Cleat Catcher (The Cleat Chaser Duet Book 2) (46 page)

“No, I was too busy considering choking Sean the fuck out.” She wadded up the blanket and wrapped her hands around it, squeezing like it was Sean’s neck.

I put a hand to my forehead and pressed on my temples. “When Easton asked if I still had feelings for Sean, I couldn’t answer. It was just too, too much, you know? And I sort of froze.”

She throttled the blanket for a few moments longer and let go, but then added a quick “pow pow” from the gun she made with her fingers. “I took care of Sean.” She blew across her index finger like it was a smoking barrel. “And Easton has to have realized what a shock it was for you to get confronted by Sean.”

“I don’t know.” I chewed my lip. “I sort of fell apart.”

“I’ll talk to Braden and get him to talk to Easton.” She stretched and sat up. “Are you sure we have to go to work and stuff?”

My alarm sounded again, and I nailed it with a backhand before flipping it over to the “off” position.

“I’ll shower quick. Then we can go to your house so you can clean up and we can get ready. Sound like a plan?”

She held out her fist. “We got this. Getting ready, getting Easton—all going to be a piece of cake.” She yawned and shook her fist, demanding I bump it.

“I hope you’re right.” I tapped her knuckles and walked to my bathroom, but not before glancing at my phone again. It remained dark. No messages, no chance.

“So, what’s on tap for next week?” Tessa had outdone herself this morning. She wore a red dress, the top structural and sharp, the bottom flaring into a tutu. A black hat with mesh veil topped the look, but the material seemed too long, because she kept getting it caught between her lips as she spoke. “Kyrie, off to L.A. next week?”

I forced a bright smile onto my face. “Yes, Tessa. I’ve got the entire reality TV family lined up to talk, except for the one in rehab.”

“Which one’s in rehab?” She caught the mesh between her teeth and poked out her lips to try and get it out of her mouth.

Nikki snickered next to me and then added a surly, “I wish I got to go to L.A.”

I elbowed her and spoke up. “I think the third oldest sister? The one married to the rapper.”

“When will she be out? Can you go see her in the rehab?” Her voice rose, shrillness rounding out the piercing notes.

“It’s court-ordered, so she’ll likely be there at least a month. No visitors. I checked.”

“No visitors? That’s ridiculous. The last time I was in a facili—” Tessa halted and reached up to adjust her hat before clearing her throat. “Moving on.”

I tuned out the rest of the meeting, even Nikki’s antics. My thoughts never strayed far from Easton. He still hadn’t returned my texts. I called and left him a voicemail on the way to work, but the apology seemed to have fallen on deaf ears.

Once the meeting was over, I wandered back to my office. Nikki perched and chatted, but she quickly got the hint that I wanted to be alone.

“He’ll come around. Braden’s already promised to talk to him.”

I put my head on my desk, my forehead resting on the squishy wrist pad that looked like a big, purple dildo. “Don’t push him.” I said the right thing, but I didn’t mean it. I wanted Easton pushed back to me, so I could be in his arms again.

“It’ll be okay.” Nikki stroked through my hair and patted my back.

My phone dinged, and I popped my head up and grabbed for it. I swiped across the screen. A text! Pressing on the text app, my heart sank. I recognized Sean’s number, though it had long since been deleted from my address book.

“It’s Sean,” I muttered. Nikki’s face fell as I showed her the text.

Want to get together tonight? Drinks and then I could show you my new place?

I tapped the functionality that allowed me to block numbers and had him added to the list in seconds.

“Good decision.” Nikki hopped down and walked to my door. “We’ll get Easton. If there’s anything I’m a pro at, it’s chasing down men in tight baseball pants. Don’t worry.”

I offered a weak smile and she tapped her nose before turning the corner outside my door.

I forced myself to work instead of straight moping. I flew through my emails, corresponding with freelance writers and stringers to make sure the smaller stories and product plugs were being assembled for the next
Teen Sparkle
. A couple of hours dragged by as I made a few phone calls to the art department about ad placement and continued piecing together my ideas for the reality TV article. I already knew it would turn out as nothing better than a vanity piece. And I hated it.

A reminder dinged, telling me my L.A. travel plans for Monday. I leaned back in my chair and let the dread wash over me. My life wasn’t going in the right direction—not on the career front and not on the relationship front. Maybe I’d made a misstep at some point in the past, and now I’d ventured far enough in the wrong direction to notice the trail had evaporated under my feet.

Another email darkened my screen, but I sat straight up when I saw it was from Graciela Froggart.

Ms. Kent,

I have interviewed two additional candidates for the executive editor spot. Both are well suited for the position. However, I await your creative submission for my consideration. Have it to me by midweek or I’m afraid I’ll have to pass you over.

Graciela Froggart

Midweek
? I ran my fingers through my hair and crunched a lock between my front teeth—a weird habit that surfaced when I was nervous, and one I’d never been able to break. There was no way I could get her a quality piece by midweek, especially not when I was slated to fly to LA for the vapid reality TV star interview.

First Easton had slipped through my fingers and now
Style and Substance
? I shook my head.
No
. I wasn’t going to take another step down this road. I was going to set things to rights with Easton and make a run at my dream, even if it tanked me at
Teen Sparkle
. It was worth the risk.

I picked up my phone and dialed Nikki.

“You like ‘em, we stick ‘em,” she tittered in my ear.

I laughed, the sound almost manic. “One, that’s not a very professional way to answer your phone, and two, want to go to L.A. for me next week?”

E
ASTON

A
WEEK HAD
passed and I hadn’t returned any of Kyrie’s texts or calls. It was torture. Each time I’d started to give in I’d see Richards at practice or a game, and the humiliation and rage would win out against my need to speak to her. His black eyes and busted up nose were the only things that gave me a hint of comfort.

I rolled out of bed and groaned. A crushing weight squeezed my chest and even the view of the city and the spring colors from my high rise window were drab and uninteresting. Birds chirped on the ledge and I glared in their direction. “Happy little fucks.” I beat my knuckles on the glass as they fluttered in every direction. Then I smiled.

“You must feel like a real badass now. Picking on the poor birds.”

Kasey leaned on my doorframe.

“What do you want?” I sulked back to the bed, contemplating falling face first onto it and delaying the start of the day.

“You return her messages?” Kasey took another step into the room and folded her arms.

“Whose messages?” I smirked.

“Oh, very
clever
, Easton.” She started slow clapping. “Hey, hey, Easton. Check it out. I got full range of my wrist back.” She made a jerk off motion with her injured hand, before she arced it at me, coupled with the most exaggerated splooge sound I’d ever heard.

“Very original, Kase. Get some new material.” I sat down on the bed and sighed, staring out the window.

“Don’t take your shit out on me, you miserable twat.”

I looked back and her brow was furrowed.

“Sorry.” I flopped back on the bed like an angsty teenager about to blast grunge music. “This is why I shouldn’t have let her in. I was perfectly happy when I was single. No work issues. Didn’t have to worry about some tease fucking with my mind.”

I turned my head and Kasey was in my face, nostrils flared.
Oh shit.

“Don’t you talk about her that way. I will fuck you the fuck up. Understand?” She was shaking as she loomed over me.

“Jesus Christ, what gives?” I sprang up from the bed and paced around the room, alternating my gaze between Kasey and the wall. “I didn’t do anything wrong. She did. Now you’re taking her side? I thought you were my best friend?”

Kasey’s stare softened a bit as she strode toward me. “You know I love your big dumb ass. And I didn’t take her side.” She prodded my chest with her index finger. “But she’s not one of those other whores you used to put your ant-sized cock inside. She’s better than that and you know it.”

I started to speak and she cut me off.

“She’s a catch. She’s the tits, if you will. If you say anything different, you’re lying to yourself.” She turned to walk away then spun back around, apparently not finished ripping me a new asshole. “Know what your problem is, big brother? It’s easier to sit in here like a little bitch, and not do shit, than it is to go out there and have to work for something. She’s not perfect. But she was with that fuck bag for a long time. Why? I have no earthly idea. You can’t change the past though, and you can’t expect her to just forget years of something because Easton motherfucking Holliday showed up and gave her a big O.”

“A? Just one?” I gave her a quick smile.

“Respect.” She smiled but tried to shake it off. “But seriously—” Her words were now a plea. “That girl is perfect for you. Everyone sees it. I know you feel it in places other than your nut bags. I’ve never seen you love anything as much as baseball, until she came along. Stop being a twat rocket and do something about it.”

I ran a hand through my hair and stared up at the ceiling. “It’s probably too late. She has to hate me by now.”

Kasey stood there with her hands on her hips, looking at me as if I were the village idiot. “It’s been all of a week. It took her two years to get over Richards.” She scoffed and walked from the room.

I walked to my night stand and picked up my phone. No new messages from Kyrie. This was the first day since the bar that she hadn’t said anything to me. Sometimes it was just “hi” or “I miss you.” But now, my screen had no notifications. I checked again. Still nothing.

Not thirty seconds passed before Kasey stormed back into the room carrying her laptop. She flipped it open on the bed. “Yeah, I bet she’s over it. Idiot.”

I looked down at the screen,
Style and Substance
across the banner, and my heart raced. “She got the job?” A huge smile spread across my face, and then pangs of nausea riddled my stomach. I missed it. She landed her dream job. I hadn’t taken her to dinner or bought her flowers or said so much as “congratulations.” Instead, I’d tortured her with unanswered texts and ignored phone calls during what should’ve been one of the happiest moments in her life.

Bile crept into my throat and a cold sweat broke out across my forehead.

“You okay? You look mighty pale.” Kasey walked over and put a hand on my shoulder.

I couldn’t turn away from the article.
Rookie
Love and Career Mistakes
.

The words were like a vise around my neck, slowly shutting off my air supply.
I’m the love mistake
.

“I-I can’t read it. She’s going to talk about me.”

“Don’t be a pussy. I think you’ll like what you find.” Kasey smiled and walked out of the room.

I sat there for a few minutes, contemplating whether or not I wanted to scroll down to the article. My phone lit up and distracted me. It was Braden.

Hey mopey moperson, we need to meet up. Obligatory female shit. Beers?