and doesn’t have to think about them.
“Have you been doing this a long time?” I’m fully prepared with questions and small talk to get us through our first lunch, but she stops me with a raised hand.
“Eh, no more work talk. We both do that all day long. Let’s talk about something fun. Are you dating anyone?”
Her directness startles me, and I almost choke on a bite of burrito. I manage to save myself with a sip of water, but not before I feel like the room gets about ten degrees warmer.
I look around to see if anyone is within earshot before answering. The room is about half empty, and the people eating in here are mostly corporate types who work in the building. Not a player in sight.
“Um, no. Not really.”
“So sort of?” she presses, eyes wide and interested for the first time since we got our food.
“No, not at all, actually.”
Ashley snaps her fingers. “Well, we’re going to have to change that, aren’t we?”
Unsure what to say, I give her a guilty shrug. Does she knowme well enough to set me up on a date, or is the only necessary criteria that I’m single?
“It was rhetorical. Of course the answer is yes. You’re so eligible. And you probably don’t know anyone except people in our offices. And the players.” Her voice takes a conspiratorial tone. “Don’t date a player. That never ends well.”
“You’re sweet, but I’m good. Really. I’m still figuring out the city. I’ll get to dating eventually.”
“Nonsense. I know so many good people.” She starts scrolling her social media and showing me pictures of various men. They’re all versions of the same guy—professional, thirtyish, clean cut. Normally, if I had a type, that would be it.
So why am I suddenly examining the photos to see if they have tattoos? That was never my thing. I try to push away the thought that it might be my thing now that I’ve seen the magnificent arms of Hunter Reyes. Maybe he’s the source of my sudden boredom with average-looking men.
“Thanks.” I realize Ashley is staring at me, and apparently, I haven’t responded to the photos on her feed. “They all look nice.”
“They are. Totally. This one is Steve, my boyfriend.” She zooms in on an image of her with her arms around a tall, smiling guy who looks like her other friends. “We met on a dating app about a year ago. Still going strong.”
