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ALSOBYLULUWRIGHT

TheHardSell

ROSE

Ihavereachedanewlevelofmad,sadhorniness.

Mynewvibratorplugsintothewall.AsImoveanightstandtoexposeapower

outlet,Ishudderwithmortification,realizingthatI’vegraduatedfrombattery-
generatedpulsingpleasuretosomethingthatneedstoconnecttothecity’spowergrid
togetmeoff.

ButmydesiretobesatisfiedconquerstheshameandIamready,noexcited,totest

outtheupgrade.Alreadytwingingwithlittlethrobsinneglectedplaces,myhand
tremblesalittleasIplugmynewelectricboyfriendintothewall.Apre-workorgasmis
justthethingIneedtohelpmefacetheworkday’sguaranteedstresses—becausebeing
thegeneralmanager/programdirector/producerofasmallaltrockradiostationbrings
waytoomuchanxiety.Luckily,IthinkI’mgoingtolovethisampeduptoyjustas
muchasIdorockandroll.

Gosh,IhopeIdon’tblowafuse.
Recliningonmybed,Ifliptheswitchto‘on.’
Whoa.Thisisgoingtobefun.
Pushingallthoughtsofworkaside,Isettleintomygo-tofantasy:alonelybeachat

sunset.Endingarelaxingdaynudesunbathing,myskinisslickwithcoconutoiland
warmfromthetropicalsun.

Thesilhouetteofaperfecttriangleofbroadshouldersandnarrowwaistemerges

fromthewavesnearby,anAnonymousAdonis.Musclesrippleundertanfleshthat’s
seasaltwet.Withouthesitation,hecomestomeandkneelsbesidemytowel.Hisbig
roughhandsmassagemybreastsandinnerthighs,hiskisseshotanddeep.Heflickshis
tongueonmynipplesandthenworkshiswaydown.

Mylegsshakeasheworksmyclitwithhismouth.Heknowstheexactright

momenttoentermewithhisperfectcock,adeliberateslownessthatbothteasesand….

ILOVEROCK‘NROLL
That’stheringtoneIuseforwork,butIamignoringit.AnonymousAdonisisjust

startingtothrustintome.

ILOVEROCK‘NROLL
No,noway.Iamonabeachrightnow,slipperyfromsuntanoilandwetwithdesire

andtheentireACcurrentofParamusPowerandLightvibratinginsideme,makingmy
teethchatterandmy…

ILOVEROCK‘N…
Yankgoesthecordfromthewall.“What?"Iyellintothephone,shakingwithanger

andthwartedarousal.Thishadbetterbereallygoddamnimportant.

“Rose,youhavetocometothestation.”Chris,myseniorcitizenprogramdirector,

speakswithaquiverinhispack-a-dayraspyvoice.

“Whatisit?”Isoundmiffed.Iammiffed.“Wasthereanotherfireinthe

breakroom?”

“Iwish,”Chrismutters.“Butno.Mr.Morninghaslosthismindandlockedhimself

intheDJboothand…”Hestopstotakeabreathlikehe’safraidtosaywhat’snext.

“And?”Ishutmyeyesinpreparation.IsMr.MorningrackingupFCCfinesbygoing

onacurse-ladentirade?Ishebashingallofouroldequipmentwithabaseballbat?

“It’sKatyPerry.He’splayingheronloop.Samesong,DarkHorse,overandover

and…”

“Shit.”Myheartjumpsinmythroat.Icanliterallyhearthestationadvertising

revenuefallingwitheachchorus.“I’mcoming,”Isay.“Trytotalktohim.Ormaybecut
thepowertothebooth."

Icheckthetimeandfeelthepricklesofpanicsettlein,athousandneedlesstabbing

mychest.It’srushhour.Primetimeforlisteners.

Itakeabreathtocalmmyself.Perhapsallisnotlost.OurstationownerDocBing

doesn’tusuallylistenthisearlyinthemorning.Maybenoneofhisfriendswillcallhim
tocomplain.Maybeourlistenerswillthinkit’safunnyprank.

Butmyphonealertsmewithatextmessagefromtheonlymemberofoursales

staff,BeckyLynch.WTF!?!IAMGOINGTOKILLHIM.

NotifIgettherefirst.
IscrambleintojeansandmyfaveMusetee,thenheaddownstairstoseemyroomie

Geosuckingonorganiccoffeeandtwistingthewhitegirldreadsshe’stryingtonurture
inherScandinavianblondhair.“Morning,”shesays."Wantsomecoffee?"

“Thanks,"Ireplyabsentlyasmyeyesdartaroundthekitchenformykeys,“butI

gottagettothestation.Emergency.”

“Shit,Rose.Anotherramennoodlefire?”Shedanglesmymissingkeysinher

delicatehandandmysoulisovercomewithloveforherasIsnatchthemfromher
fingers.

Ishakemyhead.“Worse.Muchworse.”
IheadoutthedoorandhearGeoshoutafterme,“Don’tforgettolineupthe

interviewforourpodcastnextweek!”Imakeamentalnotesomewhereatthebackof
myracingmindasIleapintomyoldmaroonMustangandflooritoutofmyparking
spot.

Ourstation,W-ALT,blastsinmyearsattopvolume,andsureenough,it'sDark

Horsestill.Thisisit,thisishowIamgoingtodie:inmybeatupMustang,stuckinrush
hourtrafficandbeingtorturedbyKatyPerry.Ihearthatfuckingsong8timesbeforeI
pullintotheW-ALTparkinglot.

IdashoutofthecarandupthewalkwaywhereIspotChristakingadragoffa

cigarette.

“Whoknowsaboutthissofar?”Idemand.
Heshrugshisshouldersandthewrinklesaroundhiseyesdeepen.“Justme…and

whoeverelseislisteningtoourstationat8aminthegreaterNYCarea.”

“Fantastic.”IsighasIthrowopenthedoor.Onceinside,Idon'tstopuntilIreachthe

DJboothwindow.Mr.Morning—legalname:CliveDunby—has100%losthisshit.Isee
himdancingwithBlowsy,theblowupdollournoonDJleftinthestudioasajoke.At
leastshe’sstillwearingoneofmyoldbridesmaiddressesandisn’tstarknaked.

Mr.Morningisinhis40’sandhasmoretattoosthanabiker,overweightenoughthat

IcanseehishairybellybuttonpokingoutfromunderhisDanzigtee.Ashewaltzes
withdeadeyedBlowsy,Iseethephonesarelightingupbehindhim.I’msurethathas
tobeabunchofW-ALTfanscallingtofindoutwhatthehell.

IbangonthewindowtogetMr.Morning’sattentionandhegrinsandbendsthearm

ofBlowsytowavetome.Icurvemyfingertohim.“Comeoutnow,”Imouthwitha
sternface.

Helockseyeswithmeandthenshakeshishead,thenBlowsy’shead.Hiseyesare

wild,hishairdisheveled,andIjustknowthishasgonefarbeyondhistypicalfreak
outs.

“Whatdoyouwanttodo?”ChrisisstandingbehindmewithNightVixen,our

overnightDJ,whotheyclearlyaskedtostickaroundincaseweeverlureMr.Morning
outofthere.Herjetblackhairisstickingtoherface,andshe’sraccoon-eyedand
sluggishbutawake.Shesmilesatmeandrubshereyes,makingherlookevenmore
likeatrashpanda.

Irefusetoletthestationgodownlikethis.Timetoputonthebiggirlpanties,stop

themadness,saveW-ALT(andallourjobs),andgetMr.Morningoutofthatbooth.
Permanently.

“GetBeckstocallthecops,”Isaywithacoolnessthatmakesmeproud.“Andget

LizzieBordenfromthestoragecloset.”IhavewieldedLizzieBorden,theofficeaxe,
twicebefore.Oncetothreatenanunwelcomestalker.OncetobreakdowntheDJbooth
doorwhenthepreviousmorningguy,DawnPatrol,passedoutonthemicinadrunken
stupor.IknowIcanbreakdownthisflimsydooragainin5whacks.

Forewarnedisfairwarned.Igrabapieceofpaperandwriteonitwithamagic

marker.

WEARECALLINGTHECOPS

ANDBREAKINGDOWNTHEDOOR

ScowlingatMr.Morning,IslapthenoteagainsttheDJboothwindow.Hejustlaughs
anddryhumpsBlowsyintimewithDarkHorseashemakeseyecontactwithme.I
holdhisstareandshakemyheadslowly.Thetimeforfunandgameshascometoan
end.

Chrisisbackwiththeaxeandeyeswiderthansaucers.Heholdsitouttomeand

bowshishead.Wrappingmyfingersaroundthehandlesendsaniceboltofgo-juiceto
mychest,butIfeelcalm,oh,soverycalm,asIraisetheaxeandtakeadeepbreath.

Withouthesitation,IswingashardasIcanandPaulBunyanthedoor.It’sthin,just

particleboard,sotheaxgoesrightthroughlikepaperandIfeellikeXenaWarrior
Princess,atoweringamazonofstrengtheventhoughI’mbarely5’5”.Itmustlooklike
theShiningontheothersidebecauseIseethedoorknobjigglefrantically.Chrisand
NightVixencheermeon.

Mr.MorningopensthedoorwithBlowsyhelplesslytuckedunderhisarm,hiseyes

dartingbetweenmeandtheaxe.“Copshereyet?”

“Notyet.”Iputonehandonmyhipandhefttheaxeinmyother.“Soon.”
HethrustsBlowsyatmeandrunsdownthehallwayshouting,“FreedomRock!

FreedomRock!”

IrollmyeyesandturntoNightVixen.“Pleasegetinthere,”Isay.“Playasmuch

basicaltstuffasyoucanforthenexthour.Radiohead,PearlJam,Soundgarden.”Ilook
downatmyownT-shirt.“Muse.Andtrytocatchuponwhateveradsthelogsayshe’s
missedinthelasthour.”

“Yougotit,bosslady.”Shesnapsto,entersthebooth,andasecondlaterKatyPerry

stopssinginginthemiddleofaword.IfeellikeIhavejustbeenreleasedfrom
Guantanamo.“Nogothstuff,”Iadd,beforeshuttingtheaxed-indoor.

DraggingBlowsy,IwalkdownthehallwaytothesweetsoundsoftheFooFighters

withsweatdottingmybrowandvictoryendorphinspumpingthroughmyveins.I
settleourinflatablemascotonthecouchinmyofficeandcollapseinmychair.Iam
sweatyandalmostassatisfiedasIwould'vebeenifI'dfinishedbeachtimewith
AnonymousAdonisandmyelectrichammerofThor.

Chrisleansinmydoorway,shakinghislonggraylocksandsighing.
“Whatnow."Ibitemylip.
“BeckssaystheDocisonhiswayin.Heheardthewholedisaster.It’snotlooking

good.”

Shit.

Minuteslater,IgiveupmydesktotheDocandhisteacupYorkie,RobertE.Lee.Doc
Bingisalwaysdressedinaseersuckersuitnomatterthetimeofyear.Withhiswhite
hair,waxedmustacheandblackhornrimmedglassesheremindsmeofagay,crazy
Col.Sanders,notthewealthyplasticsurgeonheactuallyis.Me,ChrisandBeckshuddle
aroundmycluttereddeskwithcheeksachingfromfakesmiles.

Ihadanhourtoworkoutalittlespeechtoexplainthismorning’slatestdisaster,but

hecutsmeoffwithawaveofhisringedhandwhenIopenmymouth.

“Doesn’tmatter,”hesaysinhisAlabamaaccent.IseehiseyesdrifttoBlowsyand

squintindisapproval.“Mr.Morning,orwhateverhisnameis,wasonhiswayout
anyway.AtleastnowIdon’thavetopayhimseverance.”

Myguttwistsinaknot.Everythingbeginsandendswithmorningdrivetime.Ifhe

wasplanningtocutMr.Morning,arewechangingupthehour?Maybe,godforbid,
goingcountry?Iswallowhardandstruggletokeepthesqueakoutofmyvoice.“What
doyoumean…?”

“Gotanothermorningguycomingintogetussomemuchneededratings.”
Itradewide-eyedlookswithChris.Willwestillhaveourjobs?“Whoisit?”Iask,

rackingmybrain.Noneoftheotherbig-nameNYDJswouldtouchuswithasixfoot

pole,whichishowwewoundupwithMr.Morning,aVirginiaBeachtransfer.

TheDocsmilesandfeedsatreattoRobertE.Lee.Weallhavetowaituntilthe

Yorkiefinishes.ThentheDocraiseshiseyestomeandgrins.“TheBadBoyatBat.
AmericanAll-Star.SuperSlugger.Mr.MarkCarrington.”TheDoccoughsbehindhis
hand.“AdamnYankee.Butagoodone.”

“Brilliant!”exclaimsBecks.Hereyeslightupandherhandsareclenchedintight

fists.“He’ssosexy,"sheaddswithadreamyexpression.

IlookatChris.Hedoesn’tlookpleased,butme?IfeellikeI’mgoingtopuke.“Not

MarkCarrington.”

Squintinghiseyesatme,theDocleansbackinmychair.Hetwistsapinkyringand

grinsatme.“Youlikethislittle20kwattstationplayingweirdomusic,MissTaylor?’

“Ofcourse,”Istutter.“But…”
“Well,ifyouwantittostaythatwayyouwillproduceMarkCarrington’ssports

showinthemorning.Sportstalk,twostraighthours.Restofthedayisyours.”Iwatch
theDocrisefromhisseatandpickupRobertE.Lee.HischarmingAlabamaaccenthas
morphedintoJerseytough.“HestartsnextMonday.Iexpectthethreeofyou—”he
pointsateachofusonebyonebeforecontinuing,“—andkeystationpersonnel,to
attendtheBustUpenergydrinkeventinNewarkwherewe'llformallyannouncethat
Mr.Carringtonisjoiningthestation’slineup.”

Becksrisesfromherchairandsmoothsherpinkpantssuit.“DidyousayNewark?”
“Newark.PrudentialCenter,”hesaysstaringdownBecks’Ohgodface.Nobodylikes

goingintoJerseyifit'satallpossibletoavoid.

AstheDocwalksbyme,RobertE.Leelicksmyarmwithhissofttongue.“Gotabig

NewYorkCityPRteamtoannounceitthough.”TheAlabamaaccentisbackinfull
force.“Gonnabeabigevent,y’all.”

BecksfollowstheDocoutofmyoffice.“Markissuchafantasticlookingguy,”she

singsdownthehallway.“Ican’twaittomeethim.”

Chrislooksatmeandshrugs.“Well,Iguessourmorningdrivetimeissportstalk

now.Maybewecansneaksomerockbedsbetweenthesportschat,atleast.”

Ican’tevenregisterhowmehIfeelaboutsportsrightnow.Meanwhile,mybrainis

doingacopy-pasteloopwithnoend.

MarkCarrington.
MarkCarrington.
MarkCarrington.
Ireclaimmychairandjustmeltintoit.Fuckinghell.Ican’tbelievethisis

happening.I’mgoingtobeforcedtoworkwiththehighschoolcrushthatcompletely
shatteredmyheart.

Ihaven’tseenhimfacetofaceinpersonforyears,butIamacutelyawarethathe

hasonlygottenhottersincehighschool.Yourcrushesgettingfamouswilldothatto
you.

AGooglesearchlaterandI'meyeinghisnakedchestandstubbledbutimpossibly

sexyjawinashavingcreamad.Waterdripsdownhispecsandthetowel,oh,thetowel
barelyclingstohishipsinatease.Ithinkofwhathisdickmustlooklikebehindthe
whiteterryclothandtingleinalltherightplaces.ThenIforciblybanishthatthought.

No,no,no.Ain’tgoingtohappen.

AnotherGoogleimagesearchpullsupthereasonwhy:
AmberWilson,supermodel,lingeriedesignerandUNICEFambassador.
SheisthequintessentialstandardofAmericanbeautywithcateyes,thickauburn

hairandaswimsuitbod.Witheachimage,Ifeelmoreinadequateasawomanandasa
humanbeing.WholooksthatgoodfeedingorphansinSouthSudan?Seriously?

Apparently,MarkandAmberarefinitoasacouple,butitdoesn’tmatter.Forguys

likeMark,therearealwayssupermodelsoractressesreadytopounce.Dorky,career-
obsessedregulargalslikemecan’tcompete.Heprobablydoesn’tevenrememberme.
Atleast,notlikeIrememberhim.MyheartbeatshardwhenIthinkofseeinghim
again,butthenIremindmyselfthatallIhavetodoisstaycalm,focused,and
professional—andhe’llnodoubtdothesame.

Ijustprayit’snotarepeatofhighschool.

MARK

“Thisisamajorfuckup.”Stanleypaceshisofficewithsuchfury,I'msurehe’swearing
downthecarpet.Redfacedandspittingashetalks,hishandsflutterintheairlike
angrybirdsashedetailsmy“outrageousbehavior”and“arrogance.”

Isitcross-armedinmychairandtrytocatchhiseye,buthewon’tlookatme.Until

whatwentdowninthatBrooklynnightclublastnight,hewasmybiggestfan.Nowhe’s
makingnoiselikehedoesn’tevenwanttobemyagentanymore.He’soverreacting,of
course.I’msurehewantstocontinuecollectinghisfifteenpercentoneverydollarI
make.

“CanyouevenbegintocomprehendtheamountofspinI’mgoingtohavetoputon

this?Doyouunderstandyoucouldloseallofyourendorsementdeals?”Herubshisred
face.“AndnottomentionwhattheAmericanLeagueandtheYankeesaregoingtodo
toyou?”

Shruggingmyshoulders,Irollmyeyesandshiftinmyseat.Mystatsarestrong,I

havenothingtoworryabout.Besides,Stanleyhasmadealotofmoneysellingmeas
theBadBoyoftheBat.Icrackmyknuckles,butwince.Thetwoknucklesonmyright
handarestillsmartingfromTommyPizza’scheekbone.Iprobablyshouldhavenever
hithimthathard,butwoulda,shoulda,couldahasnoplaceinthisconversationif
Stanleyeverletsmetalk.Pangsofguiltstabmystomachthinkingoftheheartattackhe
hadlastyearandhowmyactionsmightbegivinghimanotherone.Hiseyesare
bulginglikehecan’tbreatheandaveinpulsesinhistemple.

“WhydidyouhavetohitTommy?IfyoupunchedanyotherMetsplayer,it

wouldn’tbeabigdeal,butno,yougottaknockthelightsoutofAmerica’skidbrother.”

HestopspacingtoglanceattherainfallingonCentralParkdownbelow,andIhear

himtakearaggedbreath.Asoundofdisappointmentandfrustration.“So,areyou
goingtotellmethestoryorjustsitthere?”

Pressingmylips,Ilookdownattheabrasiononmyhand.I'mnotthinkingof

Tommyanymore.I’mthinkingofTaniaandhowshewascryingandbeggingmenotto
tellanyoneaboutTommytryingtotakeadvantageofherinthebackroomatthe
nightclub.Asafamousactress,shewasdistraughtandhumiliated,worriedthatthe
storymightgetoutinthepress.AndshewasterrifiedofwhatHarry,herboyfriendand
myYankeesteammate,woulddotoTommyifhefoundout.Againstmybetter
judgement,IpromisedIwouldn’ttellasoulwhathappened.Assheshooklikealeaf

rightinfrontofme,myoutragebuilttoexplosivelevels.Afterthat,Ilefthertogofind
TommyandfuckhimupbetterthanHarryeverwould.Asfarastheworldknows,I
beattheshitoutofAmerica’skidbrotherfornogoodreason.

ButTommyknowswhy.Heknowsexactlywhathedid.
Toobadmyagentdoesn’t.
“Soyouain’tgonnatellme,”Stanleysays,stillglancingoutthewindow.
“It’snotmystorytotell.”
“Alrightthen.”Turningaround,hepointshisrightfingeratme,thesameonehe’s

usedinchantsof“We’re#1”atgames.“Youaregoingintoangermanagement.Youwill
completethecourse.Youwilldopressaboutthecourse.That’sstepone.Gotit?”

MyeyesmeethisandIshuddersomeunderhishotgaze.Inod.“Noproblem.”
Runninghishandsthroughwhat’sleftofhisgrayhair,hesitsonhisdeskandjust

staresatmeshakinghishead.IamagoodtwoheadstallerthanStanleyandhaveat
leastahundredpoundsonhim,butrightnowhe’sthebiggerman.Hewouldhave
handledtheTommythingdifferently.Hewouldhavefoundawaytodosomething
withoutapunch.

“Areyoustillmyagent?”Iask.Myheartisworkingupthenervetoburst.Henods,

butitdoesn’tcalmmedown.“Areyoustillmy...friend?”

Foldinghisarmsacrosshischest,helooksoutatCentralParkagain.“Gohome.

Don’tleaveyourhouse.Stayoutofpublic.Stayoffsocialmedia.Nonightclubs.No
fights.Nonothing.”

“Comeon,Stan…”
HeturnshisgazebacktomeandIlookaway.“Doyouwanttolosemillionsof

dollars?”

“No.”
“ThendowhatIsay.Gohome.I'llhavemoredetailslaterthisafternoon.”
“Don’ttalktomelikeI’mfive.”Iclenchthearmsofthechairandtightenmyjaw.
Ihearhimtakeabreath.“Thendon’tactlikeyouare.”

BackatmycabininthewildsofNewJersey,Ipourmyselfawhiskeyandeasemyself
downonmycouch.That’swhenalltheangerhitslikeaballoffiretomysoul.
GoddamnTommyPizza.Angermanagement?Publicapology?Ishouldbepublicly
thankedforpunchingthatpunk.Andplease,liketheYankeesaregoingtodismisstheir
starplayerfordeckingaMetsguy.

Stanleyhasbannedmefromleavingmyplace,soanightclubisoffthetable.ButI'm

itchingforafixrightnow.Fine.I’llorderin.Whenthewhiskeyhitsme,Ireachformy
littleblackbookofpussy.Yeah,I’moldfashionedthatway.Ihatecellphonesand
refusetoownone.Ithumbthrough.Whohaven’tIhadinawhile?

Distanceisakeyfactor,ofcourse.ItwouldbestupidtocallagirlinCaliforniawhile

I’msittinghereinmycabininVernon,NJ.

Kristen,no.Shescratcheslikeacat.
Elise?No,gotmarriedtosomeNBAguy.Nylatoo,actually.
RekitaiscrazierthanMary,butnotasbatshitinsaneasCeleste.Still,youshould

reallyonlystickyourdickincrazyamaxofonetime,twoifit’saholiday.

Michelle.Taylor.Gia.Allcheerleaders.Ah,I’moverthatfetish.MariawasjustOK

andMollywasfiftyshadestoowild.

IthrowmyheadbackandlaughwhenIseeAmber’sname.WeweretheItCouple

forayear.WewerebothontheSportsIllustratedcover,meholdingabatandher
holdingherboobs.Ourrelationshipworkedforawhilemostlybecauseshe’sreally
bendy—shewasagymnastbeforeshewasamodel.Thenshestartedtopressuremeto
getmarried.Ibalked,tellingherIhadtothinkaboutit,andwhatdidshegoanddo?
BangedoneofmyYankeebros.Idumpedherandshe’sgotthenervetostillbepissed
aboutmebreakingherheart.

Igrabapenandcrossoffhernameuntilshe’snothingbutablackblobonthepage.
ButthenIsee‘Heidi’andgetexcitedjustreadinghername.Yeah.Blonde.

Belgiumneseorwhatevertheycallthemselves.She’sgotanaccentandEnglishislike,
hertenthlanguageorsomething,butthat’sgreatbecauseIamnotinthemoodtotalk.
Imadeacoupleofothernotesbesidesblondeinthebook.

Boobs.Wearsshortskirts.Shy.Likessushi.Wait.Sushi?WasImakingacrudegirl-

on-girljoke?Haha.MaybeBelgiumneseblondeHeidiwillbringafriend.

Ipunchthenumberonmylandlinephoneandsheanswersonthethirdring.
“Hallo?”shesaysinthathotaccent.Mydickjustgotalittlehard.
“Hey,it’sMark.Cometomyplace.I'llsendacar.Youcanbringafriendifyou'd

like.”

There’ssilenceandthenfinally,“Markwho?”
Isigh.Models.“MarkCarrington.Yankeesbaseballplayer.”There’smoresilence.

“Wemetat…”butthenIrealizeIdon’tremember.“Thatthing…”

“Ah,yes,”shecoos.“GoYankees!”
“So,givemeyouraddressandI’llsendacar.Youwanttobringafriend?”
“Ja.”
Ofcourseshedoes.Fishinabarrel.
AfterIsendacarservicetotheUpperWestSide,Ipouranotherwhiskeyandsuckit

backasIcheckmyemail.Stanleysentdetailsofmypunishmentandabsolutionplan.
Fantastic.Mostofitishohum,basicPRshit.Threegamesandafine.Worthit.

Myangermanagementsessionsstarttomorrow,butatleastthelifecoachtherapist

personiscomingouttoVernoninsteadofmegoingtohisofficeinthecity.Guy'sname
isToddMurphyandIwon'tbethefirstathletewithangerissueshe'streated.Iguess
that’shisbiz.I'llgothroughthemotionstokeepStanleyhappy,butIain'tgonnamine
theoceansofmypastwiththisstrangernomatterhowmanylettershehasafterhis
name.

Itakeacoupleofpullsoffmywhiskeyandthenrefillmyglass.
RestofmyscheduleshowsanI’msorrypressconference,whereIhavetodeliver

theapologyStanleywroteformewithfeeling.Stanleyhassometheaterguyhe’s
sendingovertodirectmeasImemorizeit.LikeIdon'talreadyknowwheretosigh,
wheretofrown,wheretoputadramaticpauseandfakethatIactuallygiveafuck
aboutTommyPizza.

Lastontheschedule,IhavetodosomebullshitappearanceatthePrudentialCenter

inNewarkwithTommytoshowthatwekissedandmadeup.TheYankeesandMets
wanttomilkitforallit’sworth,Iguess.Liketheycare.Somecorporateface-saving

thingmostlikely.

Thenmyeyesstoponthelastitemonthelist.Temporaryradiogig.Morningsports

talkshowonalocalstationuntilspringtrainingstarts.Sixweeks?Radio?Ican’teven
imagine.ThedescriptionjustsaysprogrammingisTBA.Alright,then.Fuckit.Iknow
enoughaboutbaseballthatIcanfumblemywaythroughthat,Ifigure.

There’sonelastnoteattheendofStanley’semail.Myeyesblinkatthewording.

Ifyoudon'tdothisradiogigforthenextsixweeks,anddoitwell,Iwilldropyouasa
clientandourrelationshipisfinished.

Nowthatfuckingstings.StanleyhasbeenmyagentsinceIstartedmycareerinthe
minors.Ineverforasecondthoughthewouldreallydropme.Henegotiatedmydeal
withtheYankees.He’stheonethatlinesupmyendorsements.Hehelpedmefindthis
cabinandmyloftinthecity.Hehookedmeupwithagoodaccountantandastylist.
He’stheonewhohelpedmebreakupwithAmberandsquashedthatshitaboutmy
momsothepressdidn’tgetaholdofit.

Hetaughtmetotieatie.
Nowhe’sthreateningtofuckmeover.Andallforsomeradioshowgig?
Anuneasylumpformsinmythroat.Iswallowitdown,butitfeelslikeIswallowed

fireandit'sspreadingthroughmybodytomyarmsandlegsandfingersandtoes.Iget
offthecouchandpacemylivingroom,butitjustpushesthefirethroughmyveins
fasterandhotter.

Unfuckingbelievable.He’smademillionsoffmeandnowactslikeI’mnothing?

Whothehelldoeshethinkheis…

Myheartisbeatingtoofastandmychesttightens.
Ifeelthewhiskeytumblerinmyhandandthrowitagainstthefireplace.Asit

shattersinamillionpieces,myangersplinterstoo.Iturnoverthecouchandthrowa
pottedplantattheTV.Blindwithrage,myangryhandsgrabeverythinginreachand
hurlandtosswhateverIcanacrosstheroom.Ikickholesinthewallandripaparta
pillowuntilitsnowsfeathers.IdothisuntilIamphysicallywornoutandcollapseina
chair,myheartboominginmyears.

Thenthelandlinerings.Maybeit'sStanley.He’scaving.He’scallingtoapologize,

afraidhe’shurtmyfeelings.

“Hello,Stanley."IsoundlikeIhaveasthma.
“Ipickedupyour...guests.”It’smydriver.“Twoyoungladies.”Ihearthemgiggling

inthebackground.“IaminVernon,buttheGPSislosingsignal.Ineeddirections.”

Myeyesdartaroundthecabin,surveyingtheaftermathofmyrage.Iclenchthe

phonetightinmyhand.“Cancel.Takethembackhome.”Islamthephonedown.

Irightthecouchandcollapseontoit.AfterIregainmybreath,Ilookattheemail

againandrereadStanley’slastwords.

Ifyoudon'tdothisradiogigforthenextsixweeks,anddoitwell,Iwilldropyouasa
clientandourrelationshipisfinished.

Iscrolldowntoseeifthere’saPS,butthere’snot.Justthenameoftheradiostationand
theproducer’sname.

W-ALT,NORTHJERSEY’SSOURCEFORALTROCK

GeneralManager/ProgramDirector/Producer:RoseTaylor

Ieasebackinmyseatandbreathe.

RoseTaylor.
Thatcouldn'tbe....butradioshow.Altrock.Ithastobeher.TheRoseTaylorIknew

inhighschool.IonlyknowbecauseI'vedrunkenlyGoogledheronceortwice.She'sall
oversocialmediapostingaboutrockshowsandnewbands.Ialmostaddedheron
Facebookonce,butthencanceledthefriendrequestbeforesheaccepted.

Mythoughtsdrifttoanostalgicplace.Highschool.Senioryear.Fumblingwithher

brastrap.Makingoutwithherinthelibrary.Dryhumpingherinthebackseatofmy
loanercar.Andotherplaces.Man,shewasuppercrust,atleastforLambertville.I
alwaysfeltlikeanidiotandabumaroundher,butalsocalmandconnected.Ismileat
thememoryofoursecretoutings.Yeah,wewouldmakeoutandstuff,butafterward
we'dtalkuntildawn.I'msuresheremembersme.Shehasto,right?

Maybethisradiogigwon’tbethatbadafterall.
Istandandtakeadeepbreathandstretchoutmybody.Iwouldpourmyself

anotherglassofwhiskeybutthebottleisinpiecesonthefloor.Mypiano,however,
wastheeyeofthestorm.Italwaysis.Everyonethinksit’sashowpiece,boughtbya
nouveaurichebumpkintoimpresstheswells.Butit'snot.It’severything.

Isitdownatthebenchandcrackmyfingersoverthekeyboard.Istrikeafew

chordsuntilsomethinginmeclicks.IstartwithsomeDebussyandthenflowintosome
Gershwin.IpeakwithRachmaninoff,reallythrowingmyselfintoit,poundingawayat
thekeysasthehoursflypast.Butwhendawnhits,IcomedownwithsomeChopin,like
atruegentleman.

ROSE

BustUpenergydrinkandSputnikvodkaaresubsidiariesofAmericanBeverages,sothe
naturalPRbabywhenmatingthesetwobrandsisCrazyCosmicCocktail.They're
debutingwith—OMG—afuckinglasershowatthePrudentialCenterinNewark.Bust
Up'sspokesman,Mr.MarkCarrington,iscontractuallyobligatedtoattend.Andsoisthe
guyhejustpunchedintheface,theMets’reliefpitcherTommyPizza,whoalso
happenstobethefaceofSputnik.

Thisshouldbefun.
EveryoneandImeaneveryoneatW-ALTisbuzzingabouttheCrazyCosmicCocktail

LaserShow.Becksisalreadycountingthemoneyshe'llmakeinairtimesalesandI
noticeshegotherhairandnailsdid.NightVixenisameme-makingfactoryposting
funnystuffallovertheinternet.EvenChris,whohatesallthingscorporateand
contrived,istitteringaroundthestationtodaygrinninglikeLedZeppelinstarted
touringagain.

“Ican’twaitfortonight."Heslidesaplaylistprint-outacrossmydesk.“Imean,what

iftheyfight?Mymoney’sonMark.Youwannagetinontheofficepool?”

“No,thanks.”Iforceasmile.“Notmything.”
BecksisrightbehindChris,tappingwithfuryatheriPad,butshelooksupandcocks

apenciledeyebrowatme.“Areyousure?Imean,don’tyouhavetheinsidescoopsince
youandMarkCarringtonwerebestbudsinhighschool?”She’snotevenbotheringto
hidehermockingtonetoday.

Irollmyeyes.“Don’tyouhavesomesalescallstomake?”
Theyleavemeinpeacetotendtomyplaylist,payrollandanxiety.Ihaven’tseen

MarkCarringtoninthefleshsincegraduation.NottosayIhaven’tthoughtofhimin
thelastsixyears.AndmaybeonetimehedriftedintomyheadwhenIwasonthe
turnpikeandImissedmyexit.

Okay,sothatwasonlyacoupleofmonthsago….
WhatamIgoingtoweartonight?Whatdoyouevenweartoalasershow?How

shouldIactwhenIseehim,friendly-professionalorneutral-professional?

Jeez.Thisishighschoolalloveragain.

NightVixenandIdoalastminutebeautycheckoutsidethevelvetropeatthe

PrudentialCenterentrance.No,myhairhasn’tbeendestroyedbythelightsprinkleof
snow.Andyeah,herblacklipstickisstillperfectlylined.Welooksupercuteinourown
way;meinmyBasicBitchchic,herinhervampirepromensemble.Mystomachis
tightwithnerves,butNightVixenhasthisweirdcalmingeffectonme.Couldbeher
paranormalhypnoticpowers.Oritcouldbethatshe’sjustgotasincerecharm.She
alwaysmeanswhatshesays.

“Youlookreallypretty,”shepurrsandtheknotinmybellyloosens.
“Youtoo.”Andshedoes.She’sahotvampire.
Doormandudefindsournamesonhislistandweenter.Aftercheckingmycoatand

suckinginadeepbreath,IfollowNightVixenintothearena,wherearainbowoflasers
damnnearburnsoutmycorneas.Thespaceisalivewithloudelectronicaandbeamsof
lightbouncingeverywhereandthenunitingtoformtheBustUpandSputniklogos
flickeringinmidair.

Aftermyeyesadjust,Iscanthespacetoseethepooractors/waitershiredtowear

silverspacesuitsandhandoutcosmiccocktailsandsomeprettyyetunidentifiable
bitesoffusionfood.“Horsd’Orbit,”oneofthewaiterssays,offeringmeablobona
toothpick.

Ittakeslikecreamcheeseandsoap.
W-ALTpersonnelarescatteredaroundtheroomwithdrinksintheirhands.Chris

wavesfromacorner,whereIknowhe'llhideallnightavoidingpeople.Becksraises
herwineglasswithasmirk,butIcanseeshe’salreadyeyeingsomecorporatetypesfor
adsales.

Presspassesdanglefromeveryotherneck,andascurryofyoungdressed-to-

impressPRchicksdashaboutwithbluetoothstuckedintheirearsandiPadsclutchesto
theirchests.Allinimpossiblyhighheels.

“Yougottaadmirethat!”NightVixenshoutsoverthemusicasoneofthempasses.
“Girl’sgotsomefantasticbalancingskills!”Ishoutback.
Ispotacoupleoffamiliar,famousfaces.Youknow,thatguyinthatTarantinothing

withalltheblood?He’slessbloodytonight,butshorterthanIeverexpectedandhe’s
talkingtothatguywhoplaysawerewolfonTV.NexttomeNightVixenbeamswith
delightatWolfBoy.Ialsoseeagaggleofyoung,superskinnymodelswithlegsupto
theirchins.It’saroomfullofAmberWilsons.Almostinstantly,Ideflate.Withtheir
cranednecksanddartingeyes,Icantellthey’relookingforaballertoball.Mark
Carringtonwon'tevenhavetoopenhismouthtogettailtonight.Ugh.

NightVixenandIgrabCosmicCocktailsoffthetrayofapassingspacemanandtake

tentativesips.It’stheworstthingI’vehadinmymouthsincemyroommateGeotried
tomaketofupancakes.

“Poison.”Igrabmythroat.Theterribleconcoctionreallydoestastelikearsenic.At

least,thewayIimaginearsenicwouldtaste.Bittersweetanddeadlywithfakesugar.

“I’mgrabbingadrink.Arealdrink,”NightVixentellsme.GirlhasboozeESP.If

thereisarealbarinhere,shewillsniffitout.“YouwantaTequilaSunrise?”

Inod.“Moretequilalesssunrise.Thanks.”
AsNightVixenskulksoffthroughtheforestofsupermodelstofindusliquidgold,I

scanthecrowd.Sofar,noMarkCarrington.Iguesshe’sgoingtomakesomestunning,
dramaticentrance.Isuddenlyfeelsuperconsciousofmyreddress.Iwentwithsexy

insteadoflasershowcomfy,butnowI’mdrowninginregret.Thedressistooshort,too
red,andtooclingyforabodylikemine.IfeellikeJezebelattheball.Itugitdown.I
wanttolookgood,butnotlikeI’mtryingtocatchhiseye.

EventhoughIam.Aren'tI?
Oh,bro.Youshouldkillyourself.
Tothisday,thosewordsstillsting.DanePeterssaidthemwhenMrs.Singletary

announcedMarkCarringtonandIwouldbeplaywritingpartnersfortheentirespring
semestersenioryear.IrememberthelookonMark’sfacetoo,thethousandyardstare
ofannoyanceatthepotentialhittohispopularity.

IstillwincetothisdaythinkingaboutMark’sreactionwhenDanesaidthat.Withan

eyerollandahuff,heturnednotjusthisface,buthisentirebodyawayfromme.His
brosslappedhisbackandofferedwordsofsympathylikehewasgoingofftowar,while
therestoftheclasstittered.Mortified,Islumpeddowninmyseatandpulledmyhair
forwardtohidemyredface.

Therelationshipdeterioratedfromthere.Feelingswentfromdelicatetoleranceto

aggressivehatredinourveryfirstmeetingatthelibrary.Allwehadtodowaspicka
settingandcharactersforthetheatricaltwocharacter/oneactmasterpiecewe’dbeen
assigned.Butrightfromtheget-go,Ihadtoshutdownhisonlythreeideas,allofwhich
involvedMLBplayersconfrontingenemypitchers.

“Fine,”he'dsnappedwithoutevenmeetingmyeye.“Justpicksomething.”
Thewholewritingprocesswentlikethat,mesuggestingthings,himsneeringand

rollinghiseyes.Bythetimewefinallymadeittodressrehearsal,tothesceneI'd
writtenwiththeclimaxofthecharacters'relationship,adramatickissthatIhadn't
reallyexpectedtohavetoactoutmyself,I'dratherhavepunchedMarkthanevenfake
kissedhim.

ButmystraightAstreakwasontheline,soIgaveintoarehearsalkiss,barelya

peck.Somehow,IfeltthatkissdowntomytoesasIsteppedbackfromhimlikeI'd
beenstruckbylightning.

Predictably,Markjustfrownedandshookhishead.“That’snothowthesetwo

characterswouldkiss,”hesaidlikehewassuddenlySpielberg.“Thatwashowyou
wouldkissyourgaypalataparty.Nothowyouwouldkisssomeoneyoulove.And
thesetwocharactersareheadoverheelsforeachother,so…”

“Well,how…”
“Comehere.”Hecurvedhisfinger.
ThatsecondkissIfeltinmysoul.Timemaycloudmymemory,butIswearitlasted

foranhour.Partofmeisstillinthatkisstothisday.Thememorystillmakesmemiss
Turnpikeexits,forgod’ssake.

“Rose.”
NightVixenisbackatmysidewiththefirst,Iamsure,ofmanyTequilaSunrises.I

takeasipandallofMexicoburnsmytongue.“Thanks.It'sjustwhatIneeded."

Sheputsherblacklipstomyears.“Seethosetwoguysoverthere?”Shepointsa

blackfingernailtowardtwobesuitedcorporatelookingtypeswithslickedbackhairand
expensivephones.

“Whataboutthem?”
“Rumoronthestreetis,thosetwodronesarefromHalcyonMedia.”

Fuck.Halcyonistheevilmediaconglomeratethat’sbeentryingtobuyusoutfor

years.Ilookthesuitsupanddown,thenwatchDocBingsaunterovertothemasifon
cue.RobertE.Leelooksalittlepanickedinhisdoggiebag.Thelasersandbooming
synthmusicmustbescaringhimoutofhislittleYorkiemind.“Maybe,”Isay.

NightVixenshakesherhead.“MaybeDocreallyisgoingtosellthestation.”
Ishrugmyshouldersandtakeanotherlongdrink.“Theycouldbefromsomeother

corporation,”IsaywithacalmnessIrealizeismoreformybenefitthanhers.The
HalcyonrumorhasbeencirculatinglongerthanIcaretocount.Nowayit'strue.Doc
would'vesoldusalongtimeagoifheevermeantto.“Besides,"Ireason,"atthisparty,
they'remorelikelyfromBustUpandwanttobuyairtimebecauseofMark.”

“Maybe.”ShedoesatwirlyfingerwavetoWolfieacrosstheroom.Hewinksather.

“He’sgotmydigits,”shegushes.

Ieyeuptheactor.He’sbeachbodyhotwithalotofhairanddimples.Helooks

differentwhennotawolf,butthere’sstillsomethinganimalabouthim.“Goodscore."I
takeanotherlongswigandthelightsstarttospinevenmorecrazily.Wow.Thesunless
tequilaisreallykickingmyass.

Thenthehouselightsgoup,thankgod,andthelasersstopattackingmytipsyvision.

Theaudienceofjournalists,actorsandsupermodelsgoessilentonebyone.

ThenLambertville’sown,theBadBoyatBatandmyonetimeplaywritingmakeout

partner,MarkCarringtonentersthearenaandstepsuptoapodium.

Helookseveryinchasdevastatinglyhotashedidinhighschool,thougholderanda

littlerougheraroundtheedgesnow.Itsuitshim.Andthatdickishstrutisstillonpoint.
Myfacegetshot.Ashestandsbehindthepodium,anotherman,hisagentorPRrep
probably,speaksabouthowawesomeMarkis.It’sadroneinmyearsbecausemyeyes
arefeastingonMark.

He’sdefhotterthantheGoogleImagesrevealed.ThelongerIstare,thehotterI

realizehe'sbecomesincehighschool.Hisbodyfilledoutyetremainedlean.He’staller
too,welloverthesixfeethewasbarelyscrapingsenioryear.Hisreddishbrownhairis
closecropped,becauseIguessthatwastheonlywayhecouldtamethosewildcurls.
Hisnose—alwaystheconversationpieceofhisface—isstillprominent,butina
masculineway.Itpointsdownashischinpointsup.Butit’sreallyhiseyesthatrulethe
day.EventhoughI'magoodtwentyfeetaway,Icanseehisblueirisesarestillas
penetratingastheywereinthelibrary.WhenhetrainedthemonmeIwould
immediatelyshutthefuckupandforgetwhateverpointIwasmaking.They’redoing
thesamethingrightnow…myeyesdarttofloorandmyfacefeelslikeit’sonfire.

Didheseeme?Recognizeme?
Nah.Nowayhe'dremember.NotMark.
“Damn."NightVixenprodsmyarm.“Thatguyishot.Notmytype,butdamn.”
ThesunsethasarrivedonmyfirstTequilaSunrise,soNightVixenprocuresmea

second,whichIsuckdownwithfuryasflashbulbspoponMarkandTommyPizza
shakinghands.AfterIsuckdownmythird,IseeDocBingwavingmeovertowherehe
standswiththeBadBoyatBatandhisPRteam.It’shighschoolreuniontime.Powered
bytequila,likeallthebestreunions.

Isteelmyresolveandsteadytherattlingoficecomingfromtheglassinmyhand.

WhenIapproachthehuddle,MarkandIlockeyes.Hehasnoexpressiononhisface,so

IdomybestLadyGagaPokerFacetoo,eventhoughI'mdyinginside.

Thenhislookchanges.Henarrowshiseyesandthrowshisshouldersback.
“RoseTaylor,thisisMarkCarrington,"DocBingsays.
Marklooksatmelikehe’slookingaroundme,overme,throughme.“Nicetomeet

you,Rose.”

Thelackofrecognitionhitsmelikeasuckerpunch.Ithoughthemightneeda

momenttorecognizeme,mightneedtohearmynamefirst,butreally?Iopenmy
mouthtospeakbutheinterrupts.“Later."Hestalksoffaftersomemodelchick.

“Iguesshedoesn’trememberyouafterall,”Beckswhispersinmyearwithasmirk,

andIregreteveradmittingtoherthatIknewthisasshole.Whenwasit?Ohyeah,
drunkattheofficeChristmasparty,braggingaboutcelebencounters.

Ifume.Irage.Iwanttovomit.IfeellikeTommyPizzamusthavefeltwhenMark

landedthatsuckerpunch.Actually,Itakethatback.Aphysicalblowwouldhavebeen
easiertotake.

BythetimemyfourthTequilaSunrisehasgonedown,MarkCarringtonhasexited

thebuildingand,althoughitwascloisteredbehindtheDJbooth,Ihavelocatedthe
secretVIPbar.SohasTommyPizza.

Atalldrinkofwater,Tommy’slongbrownhairstopsbluntlyathiswideshoulders.

He’snotabadlookingguy,inspiteofthebeadyeyesandbruisedleftcheekbone.He
tellsmehowmuchhehates‘thesestoopidevents’andasksmeifIlikethechicken
fingersIkeepstealingfromhisplate.

“They'reawesome,”IslurasIshoveanotheroneintomymouth.So...hungry...
He’skeepingmeintopshelftequilasinceItoldhimIwenttohighschoolwith

Mark.“Suckerpunch,”hesneers,pointingtohisdamagedface.

Inodinsympathy.Iknewit.
ThemediaandcelebsemptiedoutwhenMarkleft.Nowonlyluckyfanswhoscored

aguestlistslotandafewradiofolksremaintomackonfreefoodandwhateverisleft
ofthoseshittyCosmicCocktails.NightVixenlefthoursagowithWolfie.Justfans,radio
folkandoneMetsplayernow.Anddrunkme.

Tommynudgestheplateofhalf-eatenchickenfingerstowardmeandplopsontothe

nextbarstool.“Youcanhavetherest,”hesayswiththesamesmileI'veseeninhis
SputnikVodkaads.

Anotherdrinklandsinfrontofme,becauseapparentlywhenyou’reabaseball

playerpeoplewillkillthemselvestoserveyou,andIamlovingtheattentionandthe
topshelftequila.Nomoreoff-brand,open-barshitforme.

“WhatwasMarklikeinhighschool?”Tommyasks,sippingathisowndrink.“Was

heaviolentthugthentoo?”

AsIlingerwithmyglassagainstmylips,Igivehimaside-eyeandhisfacesoftens.
“Imean,look…”Heglancesaroundandthentrainshiseyesbackonme.“I’mjust

tryin’tounderstandtheguy,youknow?”

Isighandnod.IrememberMarkstruttingaroundlikeheownedourhighschool.

Nevermindthathedid,dammit.Hewassodamnpopular,eventhen.I'malmostblind
drunkandIsluroutacoupleofwords,somethingabouthiscockyposing,butthen
suddenlyIrememberkissinghimandIforgetwhatIwassaying.

TommycurveshisplumplipsintoanothersmileandslidesmyTequilaSunrise

closer.“Iknow.”Hesighs,andashissmiledropshiseyesgrowcold.Helooksdown
andfingershisphoneonthetable.“Whydoyouthinkhe’slikethat?”

Ireleaseadrunkgroan.“Becausereasons.”
“Buthisfamilywasokay,right?”heasks.Hiseyesaresowidethathelookslikemy

fiveyearoldniecerightnow,allinnocentandsweet.Ifeelthisweirdurgetomakehim
happy.

“Godno.”Isnortadejectedlaughandtakeanotherlongsip.
TommygrabsmyhandandsqueezesandIfeellikehe’smybestfriendofalltime.

“Tellmemore.”

AndIdo.ItellhimallaboutMark’smessofamomandhiswreckofadadand

disasterofachildhooduntilInoticemyglassisjustice.

“Letmegetyouanother,”hesays.
MyvisionisblackaroundtheedgesandIhavethisneedtopressmyforeheadtothe

bar.“Nah.”Istruggletomyfeet.“I’mgood.”

“Ibetyouare.”
Scootinghisbodycloser,Tommywrapshisarmaroundmybodyandleansme

againsthim.“Let’sgosomeplacequiet.”

Itrytogetmyarmoffhim,butheistoostrongandIampinnedtohimandhe’s

leadingmetoadarkarenagatebehindthebar.Isuddenlyfeelvery,very,verysmall.
HemasheshisfacetomineandstickshistongueinmymouthasItrytopushhimoff.
“Justrelax,”hemurmurs.

Hisotherhandisonmythightryingtomaneuverbetweenmylegsandhe’sstill

draggingmeaway.Fromlight.Fromlasers.Frompeople.Tosomedarkcorner.My
eyesdartbehindhimuntilIseethefamiliarfaceofW-ALT’snoonDJ.

“Ralph!”IcalloutasIsquirmawayfromTommyandbangintoawall.Tommy

grabsmyarm,butIshakeitoffandstumbleintotheskinny,safearmsofRockin’
Ralph.

“YouOK?”RalphlooksovermyshouldertowardTommy.
MyarmhurtsfromTommytwistingit.IrubthebruiseIcanalreadyfeelforming.

“Yeah,I’mfine,”Isay.“Canyoutakemehome?Please.”

“Ofcourse,Rose,”Ralphsays,hisvoicegonehardallofasudden.“Igotyou.Let’s

getyououtofhere.”

MARK

“Isthatit?”Imutter.“Really?”

Myeyesaregluedtothecrumblingredbrickbuildingwiththeflappingbannerin

frontofStanley’sMercedesconvertible.Theradiobuildinglookslikeaplacewhere
post-apocalypticsurvivorswouldhideoutfromzombies.IexpectAndrewLincoln
fromWalkingDeadtorunoutwitharifleandshootmeinthehead.Partofmewishes
hewould.

IspottheancientfalloutsheltersignandknowIgotsomewoodontheballabout

theplace.Partofmecan’tbelieveRoseTaylorworkshere,butpartofmecan.Trueto
form,shewasascoldasevertomeattheparty.ShelookedatmelikeIwastrash.But
shealsolookedgood.Shelostweight,thoughnotasmuchasitlookedlikeinher
pictures.That’sgood.Shereallydidn’tneedtoloseanounce.Especiallynotifit
detractedfromthoselusciouscurvesofhers...

StanleyletsoutalongbreathnexttomeandIcan’ttellifhe’sinagreementabout

thisbombshelterorannoyedwithmeagain.Ifeelahotshotofangerinmychest,but
rememberwhatthatheadshrinkerToddsaidandcountbackwardsfrom100.Around
90,theangerhasgone,butitwasjustalittleburstthistime.“Thisisabadidea,Stan.
Thisplacelooks…"Ican'tfindthewords.

“Thisplaceisperfect,”hereplieswiththesamesternnessI’vecometoexpectlately

fromhim.“You’rethebigfishintheminisculepondhere.It’sgonnalooklikeyou’re
swoopingintosavetheplace.Wecanplayuptheheroangle.”

Isigh.It’scooltobe‘thatguy’sometimes,whenit’ssomeveteran’scharityBBQor

visitingtheMake-A-Wishkids.Butthispileofshittybricksneedsademolitioncrew,not
asavior.

Alright,then.Timetodustoffthecape.MaybesavethejobsofacoupleDJ’s.
Includingthegirlwhohurtmeinhighschool.Igrimace.AslongassheandIcankeep

itprofessional,it’llbefine,Itellmyself.

Stanleynodsatthebuilding.“Showtime,slugger.”

Thefirstthingthathitsmeinthelobbyisthesmellofstalebeerblendedwithancient
tobaccosmoke,barelydisguisedbyacheapfloralairfreshener.Atleastsomeoneis
trying.Thewallsareafadedyellow-whiteandthereceptiondesklookslikeitwas

foundonthestreetwithaFREEsigntapedtoit.Behinditsitsablowupdollthat
someoneputafancydressandaheadseton.

Istarethedolldownforaminute,debatingifthisisapracticaljokeorjustan

indicatorofthebudgetthisstudiooperateswith,thattheyhiredablowupdollfortheir
receptionist.

Istartat100againlikeToddMurphytaughtme.99.98.97…
Anolderwomanboundsoutofanofficeandcatchesmebytheshoulders,which

makesmestiffeninsurprise.She’sgotahugemaneofsexy-messyredhairandwhat
havetobebrandnewsiliconetits.Theperfectrevenge.IfRosehasn’tchangedsince
highschool—andjudgingbytheamountofside-eyeIcaughtfromherlastnight,she
hasn’t—thenhittingonthiscougarinplainsightwilldefinitelygetariseoutofher.

“I’mBeckyLynch.Becks.”Sheletsgoofmyshoulders,butonlytosqueezemy

hand.She’signoringStanleycompletely.

IcatchhereyeandletitlingerforabituntilIfeelherhandmeltinmine.Thatwas

aneasyball,waytoosimpletoknockouttathepark.“Youhaveonehellofgripthere.
Evertugatabat?”

Icantellbyhernaughtysmilethatshegetsit.
Hercheeksreddenandshelowersherchin.“I’mgladtohaveyouonourteam,”she

purrs.

Behindme,Stancoversasnortbycoughingloudlyintohispalm.
“Well,miss.”Ileanclosetoherandlowermyvoice.“I’mateamplayer.”
She’sgotamomvibe,butshe’slookingatmelikeI’mcandy.“Wemetyesterday,

youknow.”Hercool,whitehandisinmineandIgivehertheeyetreatment.“Ididn’t
haveachancetogetyournumber,though.”She’ssparklingrightbackatmewiththe
matchedaggressionofacagedtiger.Yougottaloveolderwoman.Theydon’tfuck
aroundwhentheyfuckaround.

ButnoRoseTayloryet,whichmeansnomakingabigshowofaddingthiscougarto

theblackbookofpussy.WhenIdothat,IwantRosetoseeithappen.“I’llmakesureto
getyourstoday.”Igrinather,andStancoughsagainbehindme.Fine,ifRoseisn’t
goingtoshow,I’llgetamoveon.“So,wheredowestart?”

Beforetheredheadcananswer,possiblybecauseshe’sstilldistractedlyfeelingup

mybicepwithherpencil-sharpfingernails,someoneelse,aguy,yellsdownthe
hallway.“Becks?Isthatthenewguy?BringhimonbacktoRose’soffice.”

Stanleyslapsmyback.“Goodluck,kid.”
Myheartskipsabeat.“Youain’tstaying?”Iask,inavoicethat’slessconfidentthan

I’dlike.

HiseyesstayonmeandIseeatwitchonhismouth.“You'reonyourown,kid.”
ThenI’moffdowntherabbitholewithnoonebutRedtoguideme.

RoseTaylor’sofficeisveryRoseTaylor,butRoseTaylorain’tinit.Ishouldhave
expectedshewouldmakemewait.HowlongdidIusedtowaitinthelibraryforher?
Oroutsideherhouseinmycar?Orafterschoolbythecanal?Hell,halfourhangouts
weremewaitingonher,toodopeduponendorphinstorealizeIwasbeingjerked
around.Thisissoher.

EvenRedhasabandonedme.Theguywhocalledusback,Chrissomethingorother,

wenttofetchcoffee,whichI’msurewillbeatrocious.SoI’mleftalonewithRose’s
things.

Herofficewallsarecoveredwithpostersandconcertbillslikeit’swallpaper.Mostof

thebandsI’veneverheardof,butIrecognizeacouplebignames.PearlJam,for
example.

Thatgetsthememorybankgoing.Jesushowmusiccouldstartanargument

betweenus.AtthetimeIwasstillacountryfan(blameLambertville).Iusedtotrollher
withTobyKeithateverypossibleopportunity.

Wonderifhestillmakeshercringe.
Herdeskiscontrolledchaos.Cluttered,butthereseemstobeanorder,likethings

justpileupandshe’sgottoconstantlyshiftherpriorities.Ibetshecomplainstoanyone
whowilllistenabouthowbusysheis.Shedidthatbackinhighschooltoo,always
stressingaboutclassesandhomeworkandherperfectGPA.She’ssuchaliar,though.
Shelovedtheenergyofworkingthathard.Evenwhenshewasswampedwithfinals,
she’dvolunteerforextrawork,orextracurricular,orextra-anythingshethought
wouldbecool.It’soneofthethingsIlikedabouther,howshealwayskeptmeonmy
toes.

Sometimestoofaronmytoes,ifyouknowwhatImean.
Ihearabeepandseeherphonelyingfaceuponherdeskwithamessagefrom

somecontactnamedGeo.Isthataguy?Herguy?Nah,she’dbroadcastthatalloverher
socialmedia.Wouldn’tshe?

SuddenlyIregretnotFacebook-stalkingheronemoretimebeforeIcameintoday.
Ifocusmyeyesonthemessage,unabletoresist.

Isthatdumbbaseballjerkindahouse?

Fantastic.

Icollapseinoneofthechairsinfrontofherdesk,thenimmediatelystandup.Fuck

that.I’mnotwaitingcomfortablyforher.

Ileanonherdesk,butthenthinkno,noway.Tooposed.Tryingtoohard.
Imovearoundherdeskandmakemyselfcomfortableinherchair.Yeah,that’sthe

ticket.Iputmyfeetuponherdeskandsprawlout.Thiswillabsolutelypissheroff.I
toywiththeideaofcontinuingtopretendIhavenocluewhosheis.Ilikethatfirein
hereyes,theonethatsetoffimmediatelyatthepartylastnight.

IhearhervoiceinthehallandIjumpalittle,buteasebackintothechairandcatch

mybreath.Beslow.Beeasy.

Thisislikeeyeingthepitcherashereelsup.I’mgonnahitthatballhard.Myheart

slowsdownandIgotothatplaceofpurecalmandfocuslikeI’monhomeplate.Batin
myhand.Rightathomeintheworld.

Chrispokeshisheadintheoffice.“Hey,man.”Hestepsin.Roseisrightbehindhim,

andwhensheseesmyfeetonherdesk,hereyesflashwithredhotanger.Icrossmy

feetandsmile.Chrisfaltersatseeingmeloungingthere,butonlyforasecond.“Uh,
Mark.ThisisRoseTaylor.”

Inod.“Sure,wemetlastnight.You’retheproducer,right?”
Shecrossesherarmsandglares,sayingnothing.Ihearhertaketheworld’sdeepest

breathandexhalepainfullyslowly.Moresilence.Hotstare,butoh,ice,icebaby.Ifeela
tugatmycrotch.SheispissedandIfuckingloveit.

“Um.”Chrisscratcheshishead.“Well,I’llleaveyoutwotoit.”
“Later,dude,”Ireply,butwithoutbreakingeyecontactwithRose’sred-hotglower.
Herlonghairhangsdowntoherwaist.Evenlongerthanitusedtobebackinhigh

school,whenI’drunmyhandsthroughit,clenchafistinit,pullheragainstmeand...

Stayfocused,Mark.Herfaceisthesameasitwasinhighschool,butIswearher

eyesaregreener.Imatchherglarewithanevenbroadersmile.“So,MissProducer,
whatdowedonow?”

Shecrinkleshernoseatmeanddropsherhandstoherhips.Thesuddenmovement

makeshertitsjiggle.Ismileandletmyeyesjuststaythereonherchesticles.Shenever
likedbrasandIhavealwaysappreciatedthatchoice.She’spositivelyscowlingnowand
herfaceisred,buthernipplesareharderthanRed’s.

“Firstyougetyourfuckingfeetoffmydesk,MarkCarrington.”

ROSE

Thewalkfrommycartothestation’sfrontdoorwasicyandcold,butstillIburned
withanger.MyarmisstillthrobbingfromTommygoddamnPizzatryingtotwistitoff
lastnight.Bastard.

Thismorning,Iresenteverythingandeveryone.Myhangoverhasnothingtodo

withit.

AndnowIhavetodealwiththisshit.MarkCarrington.Big-headed,egotistical,prick

ofahighschoolpunkwhogrewupintojustasbigofanegotisticalbaseballplayer.
Goingbyhisbehaviorlastnight,Iguesshisgameplanispretendinghedoesn’tknow
meatall?

Iknowitwassixyearsago,butit’snotlikeit’sbeensixdecades.Hashetakentoo

manybaseballstothehead?

Maybehe’sjusthadtoomanymodelssincethen.Hecan’tkeepusnormalgirls

straightanymore.

AfterIdropmystuffonmydesk,Igograbaweakcupofcoffeefromthe

breakroomtoprepareformymeetingwithMark,whichisonlyminutesaway.Itake
mytimeaboutit,too.Lingerinthebathroomtodoublecheckmyarms.Iworelong
sleevestoday,thankstoTommyfuckingPizza.Heleftabruisearoundmybicep,
telltalefingersandall.

OnegoodthingI’llsayaboutMark—Idon’tknowhisreasons,butatleasthepicked

therightassholeMetsplayertosuckerpunch.

Myshort-livedgoodwilltowardmyoldhighschoolflingevaporates,however,the

secondIstridebackintomyoffice.TheBadBoyatBatsitsinmyofficechairwithhis
feetproppedonmydesk,wearingasmirksosexyIcan’tdecideifIwanttoslaporkiss
him.

Slap.Definitelyslap.
ThoughIhavetoadmit,helookswaytoohotfor6:45inthemorning.Hishairisstill

wetfromashower,histightblueT-shirtshowsoffthemusclesinhisarmsandchest
andthosejeanslookliketheyweremadetoaccentuatehislargepackage.

ThankgodforthoseuglyassinAdidassneakersparkedfrontandcenteronmy

desk,orIthinkIwould’vebeenoverwhelmedbythehotness.Luckilythesneakers
clashwiththerestofhislook,andremindmeagainexactlywhoI’mdealingwith.The
game-obsessedhotheadwhobrokemyheartyearsago,anddoesn’tevenhavethe

gumptiontorememberdoingit.

Oratleast,hepretendshedoesn’t.Thatlittlesmirkstilltoyingaroundtheedgesof

hislipsmakesmethinkthathisfakeWemetlastnightlinewasdesignedjusttopissme
off.

Well.Twocanplayatthatgame.“I’mwaiting,”Isay,eyingthosesneakers

pointedly.

Inaslow,deliberatemove,heswingsthemdownoffthedesk.Hedoesnot,

however,gethisassoutofmychair.

“So,”hesays.“Whenareyougoingtothankme?”
Ileanoverthedesktoglareathimcloseup.Ispentthelastcoupleofdaysemailing

himconstantly,hearingnothingback,andaskingthestudiotofulfillridiculous
requeststhathestipulatedinhiscontract.Heevenmadeusgivehimaspecial-edition
DerekJeterbobblehead.Imean,whatisthatevenabout?“Thankyouforwhat,
exactly?”

“Forcominginheretodothisgig.Savingyourstation’sbacon.I’mnotexactly

gettingasalaryfromyouguys,y’know…”

Itrytoshootboltsofelectricityoutofmyeyes.Unfortunatelythatdoesn’twork.

Evenworse,itfeelslikemyrockhardnipsmightdothatinstead.WhydoIgetsoturned
onbyhisassholery?“You’vegottobejoking.”

Hesmiles.“IfIturneddownthisgig,thisstationwould‘gocountry’andyouknow

it.”HeleansinsocloseIcansmellthetingeofhisshavingcreamandhisown
particulararomabeneathit.Healwayshadagreatsmellandmybodyisrespondingto
itagainstmywill.

“Andwhat’sittoyouifwedid‘gocountry,’Mr.Carrington?”Iask,oneeyebrow

raised,handsplantedfirmlyonthedeskbetweenus.I’mcallingthisbluffonceandfor
all.Nowayhebroughtupcountry,theworstgenreontheplanet,justbycoincidence.
Notafterthewayheusedtotorturemewithit.

“Well…”Hiseyeshookintomine.Fuckinghell.They’resodamnbluethey’realmost

violet.Samestunning,intense,near-immobilizingstareasalways.LuckilyI’vehadalot
ofyearstopracticestandinguptoguyslikehimnow.I’mnotahighschoolerwitha
crushanymore.

Sowhydomykneesfeelweak?
“Iknowhowmuchyouhatecountry…”Markcocksaneyebrowatmetosellhis

point.

“Andhowdoyouknowthat,exactly,Mr.AnonymousBallplayerWhoHasNever

LaidEyesOnMe‘TilLastNight?”Inarrowmyowneyesrightbackathim.Fora
second,hisgazedipstomycleavage,andIusethemomenttomyadvantage,pulling
myarmstogethertogivehimjustenoughofaglimpsetoleavehimhotformore.

Lethimenjoythehotseatforaminute.
“Ihaveapolicyaboutgirls,”hesays,andhisvoiceissteady,buthisdilatedpupils

andpartedlipstelladifferentstory.Good.Istillhavesomeeffectonhim,nomatter
howmanysupermodelshe’shookedupwithsinceme.

“Kissandrun?”Isuggestwithapointedeyebrowlift.
Tomysurprise,helaughs.“Close.”Thosegoddamneyes.Howaretheysoblue?It’s

notfair.Thatcolorshouldbeillegal.“Isteerclearofanygirlsfrommypastwholook

pissedoffaboutmyveryexistence.”

“Mustbealonglistofpeopleyouhavetoavoid,”Iretort.
“Ah,Rose,”hesighs,andmynameinhismouthdoesterriblethingstome.My

kneessaginprotest.LuckyformeI’mstillleaningagainstthedesk.“Youhaven’t
changedabit,youknow.”

Ican’ttellifthat’sadmirationorregretinhiseyesashesaysit.Suppressingalaugh,

Irollmyeyes.“Neitherhaveyou,Mark.”

Hegrins.“Well,Iamabitricher.Andmorefamous.Also,Ithinkthetouchofgray

thingthat’sstartinginmyhairreallyaddscharacter,don’tyou?”heasks,leaning
forwardasiftopointoutgrayhairs.NotthatIcanseeanydottinghisreddish-brown
locks,croppedsomuchshorternowthantheyusedtobeinhighschool.

Iletoutabittersigh.“Yeah,well,let’shopeyourfameandfortunepaysoffforour

studio,too.C’mon,Mr.Carrington,timetoearnyourunpaidkeep.”

Withoutanotherword,Iturnandmarchoutoftheoffice.Behindme,ittakeshima

secondtofumbleatthedeskbeforeherisestofollowme.Partofmehopes,alittle
vindictively,thatit’sbecausehe’sstrugglingtoconcealhisexcitementintheprocess.

Aglanceovermyshouldercatcheshimfidgetingwiththecrotchofhispants,andI

can’tresistavictorioussmirkasIspinawayandaimdownthehall.Throughthedoor
oftheDJbooth,NightVixencatchesmyeyeandwavesMark’sprintedbiooverher
head.Great,shehashisintrolinedup.

Behindme,IhearMarkcrackhisknuckles.Thismustbehispre-gamewarm-up.

Wow,eventhat’sannoying.

“Goodluck,”NightVixenwhispers,touchingmyshoulderassheexitsthebooth.
InodbeforeIturntoMark.“Right.YouremembereverythingfromthevideoChris

sentyou?”

Basically,wedumbeddownradiohostingforMarktomakeitasidiot-proofas

possible.Allhehastodoissitintheboothandbabbleaboutsportsballorwhatever.I’ll
runallthebuttons,thetech,lineuptheintros,queueupsongsbetweenbits,andman
thelines.Youknow,alltheactualwork.

ButwhenIhandhimtheincrediblyexpensiveheadphonesChrispurchasedfor

him,MarkcrinkleshisnoseatmelikeI’veaskedhimtowearatutu.

“Idon’tlikewearinganythingonmyhead.”
Istareathim.“FCCrules,Mark.Youhavetowearheadphonesontheair.”
Herollshiseyes.“It’sradio,Rose.Who’sgonnaknow?”
Ipushtheheadphonesintohischest.“Iwill.”
AsIpressthephoneshardertohischest,Ilockeyeswithhiminadare.Ittakes

everyounceofwillpowerIpossesstoignorethefactthatIcanfeelhisheartbeat
pulsingbeneaththeheadphones,wheremyhanddigsagainsthischiseledmuscles.
AfterafewweirdsecondsofaMexicanstandoff,hismouthtwitchesintoasmileand
hiseyesshifttomyboobs.

“I’llgiveittoyougood,boss,”hesays,andIcan’tdenythethrillofelectricitythat

hiswordssendstraighttomycrotch.

IwatchhimsnaptheheadphonesoninamannerIwoulddescribeasmocking.

Though,OK,hedoesmakeheadphoneslooksexy.Ifhewerewearingtheminanad,I
wouldtotallybuythem.Especiallyifhehadhisshirtoffinsaidad.Oriftherewas

waterpouringacrosshisabs.Mmm.Nevermindthatwaterandelectronicsdon’tmix.

Damn,nowI’mjuststraightuppicturinghiminplaceofmyAnonymousAdonisat

thebeachencounter.Ugh.This,ofcourse,isexactlywhyMarkmakesmillionsposing
withasingleenergydrinkcanorpowerbar.Damnhim.“Keepthemonatalltimes,”I
addasweenterthebooth.

Twominutesuntilshowtime.Thephonesarealreadylightinguplikecrazy,even

thoughthepre-recordedintrohasn’tevenfinishedplaying.Iguesspeoplereallywant
totalktoMark.Gofigure.I’dpayanythingnottohavetodealwithhisgrumpyassright
now.

Aftersettlingintomyownheadphones,Icueuptheshow’sintro,apunkrock

versionofTakeMeOuttotheBallGamewithavoiceoverlaythatsoundslikethe
SecondComingisabouttogoliveonair.

IseeMarkpumpupinthechairwithhischestthrustoutandhischinup.Witha

shit-eatinggrinonhisface,he’sbobbinghisheadtothebeat.Myeyebrowsrise.Tobe
honest,whatwithhisbighard-onforcountrybackintheday,I’dexpectedhimtohate
thisintro.Buthey,peoplechange.Maybehegrewsomegoodtasteinmusic.

Asagreedbyeveryoneinvolved,Mark’sfirstsegmentishison-airapology.And,asI

listentohimdeliveritliveinperson,heartfeltandalmosttearingupashedescribeshis
loveforbaseballandrespectforalltheotherplayersonthefield,evenIhavetoadmit
it’sreallygood.Thenagain,itwaswrittenbythebestPRteammoneycanbuy.Who
knewourBadBoyatBatwassuchagoodactor,too?

Iamsurethere’snotadryeyeorvaginainthelisteningaudience.
AsIlineupeightcallsandenterthemonhisscreen,Markroundsouthisapology,

totallyowningthemic.He’sgottheconfidenceofacarnivalbarker,movie-stargood
looks,andhell,evenhisradiovoicesoundslikehewasborntohost.Hehasahard
Jerseyaccent,buthisvoiceisdeepandsure,andtheaccentmakeshimsoundlikea
realperson.Justyourbadboynextdoorwhogotfamousovernight.

Isweartogodifthisradiogiglandshimvoiceworkforpushingfurniturepolishor

somethinglameandwell-paid,Iwillblowagasket.Doeshehavetobegoodat
everythinghedoes?

Ileanbackinmychairandgivehimawrapitupsignalwithatwirlofmyfingers.

Henodsunderstanding.

HelooksdeadatmeandtheintensitymakesmetremblebutIholdhisgaze.“So,

hereIamnow,talkingtoallofyou.Ilovebaseballanddoingthisshowuntilspring
trainingisagreatwaytoexploremyfirstlove.”

Igivehimanotherfingersignalandheshootsmeaquizzicallook.Ugh.Noob.Ipry

hisheadphoneasideandwhisper.“Commercialbreak.Saywewillbebackwithyour
callsandIwilltakecareoftherest,OK?”

Henods.“We’llberightbackafterthebreak,andthenwe’lltakeourfirstcallsfrom

someofyouloyaldie-hardwankers.”

Icuthismicandrollthefirstcommercial.Iseehimrelaxonhischairandsmilelike

heeffortlesslyhitahomerun.Whichhebasicallyjustdid,notthatI’lleveradmitit.He
catchesmyeyeandmakesamuscleposewithbotharmscrunchedintheairthen
kissesbothofhisbiceps.“Irule,”hemouthsatme.

“Youhavecallsnext,”Ireply,deadpan.“Withthepeopleyoujustinsulted.”Let’ssee

howhehandlesthat.

“Notaproblem.”Hegrins.“Myfanslovetohateme.”
Andtheydo.It’saweirdhate/lovethinghe’sgotgoingonwithhisfans,whoMark

callshis“die-hards.”TheonlythingIcanthinktocompareittoisthewayfanboysfeel
aboutDarthVader.He’sevil,butyouhavetoadmithe’sprettydamncool.Andmaybe
redeemableintheend,whoknows.

Ihavemyhandsfullworkingtocutoffacoupleofpottymouths,thoughthankgod

we’reonathreeseconddelay.IfinallyputonethroughwhowantstoabuseMark,but
stickstoPG-13language.Worksforme.

“Hey,d-bag,”thecallerfromOzoneParksays.“Whydon’tyoupackitupandgoto

theAstros?NewYorkissicktodeathofyou.”

“Yourmother’snot.”Marksmirks.“Nextcaller.”
“RoryfromStatenIsland,”IwhisperintoMark’sheadphones.
Marknods.“Whatdoyouwant,Rory?”
“Igotadartboardwithyourpictureonit.”
“AndI’msureyou’reasgoodasablindwombatathittingit.”
“Youain'tfacedClaytonKershawyet.He’sgonnaseparatethemenfromtheboys.”
“SoIguessIwon'tseeyouatthatgame,”Markrebuts.“AsforKershaw,LAisgoing

towishthey’dfoundapitcherwithastrongerarmtogoupagainstme.Nextcaller.”

ThevitriolthrownatMarkonlyampshimupmore.Prettysoonhe’sbouncinginhis

seatandgrinninglikeakid.Suddenly,thisexplainsalotaboutourdynamicbackin
highschool.Bastardenjoysbeingscrewedwith,Iswear.

ThenextcallseemstobeMark’sfavoritesofar,fromadudewhocallshimself

Mack,aMetsfanfromLongIslandwhospeakslikesomeoneisstranglinghim.They
talkaboutstatsuntilIgoblindinboredom,butthephonesarelightinguplikemad
whiletheydroneonandon.Imean,whocareswhatthispersonI’veneverheardofis
averagingatbatinpost-seasongames?Arepost-seasongamesevenathing?Why?
Whoknows!

IinterruptMackandMark’sbro-outtothrowanothercallerin.Thisoneclaims

they’rebothwrong,andwantstocallthemoutfornotdisagreeingenoughoverMets
vs.Yankees.Sportsfansandtheirbloodfeuds,man.

Ihavetoadmit,though,asMarkgetsgoingonthisnewcaller,hisvoicerisingand

hisfaceheatingup,there’ssomethingstrikingabouthim.Thefireinhiseyesthreatens
toburndownthewholestudio,andyoucanpracticallyfeelthepassionboilingoffhis
skin.

Hecatchesmestaringandwinks,noddingasifIgiveacrapwhathe’stalkingabout

now.Morestatistics.Yawn.Ishoothimasarcasticthumbs-upinreplyandlineupour
firstofficialcelebrityguestcaller,CharlieBarnes,whoweinvitedtotalkabouthisnew
sportsdopingbook.WesentMarkthebooklikeaweekago,butsomethinginmygut
tellsmethatheprobablydidn’tbothertoprepquestions.

Well,serveshimrightifhedidn’t.
“Winditdownnow,”IsaydirectlytoMark’sheadpiece,andhecutsrightintothe

othertwocallers’talkmid-convo.“Aaaandthat’sallwehavetimefornow,but
rememberdie-hards,theMetscansuckit!”

Idumpthecallersandrollintoacommercialsegment.Allnationalads.Becksmust

berollinginthesecommissions.Damn.Markmightreallybetheboostweneedtostay
intheblack—andoutofHalcyon’sclutches.

“Wasn'tIgreat?”Hepluckshisheadphonesoffhishead.“Iwasmadeforthis.Ilove

talkingtothesebeautifuldie-hards.”

“Hey,hey,you’renotdoneyet.”Ishovetheheadphonesbacktowardhisears.“Put

thosebackon.”

“Down,girl,”hegrowlsintothemic,buthesnapshisphonesbackinplace.

“Happy?”

“ThenextsegmentisCharlieBarnes.Igothimonthelinereadytogo,ifyouhave

yourquestionsprepped.”IshoothimanI-can’t-wait-for-this-excuselook.

“Who?”HelookslikeIjustaskedhimtodefine‘irony’anduseitinasentence.
“Theauthor.”
Hisfaceremainsblank.
“Chrissentyouhisbookalongwithyourcontracttoworkhere.Youragent

confirmedyoureceivedit.”

“Book?”
“Yes,youknow.Wordsprintedonpiecesofpaper,lodgedbetweencovers.

Generallyusedtoconveyusefulinformationorstories.Likethisguy,whowroteabout
dopingscandalsamongyourbelovedballplayers.”

Hecrackshisknuckles.“Oh.Him.”
Inarrowmyeyes.“Soyoudidn’treadit.”
Heshrugshisshoulders.“Youknowme,Rose.Neverbeenmuchforliterature.That

wasalwaysyourareaofexpertise.”

“Thisispartofyourcontract,Mark.Weneedyoutotalktothisguy.He’supto

number3ontheNewYorkTimesbestsellerlistrightnow,andhehadalotof
importantthingstosayinthebook.”

Herollshiseyes.“Letmeguess.Somejocksjuice.Somedon’t.Muchscandal,the

end.”

Ilookoverattheadcountdown.Thirtysecondsuntilwe’rebacklive.“You’regoing

toneedtoaskhimquestionsaboutthebook.Aboutthetopic.Engagewithhim.”

Marknodscoolly.“Icantalkaboutjuicing.Don’tsweatit.What’stheguy’sname

again?”

Igrimace.Thisisgoingtogohorribly.ButMarkstillhasthatcockygrinon,sowho

knows,maybehecanwingthisafterall.“CharlieBarnes.ThebookisBasesLoaded.”

Hesnorts.“Realcreativetitle.”
Thelastcommercialends,andIsignalMarktoshutupandstart.Lastthingweneed

ishiminsultingthisguyon-air—we’llnevergetanotherfeaturedguesttosignonagain.

“OurfirstguestisCharlieBarnes,authoroftheNewYorkTimesbestsellerBases

Loaded!”Marktakesabreath.“How’sithanging,Charlie?”

“Notbad.Thanksforhavingme.I’mahugefan,Mark.”
“Wellduh.”
Andthen,suddenly,crickets.Forasecond,Ichecktheconnection,thinkingwe

musthaveafaultyline.ButthenIglanceoveratMark,andrealizeit’snotthetech
that’sglitching.Markisfrozen,literally.Hismouthhangsopenandhiseyesareglued
inanemptydaze,staringatthemicinfrontofhim.

“Hello?”Charlietapshisphone,andstaticburstsacrosstheairwaves.“Connection

okay?”

“Askhimaboutthebook,”IhissintoMark’sheadphones.ButIgetnoresponse.
Fuckballs.
Forabrief,delightfulmoment,IthinkoflettingMarkdroponhisass.Justletthe

deadairgetsoloudit’stheonlythingintheworld.Forthefirsttimeinhislife,Mark
willfailhard.Thelookonhisfacerightnowispricelessrevenge.Andfrankly,it’s
makingmealittlehornyseeinghimsooutofhisdepth.Ishoothimthesmuglookhe
alwaysgivesmeandarchaneyebrow.Heopenshismouthwider,butnothingcomes
out.

Ah,victory.Sosweet,andyet,sofleeting.Guessit’suptometosavehisassyet

again.

IturnonmymicbeforeChriscomesbustingintheproductionboothwiththeoffice

axe.“Hi,Charlie,”Ibreatheintothemic.Myvoicegoeshuskyandsensual,notmy
usualon-airjust-the-factsdrone.I’mchannelingmyinnerScarlettJohansson,andfrom
thewayMark’sexpressionshiftsfromstupefiedfeartoanintense,kindofhungry
stare,IknowI’venailedit.“RoseTaylorhere,Mark’sco-host.We’reallhugefansof
yourbookhereatthestation,particularlybecauseit’sgotsuchacontroversialpitch.”I
raisemyeyebrowsatMarktoemphasizemypoint.“YouarguethattheMLBshould
legalizesometypesofperformance-enhancingdrugs.Whytakeastancelikethat?”

“W-Well,Rose,”Charliesayswithanerdylittlestutter.Icanpracticallyfeelhim

blushingfrommyJohanssonimpressionviatheradiowaves.It’smorethanalittle
gratifying.“Ithinkweshouldallstoppretending.Ithappensallthetime.Itwill
continuetohappen.Nomatterhowmanyregulationsyouputintoplace,there’sno
stoppingitcompletely.”

Markisstillcluelessandsilent,butInoticehisjawispopping.Histemplesthroband

hisfacegetsred.Hiseyesareonme,hisexpressiontornbetweenaweanddefeat.Or
maybeahintofboth.I’lltakethat,too.

Ileanclosertothemic.“Soyouthinkthatjustbecauseteststodetectdruguseare

difficulttoimplement,weshouldjustgiveinandmakecheatinglegal?”Ipractically
purr.

“It’shardlycheatingifit’sasanctionedaction,implementedacrosseverylevelof

theplayingfield.Nottomention,whenyoubreaksomeofthesedrugsdowntotheir
components—takesteroids,forexample.We’vebeenusingthemmedicinallyfor
decadesnow.We’vecomealongwayinsynthesizingandworkingtomakethemsafe
toingest,forpeoplewhoreallyneedthehelp,forexampleincasesofallergicreaction,
ordifficultywithothermedications.Notallsteroidaltreatmentsarecreatedequally.”

BeforeCharliecandroneontoolongaboutthat,though,Mark’seyesfinallycometo

lifeagain.Heshakesoffwhateverinvisibleforcewaskeepinghismouthclampedshut
foronce.“Butwhataboutthesideeffects,man?”

“AsIwassaying,sometypeshavesideeffects,yes,andtheyvarydependingonthe

typeofdrugandthedosage.Butifwe’rewillingtousethesedrugstotreatsickand
injuredpatients,whynotexpandthereach—”

“Dude,youtreatsickpeoplewith‘roidstomakethemhealthyagain.Becauseyou

needto.Notbecausetheydecideit’llbehelpfulfortheircareer.”

IhearCharliehuffintomyheadphones,andIleanbackinmyseatalittle,grinning.

Nowwe’reontosomething.

“Itwouldneedtobeapersonalchoice,ofcourse,”Charliesays.“Eachplayerwould

havetodecideforthemselveswhetheritwastherightideaforthem—”

“Andwhat’sgoingtoincentivizethemtonotdo‘roids?”Markrepliesangrily.Hesits

upinhisseatnow,andcloseshiseyesforasecond.Hislipsformwords,butIcan’tread
them.Ishe…countingsomething?

Iraiseaneyebrow.
“I’mnotsurewhatyoumean,Mark,”Charlie’sreplying.
“Thinkaboutit.Wemakeourlivingbasedonourabilitytocompeteinthisleague.

IfallofthebestplayersintheMLBstarttodope,theneveryoneelseisgoingtoneedto
dopejusttokeepup.You’retalkingabouttakingsteroidsfrombeingasometimes-used
crutchforcheatersintoaleague-widesanction—that’sasgoodasmakingita
requirementtodope.That’sjustirresponsible,man.”

“Maybe,ormaybeit’sthepriceathletesarealreadypaying,under-the-wire,with

closetedtreatments,justtokeepupinafieldthat’saskingmorefromthemeveryday.
Maybeit’stimewetookstepstomakethisabove-the-tablesothatatleastthatway
doctorsknowwhatsignstolookfor,andhowtohelp—”

“Sojustbecausewemakealotofmoneyplayingthesport,weshouldallputour

ownbodiesatrisk?”

Ileanbackinmychair,grinningmyselfnow.Fromhere,theydon’tneedanymore

nudges—Ionlyinterruptnowandthen,Scarlett-style,tointroducetheoddcallerortwo
duringbreaksintheirever-more-heateddebate.

IhavetohandittoMark,too.Heknowsexactlyhowtousehis‘die-hards’inhis

battleagainstCharlie.

Unfortunately,watchinghimdosoisturningmeonlikenoother.Ilovewatchinga

mantakecontrol,andIlovethewayMarkisusingthepassionofhiscallerstosupport
hispoint.Ilovehowinvestedheisinthisdiscussion—thisisn’tjustsometheoretical
debateforhim.It’shiswholelife,andyoucantellinoneglancethathe’sfiredupas
hell.IlovethatMarkisowningthis.

Forafewminutes,I’mnotevenbotheredbythefactthathe’swinning.Again.
AllIcanthinkaboutishowgorgeousheis.Fromhissharpjawlineallthewaydown

tohislarge,callousedhands,he’salargerthanlifekindofguywithabigpersonality
andtheconfidencetomatch.Hethrowshisshouldersinthemixwhenhelaughsand
useshishandswhenhetalksinawaythatmakesmeunabletolookaway.Andwhen
helooksatmetoo,well…

Forgettearingmygazeaway.
Whenhecaststhoseblueeyesinmydirection,it’slikeI’mtheonlypersoninthe

world.He’sdoingthattomerightnowasheargueswithCharlieabouttryingtoturn
athletesintoglorifiedgladiators.Hedoesn’tlosethebeatofhisargument,buthisred
hotgazemakesmefeelasthoughI’mspreadoutnakedbeforehim,hisforthetaking.
AndIfuckingloveit.

Asifhe’sreadingmymind,hegivesmethislittlenaughtysmirk,onlyhalfhis

mouth,andhiseyescrinklearoundtheedges.Flustered,Ilookaway.Suddenlythereis
nopast,thereisnofuture.Thereisjustnowandmyaching,desperatelongingforhim.

Fuck.
“Iamnotagladiator,dude.Iamaprofessional,andIdeservethesame

considerationasanyotherprofessionaloutthere—fromofficeworkerstoCEOstothe
guyworkingontheassemblylineatacarfactory.Thisismyjob,notabattleground.”
Markwatchesme,eyesonmymouthnow.

Almostunabletohelpmyself,tornbetweenwishingthisshowwouldkeepgoing

andbeinggratefulit’sfinallyoversoIcansneakofftothebathroomandrelievesome
ofthispentuptension—god,amIwet?Icrossmylegs.Iam—Ileanacrosstotapmy
mic.“Onthatnote,Charlie,Iwanttothankyouagainforcallinginandofferingyour
counterpointhere.That’sallforourshowtoday,buttuneintomorrowformoreof
everyone’sfavoriteBadBoyatBat,MarkCarrington.”

“Moreforyoudie-hardstomorrow,”Markaddswithasmirk.“Byefornow.”
Ibreakintoanothersetofads,andleanbackinmychair.Then,foralongmoment,

MarkandIjuststareateachother.Ifeelaglisteningcoolsweatonmyhotskinandmy
breathisgettingshorterandfasterthelongerthesilencestretches.Oh,crap.Mymicis
on,too.Hopehedidn’thearthat,orrealizewhyI’msoflustered.Feelingmycheeks
starttoburn,Iswitchoffmymicandbusymyselfwithturningoffthelines.Inmy
headphones,Ihearhimchucklesoftly.

“Admitit,thatwasprettygoodformyfirsttry,”hesays,breakingthetensesilence.
“Itwasalright,”Itellhimwithgrudgingrespect.
Asmallsmilecurvesonhislips.I’mabouttoreallylethimhaveit,butasIopenmy

mouthtodoso,hestandsupandtowersovermeandIcanthinkisdamn.Those
shoulders.Thatchest,sorock-hardIcanpracticallyseethesculptedlinesofhismuscles
throughhisT-shirt.

“We’regoodtogether,”hesays,movingcloser.“Don’tyouthink?”He’swaytoo

closenow,rightaboveme,andIcanfeeltheheatwavecascadingoffhisskinonto
mine.

Icrossmyarmsagainsttemptation,butIcan’thelpmyself.Mybodyleansforward

justalittle,ofitsownaccord.“ItwasOK,”Irepeat.Iturnmygazeaway,stubborn,and
grabagelpenfromthestudioboardtodistractmyself.

“Thatalmostsoundslikepraise.”
Isigh,audibly.“Don’tgetusedtoit.”
“Ah,youmissedme,Rose.Don’tlie.”Heleansoverme,andIglanceup,unableto

resistapeek.Thoseeyesofhislockontomineimmediately,andit’sallIcandotokeep
mygazefromdriftingdowntohismouth.Hisfulllips,whichhoverjustafewinches
frommine.HowlonghasitbeensinceIlasttastedhim?WouldhestilltastethewayI
remember,strongandmasculinewithjustatouchofsweet?

Damn,I’mlookingathislipsnow.Ionlynoticewhenhelicksthem,andthenI

realizehe’sstaringatmine,too,andtiltingcloser,closer…

Fuck,Ithink,somewherewaybackinthedistractedpartofmybrainstilltryingto

clingtoreality.He’sgoingtokissme.

AndI’mgoingtolethim…
“How’ditgo?”Chris,obliviousasever,Lordlovehim,boundsintotheDJbooth,a

stackofrecordsintow.“ThatwasthehighestcallvolumeI’veseenonthelinesin
months,youknow.Congrats,guys.”Hereachesoverforahigh-five,andonlythen

seemstonoticethewaywe’restanding,bodiesfartooclosetogether,ourfacesflushed.
Oratleast,mineis.ThoughI’dswearMarklooksalittlehotunderthecollartoo,his
cheekstintedreddishattheedges.

GoodtoknowI’mnottheonlyonelosingmymind.
“Highestcallvolumeinmonths,huh?”Markwiggleshiseyebrowsatme,backin

fulltauntingmode,andthatsnapsmeoutofmyspell.

Irollmyeyesandbrushpasthimoutofthebooth.“It’sjustnewkidonthewaves

hype.Don’tworry;ourlistenerswillbesickofyoubynextweek,”Icallovermy
shoulder.

Ourlistenersmight,butme?Well.Ifsixyearsofhatinghimdidn’tmakemesickto

mystomachofMarkCarrington,I’mnotsurethere’sapowerintheuniversethatcan
savemefromhisdevilrynow.

Iamsoscrewed.

MARK

IraceoutofthestudioasfastasIpossiblycan,consideringhowhamperedmywalkis
bytheraginghard-ondiggingintomyjeans.Theblowupdollismanningthefrontdesk
again,thankgod,sinceshedefinitelygetsaneyefulofmybonerasIstrugglepast.

Iclimbintomytruckandcollapseagainsttheseat,frustrated,confused,angry…and

hardashell.

Shewantedtokissme,Iknowit.IknowRose,dammit,evenafteralltheseyears,

andthatfireinhereyeswasunmistakable.ButthenshestormedoutoftheDJbooth
likeshewasbeingchasedbyhellhoundslessthanaminutelater.Itriedtofollowher,
butsheslammedherofficedoorinmyface.

Cold,hot.Hot,cold.Samecycle.Sameshow.SamepatternsinceLambertville.She

drivesmecrazy,still,evennow.HowcouldIpossiblyletagirllikehergetundermy
skin?SomelittleradioDJIhaven’tseensincehighschool?

IamMarkfuckingCarrington.Idonotchokearoundgirls.Girlschokearoundme—

inmorewaysthanone.

ButnotRose.She’sfartoostubbornforthat.
Ieasebackinmytruckseattorelievesomeofthepressureonmygroin.Goddamn

it.IwonderifanyonewouldnoticeifIundidmyjeansrighthere,wrappedmyfist
aroundmycockandpicturedexactlywhatIreallywantedtodotoRoseTaylorinthat
DJbooth…I’dmakehersuckmesohard.

Butno.It’sbroaddaylight,anditturnsoutthisradiospotisn’tasfaroutinthe

middleofnowhereasIthoughtitwaswhenIarrivedatthecrackofdawn.Thereare
peoplecrawlingalloverthelotnow,andthelastthingIneedtodoisaddmoregossip
fueltothebonfirealreadyragingaboutme.

Fine.Icanmakeithome.
Islamthecarintogearandpeeloutofthelot.
Ican’tbelieveIhavetodothisshownowforthenextsixweeks.OffseasonIshould

beonsometropicalislandsuckingbackDosEquisandeyeingupbeachgirlsindental
flossbikinis.Instead,I’minnowhereJerseyatanothingstationbeingtreatedlikeI’m
nothing.MyangeratStanleyburns.Whothehelldoeshethinkheis,signingmeupfor
thislikeI’msomemisbehavingteenager?I’maprofessional.SoIdeckedaguywho
haditcoming;whothehellinmyfieldhasn’t?Hewantsmetobethebadboywhenit
suitshim,butnotwhenitcausesminoramountsoftrouble.Firstsignofbotherandhe

dumpsmeonthenearestbystander.

NowI’mstuckwithRose.AndRose…aRoseisaRoseisaRose.
NomatterhowmanyhomerunsI’vehit,nomatterhowmanymillionsofdollars

I’vemade,shestillthinksshe’ssomuchbetterthanIam.Shelooksatmelikeadirt
stainonherimpeccableshoes.

AndfuckmeifIdon’tthinkshe’sright,halfthedamntime.
BeforeIcanhelpmyself,I’mremembering.Speedingdownthehighwaytowardmy

house,there’snothingtostemthememoriesthatfloodmybrain.

“Mark,comein.Roseisinthekitchenfinishingupthemashedpotatoes.”

WalkingpastRose’smotherintotheirhouse,IfeltlikeI’dsteppedintooneofthose

familysitcomsfromthe80’sor90’s.Everythingwasniceandcleanandperfect.Light
filledthehouseanditsmelledlikebakedbread.Lushplants,floweredthrowpillows,
gold-framedfamilyportraitswhereeveryoneissmiling.Aplushcouch,aflickering
fireplace,anearlyfinishedjigsawpuzzleonthecoffeetable.Throughawindow,my
eyescaughtaglimmeroftheabovegroundpoolinthebackyardwithbrightlycolored
raftsandnoodlesfloatinginit.EventhedogthatbeggedmetopetitlookedHollywood-
ready.

“That’sDino,”Rose’smomsaid.“Helovesmeetingnewpeople.”
Herdadworedadkhakisandshookmyhand.“Comeoverhere,Mark,”hesaid.

“Mightrain,soIdecidedtocookinsideinsteadofgrill.Helpmewiththesesteaks,will
ya?”Steaks.Thebiggest,fattest,juicieststeaksIeversawinmylife.I’dnevergrilled
meatbefore,butherdadshowedmehowtodoit,whentoflipthemandwhentouse
thetongstoshiftthemofftheheatontoourplates.

TheTaylorsweren’trich,herdadanaccountant,hermomateacher.Buttheywere

richtome.Inmorethanjustmoney.Richinallthereallyimportantways.Ourdinner
conversationwasaboutbookstheyreadandvacationstheytook.Theylaughedand
triedtopullmeintothediscussion,butIjustkeptsmilingandnodding,becausewhat
didIhavetoofferthesepeople?I’dneverreadthosebooks.I’dnevergoneonasingle
tripwithmyfamily,letaloneafewdozen.Hell,someoftheplacestheywentI’dnever
evenheardof.

IwasprettysureRosehadn’tcluedherparentsinonmyhomelife,andallIcould

thinkthroughoutthewholedinnerwashowtheywould’vetreatedmeiftheyknew.
ButRosesmiledatmeandbraggedaboutmyballgame,myplaywritingskills,evenmy
collegepicks.Itmademyearsburn,becauseitfeltlikeshewastryingtotalktheminto
likingme.LikesheknewrightoffthebatthatIwasn’tgoodenoughforherparents,or
forher,butshewastryingdesperatelytoconvinceherselfIwas.

“Markgota100onthathistorytestIwastellingyouabout,”shesaid,anditfeltlike

shewastryingtosay,Look,he’ssomewhatredeemable.Notacompleteogre.

ButIwas.Ialwayshavebeen.NotmyproblemthatshetriedtoconvinceherselfI

wassomeoneI’mnot.

Afteranotherfirmhandshakefromherdad,hermomsurprisedmewithahugat

thedoor.“Wehopeyoucomebacksoon,”shetoldme.Irememberthat,specifically.

BecauseIneversawthemagain.

ROSE

WhenIgethome,IseeGeocurledupinfrontofherlaptopinthelivingroomlooking
likeaself-satisfiedcatasshepawsatherdreads.

“Ithoughtyouweregoingtothatprotest,”IsayasIhangmycoatupinthehallway

closet.“Wasittoocoldtooccupywhatevertoday?”

Withhereyesgluedtoherlaptopscreen,shewavesmeoverandpatsthecouch

cushionnexttoher.“You’reallovertheinternet,girl.”

“What?”Iplopdownnexttoherandsheshovesherlaptopinmyface.Tomy

surprise,shehasTMZonthescreen.Shethinksgossipismeanandboring,soI’m
shockedshe’staintedhercomputer.“Whatareyou…”

“Watch.”
TMZplaysanaudiocliphighlightfromMark’sshow.Chrismusthavegivenitto

themafterIlockedmyselfinmyofficefortherestoftheday.Myeyeswiden.Ican’t
believehedidn’tcallme.“Whatthehell?”ImanageasIgropeformycellphone.

Geoslapsmylegtoshutmeup,andpointsmetoherscreenagain.
Sureenough,asecondlater,IhearmyScarlettJohanssonimpressionvoiceoverthe

speakers.Astheaudioplays,someTMZcommentatorwigglestheireyebrowsand
makesjokesaboutMark’shotnewradiogirlfriend.

“Tellmethatisn’tyou.”Geosmirks.
“Idon’tsoundanythinglikethat!”Iprotest.
Sheraisesaneyebrow.“Please.LikeIdon’trecognizeyourplease-sex-me-nowvoice

bythispoint,girl.”

“OK,OK.”Ilaughandtrytoshakeoffmysurprise.“Ijustcan’tbelieveTMZis

playingthis.”

SheshootsmeaWTFexpression.“Uh,hello?MarkCarringtonisonlythehottest

sportsplayerrightnow.EvenIknowwhoheisandI’veneverseenabaseballgamein
mylife.”

“ButTMZ,that’shuge…”
“Dude,it’snotjustTMZ.It’severywhere.Everyoneistalkingaboutdopinginsports

andtheshowandeverything.Lookatthis…”

Shepullsupanothersite,SportsScoop.com,whichisdiscussingMark’sargument

withCharlie.Fromthere,shesendsmetoanotherpage,oneofthecelebritygossip
rags’onlineforums,wherethereareseveralverylongmessageboardthreads

dedicatedtothechemistrybetweentheBadBoyofBaseballandthemysterioussexy
voiceknownonlyasRose.

“Sheshootsshescores.”Geoholdsupherfist.Itapitwithoutmuchheart.“Aw,”she

pouts.“Comeon,evenifhe’snotthatgreatalay,thisisgoodforyourstation,right?”

“Oh,totally.It’sawesomepublicity.”Iforceasmile.
Shetapsmyarmwithherstillclosedfist,completelynotfooled.“Whathappened,

homie?”

Icollapsemyshouldersinashrug.“YouknowIwenttohighschoolwithhim,

right?”

“MarkCarrington?”
InodandGeoburstsoutlaughing.Shethrowsherselfbackonthecouch,barely

catchingherlaptopfromfallingonthefloor.

“No.Way,”shegaspswhensherecoversfromherlaughingfit.“Whydidn’tyoutell

me?Didyouknowhimbackthen?Ican’timaginehewasintheAudioVisualclub.Or
washe?Ohmygod,washeanerd?”

Icrinklemynose.“Nah,stillatotaljock,evenbackthen.”
“Okay,sospill.How’dyou,queenofallthingsuber-dorky,knowthisproto-

superstar?”Shestaresatme,waiting,andIcan’tresistheropen,earnestface.

MycheeksburnasIadmitit.“Wesortofkindofmadeoutinthelibrary.Twice.And

inhiscarafewtimes.Okay,afewdozentimes...”

Hereyespopandherjawdrops.“Getout.YoudatedMarkCarringtoninhigh

school?”

Isnort.“I’dhardlycallitdating.Wewerepartnersinourdramaclass.Occasionally

onethingledtoanother.”

Sherollshereyes.“Didheordidhenotmeetyourfamily?”
“I…”Igrimace.“Itwashighschool—therulesweredifferentbackthen!”
“Totallydated.”Shelaughs.
“Whatever,”Igrumble,rubbingmytempleshard.“Sure,Iguesswekindofwent

out.”

“Andnow,what,youguysarerekindlingthathighschoolflame?”Shewigglesher

eyebrowsatme.“Ohmygod,thatmakesacuterstorythanfreakingAshtonKutcher
andMilaKunis,youknow.”

ItakeamomentbeforeIshakemyheadhard.“It’snotlikethat.”
Geosquints.“Whynot?”
Ishakemyheadagain.“Hedumpedmeforacheerleaderandtookhertoprom.

He’sthesamenowashewasbackthen—he’sintosupermodels,actresses.Not…you
know.”ImakeasweepinggestureatmytornrockbandT-shirtandmymessyleggings.

Georollshereyes.“Please.You’reashotasanymodel.Besides,didn’tyouever

wonderwhatyou…”

ILOVEROCK‘NROLL
ThankgodJoanJetthasinterruptedtheinquisition.IknowGeoandshewasabout

togodeep,waytoodeepformeatthismoment.

Myreliefonlylastsforhalfasecond,however.Myphonescreenannouncesthatit’s

DocBingcalling.“Shit,it’sthebigboss,”ItellGeo.

Great.Nowwhat?Hiscallsnevermeananythinggood.Maybehe’spissedIhadto

interrupttheshowearliertosaveMark.MaybeI’mgoingtogetalashingforfailingto
prepMarkwellenoughinadvancefortheauthorinterview.Oh,fuck.Myskingets
clammyandmyheartisflutteringlikeahummingbird’swings.

Istandup,takeadeepbreathandanswer.“Hey,Doc.”
“Hello,sweetheart,”hecoos.
Sweetheart?Ialmostdropthephone.ForasecondIwonderifhe’spossessed,orif

someoneelseiscallingfromhisnumber.Butno,Irecognizethatboreddrawlofhis;I’d
knowitanywhere.I’vejustneverheardhimcallme—oranyone,forthatmatter—
anythingassappyas“sweetheart.”

“Uh,hello,”Ifinallystammer.“YouknowthisisRose,right?”Maybehethinkshe

calledBecks.She’shisfavorite—beingtheonewhobringsinthecoldhardcashandall.

IheartheyapofRobertE.LeebeforeDocBingstartsyappinghimself.“Fantasticjob

today,MissTaylor.Reallygreatstarttoournewsegment.ExactlythekindofpickupI
washopingfor.Beckssaysshe’ssignedmoreadsthisweekthanthelastyear
combined.”

“Oh,great,”Isay,catchingmybreath.Geoisshootingmeaconfusedlook,torn

betweenexcitementandaskingmeWTFwithhereyes.Ishrugwildlybackatherin
response.InallthetimeI’veworkedwithhim,I’veneverbeencalledbyDocfor
anythingotherthanablowup.Thispraiseisthrowingmeoffmygame.

ThenIhearDocclearhisthroat,andpartofmerelaxes.Right.Hereitcomes.“I’m

goingtoneedmore,”hesays.

Wellthat’shelpful,Ithink.Totallyclearsthatrightup.Fightingtheurgetorollmy

eyes,Ireply,“More?”

“YouhavegreatchemistrywiththatYankee.Thenewsoutletshavebeeneatingit

up.RadiosexpotandtheBadBoy.Everyonewantsmore,more,more.”Heclearshis
throatagain,andIcanpracticallyhearhisshark-likesmile.“Congratulations,Miss
Taylor.You’reMarkCarrington’snewco-host.”

Forasolidminute,Ican’treply.Ican’teventhinkstraight.Myeyesmustbe

buggingstraightoutofmyhead.NowGeolooksmoreconcernedthanconfused.I
waveheroff,andshakemyheadatthesametime,thenrealizeDoccan’tseeme,of
course.Iclearmythroathard.“But…”

“Gladthat’ssettled.Gottorunnow,sweetheart.Toodle’oo!”
Ihearaclickonhisendofthephone.He’sgone,justlikethat.ButIknowthere

wouldbenoarguingwithhimevenifhewasstillontheline.IjustblinkatGeowith
mymouthhangingopen.

“What?”shefinallyprompts.
“Iknowabsolutelynothingaboutsports.”
“Duh.Lasttimewewenttoasportsbarforabasketballtournament,youyelled

‘touchdown’foreverybasket.”

Isitdownnexttoherwithaheavythump.“DocwantsmetobeMark’sco-hostfor

hismorningshow.Theentiretyofwhichissportstalk,andnothingbut.”

Georubsmyarm.“Youweregreattoday.Justkeepdoingthat.”
“What,imitatingScarlettJohanssonandflirtingwithourguests?”
“Well,theaudienceateitupthistime.Whynot?”
“I’mgoingtomakeacompletefoolofmyself!I’llbewrittenoffasjustanother

dumbradioshowblondegettingbyonmylooksandmyabilitytofakeasexyvoice.
Nottomention,whatwillhappentoallourregularlistenersiftheystarttothinkthe
wholestationisfullofbimboslikeme?”

Georollshereyesandshovestoherfeet.“You’reoverthinkingthis,girl.It’sagood

thing,trustme.Thewholeinternetisblowingupwithrumorsaboutyouandahotas
hellsportsstar,you’regoingtobecomeradiofamous,andyou’reworriedabout
soundingalittleditzy?”

Ibitemylowerlipandsigh.“Iguesswhenyouputitthatway,itdoesn’tsoundso

bad…”

“Damnstraightitdoesn’t.”Sheleansintotouslemyhair.“Now,Iknowjusttheway

tocelebrateyourpromotion.”

“It’snotapromo—”
“S’mores!”sheannounces,bouncingawaytowardthekitchenbeforeIfinish

protesting.

Well.Can’targuewiththat.Howeverthisradioshowisgonnago,beitasuccessora

disaster,s’moreswillhelptakemymindoffworrying.

Butaswestandinourlittlekitchenandwatchthemicrowaverotate,heatingupour

marshmallowysnacks,myminddriftsbacktothebonfireIwenttobefore
Homecomingmysenioryear.ThepartywhereMarkfirstlockedeyeswithmeacrossa
busycrowdofhighschoolers,andwinked.Iblushedbrightred,evenasIrolledmy
eyesatthestupidjock,thinkinghecouldflirthiswayinwithme,ofallpeople.

Thatmemory,though,bringsupazillionothers,hotonitsheels.PrettysoonI’m

lostinthought,rememberingtheDJbooththismorning,hisstrong,chiseledchest
inchesfrommine,hiseyesonmyface,ourlipssoclosethatifI’donlytiltedmyhead
upright,wewould’vekissed…

Ishakemyheadanddistractmyselfbythinkingaboutprom.Senioryearprom.The

onetowhichhebroughtKatieCross,headcheerleader,insteadofme.Iskippedit,
becausehellifIwasgoingtostandaroundmopingafterhimwhenhepulledthatkind
ofshit.ButeventhoughIwasinthemiddleofahellaepicRancidshowatIrvingPlaza,
myeyesweregluedtoTwitterallnight.Watchingupdateafterupdateposttothe
#DHSPromthread,andIswearhewastheonlystudentgettinghisdamnphototaken.
Katiewasleaningalloverhimineverysingleone.

“SoIbetthisallhelpedwiththeline-up,huh?”
“Huh?”Iecho,blinkingbackintoreality.Geoisstaringatme,aplateoffreshly

heateds’morescoolingonherpalm.Ipickoneofftheplateandtrytofocus.

“FrightenedRabbit.Youweregoingtotalktothemabouttheline-upforour

podcast.”Herbrowneyesarewideandinnocentandthatmakesmefeelworsefor
droppingtheballonreachingouttotheband’smanagement.

Igrimace.“Geo,I’msorry…”
“Youforgot.”Thosewidebrowneyesstayjustaswideandemptyoffeeling,butI

canseeaveintickinginherforehead,andasourpoolofguiltchurnsinmystomach.
Thefactthatshe’snotangrymakesitevenworse.

“Thingsgotalittlecrazyatthestationtoday.Tomorrow,I’lltalktothem.”
“Youknowwehavelessthanaweekbeforeourfirstepisodelaunches,right?”
“It’llbefine.Ipromise.”

Shewatchesmeforalong,quietmoment.Thenshefinallynods,andsetstheplate

down.“Comeon,let’sworkonoursoundtrackqueueagain.”

IpushMarkoutofmymindandgiveGeo—myunderstanding,s'moresmaking,

good-heartedactivistbestie—myfullattentionfortherestofthenight.IfIcan’tstop
obsessingoverhim,Icanatleastremembertoobsessovertherightpeopleinmylife,
too.

MARK

Aweekintotheshow,Ialreadywanttothrowinthetowel.

Ithoughtthiswouldbeaneasygig.Somelittletwo-bitshowthatIputinanhoura

dayon.Butlately,it’sbeenallIcanthinkabout,evenwhenI’mnotintheDJbooth
recording,orreadingthemillionemails,schedules,booksandmemorandumsabout
thedamnshowthatRosekeepssendingme.Iswearshe’sdoingthisonpurpose.High
schoolalloveragain—shewasnotthekindofgirlwho’dletmecopyherhomework
thedayofjusttogetonmygoodside.Shealwaysmademeworkforit,andhard.

Rightnow,though,Ican’tsaythehardworkhasbeenallterrible.Ithasbeenalot

morefunthanIcaretoadmitbeingonair,especiallyinthesegmentswhereRoseandI
worktogether.Wetag-teamourguests—Iaskthehardballsportsquestions,andshe
chatsthemup,flirtsinthatsultry,sexyvoiceofhers(whichIswearsoundsevenbetter
thanitdidbackinhighschool),andbuttersthemupsoIcanswoopinforthekill.

Yeah,wemakeagoodteam.Andwearen’ttheonlyoneswhohavenoticed—the

whole‘netisexplodingwithrumorsaboutus.Butattheendoftheday,thisisn’tmy
passion.Idon’twanttobecomeanotherwashed-uphas-beenstarwhospendstherest
ofhislifetalkingaboutthedamngameinsteadofplayingit.

WhichmeansIneedtocutthisradiosuccessoffatthepass,beforeitstartstoreally

impactmycareer.Beforepeoplestarttothinkofmeasadiscjockeyfirstandaregular
jockeysecond.

I’matmyusualmasseuse,gettingmybackbrokeninhalfbyMiranda,whenmy

phonerings.Ittakesmeasecondtoregisterthename,becauseit’sbeensolongsince
mygood-for-nothingpissed-offagentcalled.

“Uh,Stanley…”isallImanagetogetoutbeforeMirandakneelsonmybackwithher

wholebodyweightandIgroan.

“You’regoingtoakid’scharitythingtonight.Soisyourco-host.Wearatux.”
That’sit?Ithink.Nogreeting?Noheyhow’sitgoing?NosorryIhaven’tcalledyou

everyotherdaylikeInormallydo?IscowlatmyphoneandwaitforMirandatoease
upalittle.“Where?”Iask.“Andwhatcharity?”

“TheMeadowlands,”hesays.“LittleSluggers.”
IdoliketheLittleSluggers.It’sareallycoolcharitythatencouragesspecialneeds

kidstoplaybaseball.It’soneofmyfavoritedo-goodthingsbecausethepeoplewho
hostitarereallydevotedtotheirjobsandthekidsaresogreat.Butevenmentionof

myfavoritecharitydoesn’tlightenmymoodrightnow.“I’msureit’llbeagreatphoto
op,”IgruntbetweenpunchesfromMiranda.

“Especiallyconsideringwe’regoingtogetoneofyouandTommyPizzaboth.”
Ifeelmybackpopinknots,thenMirandapushesthemdown.“Deepbreath,”she

purrs.

Toolatefordeepbreaths.“Youhavegottobekidding,”Ispit.“What,thisentire

fuckingapologytourisn’tenoughforyou?”

“Bethereat6,”Stanleyinterrupts.Thelinegoesdeadinmyhand,andMiranda

punchesmyshoulderbladehardinresponse.

Fuck.100,99,98…

Mirandawastoughonmetoday.Ahot,tinybrunette,shehasthehandsofthe
IncredibleHulk.Ithinkshebeatsoutherlifeaggravationsonmyglutes.She’soffered
twicenowtogivemeahappyending,butfrankly,Idon’ttrustthatmonstergripof
hersonmydick.

AfterIpullmytruckintoVIPparkingattheMeadowlands,Ihopouttostretchthe

achesthatlittleladyinflictedonmybackandass.Justthen,IseeRosepullupinherold
beatupMustang.Acloudofblackexhaustdriftsaroundhercar—justlikeitalwayshas.
Ican’tbelieveshe’sstilldrivingthathunkofjunk.Howisitevenlegaltodrivethat
beaterontheNJTurnpike?

“Hey,”Icalloutassheclimbsoutofhercar.Sheseesmeandfrownsimmediately.

“Nicetoseeyoutoo,”Imutter,eventhoughshe’stoofarawaytohearme.

Shepopshertrunkwithoutmakingeyecontact.“ComehelpmeunloadtheseT-

shirts.”

“Shouldn’tsomeonefromthestationcometo—”
“Jesus,isliftingonefingertohelpmesofarbeneaththegreatandmighty

ballplayer?Pickupabag,Mark.Please?”

Istalkovertoher‘stangandslingabagovermyshoulder.“Ididn’tmeanitlike

that.Imeantwho’scomingfromW-ALTforthisevent?”

Sheshakesherhead.“Noone.U2isplayingatMadisonSquareGarden,soeveryone

elsefromthestationbailed.”Sheslamshertrunk.“Who’scomingonyourside?”

Iturnmybacktohersoshecan’tseemydisappointment.“Someinternfrommy

agent’soffice.”Becausesuddenly,Stanleyistoogoodtocometomyeventshimself.
Suddenly,Ibarelymeritadamninternforassistance.

Aswemakeourwayacrosstheparkinglot,InoticeRosestrugglingwiththeother

bag.Igraspthestraptotakethatonetoo,butshepullsaway.“Yousaidyouwanted
help,”Ipointout.“Letme.”

Withobviousreluctance,sheletsgoofthestrapandallowsmetoslidethesecond

bagontomyshoulder.“Thanks,”shesays,butthewayhervoiceclampsaroundthat
singleword,you’dthinkshewascursingmeout.

TheinstantwehitthemainflooroftheMeadowlands,thekidsareonmelikewhiteon

rice.SomeofthemeventrytoclimbmelikeI’mamantree.Isurrenderandletthe
gigglemonstershavecontrol,catchingacoupleontheirwayupmylegtoflipthem
upside-downandtickletheirankles.“Areweheretoplayatbeingmonkeys,orarewe
heretoplayball?”Iaskthem,asmorekidstugatmyjeans.

“Playball!”theychorus,andIgrinandhoistoneofthekidsontomybacktohead

overtothecages.

IcatchRosegrinningatmeandthekids,butwhenIgrinbackshejustrollshereyes

andpullsouthercellphone.“I’mgoingtocallthestationandsetuptheradioline.”

We’llbeliveontheradioeveryhalfhourduringthethreehoureventtoraise

awarenessfortheLittleSluggersonW-ALTtoo.WehaveaGoFundMesitesetupjust
fortonight.Thegoalistoraise10kinthreehours.Thesedie-hardsbettercome
through,becauseI’vepledgedtomatchthatamountiftheyhitthedonationcap.Least
myfanscandoisputtheirmoneywheretheiroversizedmouthsareforthesekids.

Rosegivesmeanodandapieceofpaperwithcopybeforeshehandsmethephone.

Ireadthewordsandgiveashoutouttothefansaboutwheretogoonlinetodroptheir
dukes.

“AndI’lltellyouwhat,”Iadd.Rosewavesherarms,givingmethecutsign.She

hateswhenIgooffscript.Thatonlymakesmesmilewider.“Forgetmatchingthis.I’m
gonnatellyoudie-hardswhat,foreverydollaryouguysputinIwillputinten.Gotit?
Doit.”

IhandthephonebacktoRoseandtomysurprise,forasplitsecondbeforesheturns

herbacktometofinishdoingwhateversheneedstodowiththestationpeople,Ispot
anotherreallivesmileonherface.Thewaythatgrinlightsupherwholeface,Icould
stareatheralldaylong.

Predictably,anhourintothethreehourstint,TommyfuckingPizzashowsup,lateas
ever.I’minthemiddleofsigningsomedonationautographsforacoupledreamy-eyed
(andmorethanalittleattractive)MILFswhentheflashofTommy’spaparazzitail
illuminatesthearea.Iglanceovertheseaofkidsandfawningadultsandspyhim
surroundedbyanentourageofagents,PRrepsandfans.

ThereisnothinglessintheworldthatIwanttodothanmakeapublicappearance

withthisasshole.ButStanleyinsistedIneededtoconvincetheworldwe’veput
bygonesbehindus.ForStanley,Icanswallowmyprideandputupwiththisshitforten
seconds.

FlashbulbspopfranticallyasTommyreachesme.Heextendsahand,butfuckthat,

I’mgoingallin,iffornootherreasonthantothrowhimoffhisstride.Igrabhishand
inatighterthannecessarygrip,andpullhiminforaback-slappingbro-hug.Thesmile
onmyfaceisatotalshit-eatinggrin,andmyback-slapismorelikeaseriesofpunches.

“Fuckyou,”hehissesinmyearasheslapsmybackhardinreturn.
“Fuckyoutoo,man,”Ireply,stillgrinningfromear-to-earaswebreakapart.
TommywalksawaytowardRose.Truetoform,thekidhocksaloogieontothepark

grassashepassesherandRosegrimacesindisgust.MyeyescatchhersandImouth
“Whatthefuck.”Scowling,sheshrugs.Atleastoneotherpersonisseeingthisasshole
forwhathereallyis.

Withthelittlefriendshipshowoverwith,Ifinallygettoworkwiththekids.I’mat

homeplatecoachingonswingsandTommyPizza,thebastard,ispitchingfromtenfeet
away.Beforeeachkidstepsuptohomeplate,RosehooksthemupwithaW-ALTT-
shirt,aYankeesbaseballcapandaprettysmile.Thelatterdistractsmemoreoftenthan
I’dcaretoadmit.

AkidImetearlier,Eric,acceptsahatfromRosenext.He’smyfavoriteLittle

Slugger.“Youlooklikeapro,”Rosetellshimasshetugsthehatontohishead.She
looksoveratmeandwinks.“Youarereadytobat?”

Ericnodsabigyesandrunsovertome.AsIhigh-fivehim,IgiveRoseagrin.Can’t

helpit.Ilikehowshewaswithhim,naturalandfriendly.Itwaslikeshedidn’teven
noticethesurgeryscarsthatcoverhisfaceandhands.

IshoothiscutemomareassuringwinkasIguidehimtotheplate.Shewarnedme

earliertobesupergentlewiththelittleguy,sincehe’sstillgotalotofpaininhis
fingers.Ireacharoundhimandholdthebatforhim,thoughIkeepmygriploose
enoughthathecontrolsthemotion.

TommyPizzahasthefuckingnervetorollhiseyes,butatleasthepitchesasoftballI

canswingatwithouthurtingEric.IpopitTommy’sway...andwhatdoesthepunkdo?
Catchesit!

BehindmeRosemakesanangrysound,halfgaspandhalfsnarl.Icouldn’tagree

more.

“Let’strythatonemoretime,”IcalltoTommy,givinghimthesamedeathglareI

gavehimbeforeIpunchedhissmugface.Herollshiseyesagain,butatleasthelistens
andtossesanothersoftoneourway.

EricandIgiveitagoodbop,hardenoughtosailoverTommy’shead.Oneofthe

volunteersbehindhimdoesanicepratfallandEriclaughs.“Run,winner,”Icallashe
sprintstowardfirst.Littleduderunshisheartout,andskidsacrossfirstbaseas
everyoneincludingmeburstsintocheers.

Rosestandsbehindus,grinningear-to-earandsnappingphotosoftherun.She

catchesmestaring,andforalongsecond,wejustwatcheachother,smilesonour
faces,sharingthemoment.Thenshetucksthephoneinherfrontpocket.“Timetoegg
onyourdie-hardsagain.”

Gottalovethewayshe’sallbusiness,evenatatimelikethis.Ibowtotheinevitable,

andstepawayfromtheplatetorecordmynextradiocall.

Alltoosoon,theeventcomestoanend.RosehoiststhebagsIhelpedlugfromthecar,
muchlighternow,sincewe’vegivenawayalmostallthemerchshebrought.

“Needahand?”Ioffer,beforeshecanragonmefornotofferingtohelpagain.
Butshejustshakesherhead.“Igotthis.”Hereyescatchmine,asparkofheatin

them.“Bytheway…”Sheleansinclose,andIcatchawhiffofherperfume,something
lightandairythatmakesmyheadswim.Ormaybeit’sjustherproximity,thewayI
canseeherlipspartinminutedetail,andherpupilsdilateastheycatchmine.

Suddenly,Iamveryawarethatonlyacoupleofinchesstandbetweenus.Oneshift

ofmyheadandIcoulddipdowntokissthosepert,smirkinglipsofhers.Icouldstep
closer,wrapmyarmaroundhertinywaistandcrushheragainstmybody,feelthose

curvesofhers,thecurvesIcouldn’tgetoverbackinhighschool,theonesIwantedto
memorizewithmyfingertipseverytimewetouched.

Analmostpainfulthrobofdesirepulsesthroughme,andofcourse,itzooms

straighttomycrotch.Fuck.Iwanthersofuckingbadrightnow.

Sheleansupontiptoe,andIthink,thisisit.We’redoingthis.
Shestopsaninchshyofmylips,hersstillcurvedinasmile.“YouoweLittleSluggers

awholelotofmoney,”shepurrs.

Thenshe’soff,sashayingtowardtheparkinglot,herasswigglingwitheverystep,

andI’mleftburninghot.Iwouldbegladwereachedourfundinggoal,andexcitedfor
thecharitygroupIlovesomuch,exceptthatallIcanthinkaboutrightnowiswatching
thatdelicious,pertlittleassofhersmarchtowardtheparkinglot.

Fuck.

Ispendanotherhalfanhourshakinghandsandsigningleftovers.Abaseballsomedie-
hardclaimshecaughtinBaltimore.TheSportsIllustratedmagazinewithmeandmy
exAmberonthecover.Thekidwhobringsmethatonelookswaytooyoungtobeable
toreadthearticles,buthetapsonAmber’sphotoandgrinsupatmelikehe’sthinking
niceone,andIcan’thelplaughingasIscrawlmysignatureacrossthatcoverforhim.

I’mgrabbingmyshit,finallyreadytoheadout,whenTommyPizzaslidesupnextto

me.“Thatbitchfromthestation.Youbangingher?”

Ijabmyfingerstraightintohisoversizedpecs.“Shut.Up.”
Helaughs.“Fine,whatever,bruh.”Hepullsonhiscoat,shakinghisheadashedoes.

“Man,Ihatethesegigs,”IhearhimmutterinthegeneraldirectionofhisnearestPR
lackey.“Thesekidscreepmeout.”

Ifeelthelavastarttobuildinsideme.Reinitthefuckin,Mark.Thepapsarestill

here.IsufferedthroughthatreconciliationwithPizzaoncealready.Icannotblowthis.

100,99,98…
Idon’tevenreach95.Ijustwalkawayfromthepunk,eyesonthesky.He’snot

worthit.

Outintheparkinglot,I’msurprisedtonoticeRose’scar(though“car”isputtingit
politely)stillthere.Sureenough,whenIroundthetrunk,she’sbentunderthehood,
hercurvyassstickingstraightupintheair.

LasttimeIchecked,Rosedoesn’tknowadamnthingaboutcars.Butwhoknows?

Peoplechange.

Still,Ican’tresisttheopportunity.Or,frankly,theexcusetolingernearthatassa

littlelonger.“Needsomehelp,littlelady?”

Rosepopsupfromthegutsofthecarjustlongenoughtoglareatme.
“Seriously,”Iamend.“Youstalledout?”
“Doyouknowanythingaboutcars?”sheaskswithasigh.“IfIcallatow,I’mafraid

they’lljustcondemnher.”

Ipeekunderthehood.Thosecarpartsareolderthanuscombined.Itestacoupleof

hosesandoneburstsinmyhand,squirtinggreaseacrossmycoat.“Youdon’tneeda
mechanic.Youneedapriest.”

“Fuck.”Rosegroansandleansherforeheadonthehood.“ButIloveher.”
“Wellthen,Ihopeyou’rewillingtoputinawholelotofwork.”Iwipeawaygrease

frommyhandsonmyruinedcoat.“She’llbefinehereforthenight.I’llsendovermy
mechanicinthemorning.”

“I’vegotplacestobe,Mark,”shechides.
“Soletmegiveyouride.”
Hereyesdarttomine,andIrecognizethatlook.She’stempted.Thensheshakesher

headandstaresbackattheMeadowlands.“Idon’tthinkthat’sagoodidea.”

“Don’tberidiculous.It’sgettingcold.Cabsoutheretakeacenturytoshow.Notto

mentiontheychargeaboutthreetimesthetollratetogetbackintothecity.”Iofferher
anarm.“Letmeplaythegallantknightandsaveyoufromtheserialkillers.”

Shebitesherliptoholdbackagiggle.Herdimplesarecute.“Ahyes,yeoldeserial

killersofNewJersey.”

“YouknowtheMeadowlandsarelike,thenumberonedumpinggroundforbodies

themafianeedstohide,right?”

Shepursesherlips,butIcantellI’mwinningherover.
“Besides,youhaven’tseenmynewride.”Ijerkathumbovermyshoulder.“I’ve

gottenbettertasteincarssincehighschool.Thisbaby’sgotaleatherinterior.Topofthe
linestereo.AndofcoursemyJeterbobbleheadonthedash,thankstoyourstruly.”

Shesnorts.“Sothat’swhatthatwasfor?Cardecoration?”
“It’saveryimportantelementofthetruck,Rose.You’llsee.”
Andjustlikethat,Iwin.Shedropshershouldersinsurrender,andbendstosnatch

upherbags.“Fine.Ifit’llmakeyoustoppesteringme.”

Itrynottogrintootriumphantly,thoughIcan’tresistasmallsmile.IfIcangether

inmytruck,I’mhalfwaytohomebase.

She’squiettillwehitthe17.“CanIturnontheradio?”sheasks,herhandhoveringby
theknob.

AfterInod,sheswitchesiton.W-ALTblaresthroughthespeakers,andsheblinks

overatmewithasurprisedsmile.

Ishrug.“WhatcanIsay?I’mateamplayer.”
Ifuckinglivefortheblushthatcreepsoverhercheeksrightthen.
ThedrivepassesfasterthanI’dlike.AllIcanthinkaboutishowIwanttopullover

ontotheshoulderandpullthatT-shirtoverherhead.Kissmywaydownherneckand
uncrossthosearmsofhers,holdthemoverherheadasIslideintothepassengerseat
ontopofher.

Butshejuststaresoutthewindow,herarmsandlegscrossed,silent.Everynowand

thenIcatchhereyeinthereflectionofthewindowglass,studyingmewhenshethinks
Iwon’tnotice.Theonlyencouragingthingisthathergazedropsdowntomychest
moreoftenthannot,lingeringonthelineofmypecsandabs,visiblethroughmytight
T-shirt.

“Lefthere,”shesays,andIfollowherdirections.Thesilencefeelselectric.Ican’t

takeitanymore.

“Look,Rose,”Isay,justasshesays,“Mark.”Webothpause,thenlaughsoftly.“You

first,”Itellher.

Thoseround,wideeyesofherscatchmineagain.Sherunsahandthroughher

honey-coloredhair,ahabitshe’shadsincehighschool.“Thisallfeelsreally,
dangerously…familiar.”

Iraisemyeyebrows,invitinghertogoon,butshetakesabreaktopointmedown

anotherroad.Shit.Wemustbegettingclose.“Youmeanmedrivingyouhomeaftera
longnightofmutualfrustration?”Idaretosay.

That,atleast,earnsasoftlaugh.Thoughherexpressionremainsalittlesad.

Longing.“Well,forstarters,yeah.Youandmeingeneral,Mark,itjustfeelslikewe’re…
slippingintooldpatterns.Likeit’dbesoeasytojustpickupwherewe…”

“Whereyou,”Iclarify,andherexpressionshiftstoaglare.
“Whereyou,ifIrecall,leftoff,”shefinishes,chinhigh.That’sachallenge.ButIdon’t

wanttorisetoit.

Foronce,Idon’twanttofightwithher.Well,notunlessthatfightisgoingtoendin

someseriouslyfierymake-upsex.“Rose…”

“I’mrighthere,”sheinterrupts,pointingtoathreestorybuildingonadarkstreet.
Ikilltheengine,andthetruckgoesdark.Inthenewsilence,Icanheareverybreath

shetakes.Seeherlipspart,assheleanstowardme.Imirrorher,reachahandupto
cuphercheek.SheblinksinsurprisewhenItouchher,butshedoesn’tpullaway.Ilet
mythumbtracetheoutlineofherluscious,fulllips.“Rose,”Isayagain,andthistime
it’snotthestartofaconversationbuttheendofone.

Shecloseshereyesandtiltsherchinupandmylipscollidewithhers.Forasecond,

Iforgeteverythingelse.Thecar,thecoldoutside,thedarkstreet.It’sjustmeandher
andthatsexy,perfectbodyofhers.Myhandslidesdownhercheektocupthebackof
herneck,andmyotherhandcrossesthegearshifttowraparoundherhip,tuggingher
towardme.

Butthatseemstowakeherup.Shejerksback,away,andwebothgaspasshebreaks

thekiss.

Fuckinghell.
Sheleansbackinherseat,eyesshut,bothofusbreathingalittleharderthanusual.

“Idon’tthinkweshoulddothis,”shefinallysays,thoughhervoicewavers.

“Whatisityouwanttodo,Rose?”Itrytocatchhereye,butshestaresfirmlyoutthe

windownow,herjawset.

“Iwantmyradioshowtosucceed.Iwanttomakethisstationthebiggestthingsince

slicedbread.Iwanttoberespectedformycareerchoices,nottheguyI’mbanging.”

“LasttimeIchecked,nobangingishappening,”Ipointout.
“Exactly,”shesnaps,thenshakesherhead.“It’sjust…it’stoomuchrightnow,

Mark.”

TypicalRose.Hotthencold.Onthenoff.Shelovesplayinghardtoget,butsheplays

sohardthatsheconvincesherselfsometimes.Butshe’sdonethisbefore.AlthoughI’m
dyingrightnowasmypantsstraintighter,Icanwaitherout.“Allright.”Icatchhereye
againandjustgazeatheruntilIseeherjawtremble.Iwanttorestartthatkissright
fuckingnow.Iwanttokissherlonger,harder.Iwanttopinherbeneathme,andmake

thewholerestofherbodytremblelikeherjawlinerightnow.

Instead,Iforcearelaxed,nonchalantsmile.“ButIdon’twanttospendthenext

threeweeksworkinginthetundra.Canweagreetobefriendly?”

Sherubsherforehead,butnods.“Yeah.Ofcourse.”
“Thankyou,Rose.”
“Goodnight,Mark.”Sheopensthedoorandclimbsout.Leaningbackinmyseat,I

drummysteeringwheelandwatchuntilsheopensherfrontdoor.Halfofmewatches
becauseIwanttomemorizeherstride,hergait,thesexyflashofherlonglegs.The
otherhalfwantstomakeabsolutelysureshe’shomesafebeforeIleaveheralone.

OK,Ithink.Aceasefire.Mydickandballsachethewholedrivehome,butthisis

betterthanconstantfighting,right?

Butsomehow,whenIwalkthroughthefrontdoorofmycabin,theemptinessofthe

placehitsmehard.Ifeel…lonely.

Mylandlineringsafewminuteslater.Adistraction,perhaps.ButwhenIseeonthe

callerIDthatit’soneofmyoldfuckbuddies,Deborah,theonewithaJLoassanda
mouthlikeahoover,Idropthecalltovoicemailwithoutevenknowingwhy.Forsome
reason,rightnow,thatdoesn’tfeellikeenough.

ROSE

Ihavefans!

Ihavereallivepeoplewhowanttohavetheirpicturetakenwithme.Theysqueal

whentheyseemeandshoutaftermeabouthowawesomeIam.

IdiscoveredmynewfoundfanbasewhenIarrivedatthestudiothismorning(inan

Ubersincemypoorbabyisintheshopnow).UsuallywhenIgettothestationIparkin
thebacktoavoidMark’sfans—thedie-hards,thegroupiesandtheautographhounds—
buttheUberleftmeoutfront,andIsteppedfromitsconfinestodiscoveragaggleof
girlsholdingupW-ALTbannersandbeggingformysignature.

Forasecond,Ijuststoodtheregaping.Thenacoupleotherpeopleamongthegaggle

ofthirty-oddMarkfansshouted,“Hey,it’sRose!”andsuddenlythewholegroup
migratedovertome.

I’mstillsigningW-ALTbannersandYankeesposters,slightlyconfused,whenMark

pullsup.

Ofcourse,ashearrives,mostofthefansdriftovertosurroundhistruck.ButIstill

haveafewstragglers,clearlyjusthereforme.

“Enjoyingtheperksoffandom?”heasksashestridesovertome,wearinghisusual

T-shirtandsmirkcombo.Damnhim.Whydoeshelooksexyashellevenwhenhe
clearlyjustrolledoutofbed?Hishairisamess,yetitonlyaccentuateshissharp
cheekbonesandthesparkleinhiscrazyblueeyes.

“Whatisgoingon?”IaskhimasIwaveawaythelastautograph,andjogacrossto

meethimatthestationdoor.

“Thefanshavebeenaskingforyou,”hesays.
“Huh?”
“Rosewiththesexyvoice,”hemurmursinmyearasIreachhisside.Heloopsa

protectivearmaroundmywaist,andmostofthefansbackoff.

Ofcourse,thetwoofussoclosetogetherandhimembracingmestartsawholenew

explosionofphotosbeingtaken.

“Sexyvoice?”Irepeatlikeanidiot.
“Youreallythinknobodynoticedhowhotyouareonourshow?”
“Well,I…”Acouplemorefansarearriving,andthecamerasflashmoreoftennow.I

wanttopullawayfromhim,stopanyrumorsrightnow,butI’mkindofnervousabout
facingthiscrowdalone.“ShouldIbeafraidhere?”Iwhisperundermybreath.

“You’llbefine.”Hetightenshisarmaroundme,though,andlooksuptocatchthe

eyeofaguynearthestationdoor—security,Irealize,whichwemusthavehiredwhen
Mark’sshowstartedtobuildinpopularity.Sureenough,theguardstartsrightover
towardus.“Yougotthis,”Marktellsme,andsomehow,Ibelievehim.

Wewalkacrosstheparkinglot,securitypartingthecrowdlikeMosesandtheRed

Sea.Markpatsmyside,andmywholebodytingles,tingles,tingles.

Fuck.IthoughtIhaderasedthememoryofourkisslastnight,butmylipsburn

nowjusttothinkofit.

Justaswearealmostinthebuilding,aguydressedinaMetsjerseyinaseaofYankees
garbstepsbetweenusandthedoors.“You’regoingtoblowthisseason,Carrington,”the
guysneers.Irecognizehisvoicefromhiscalls.I’mnotsurehowexactlyIpictured
Mack,butIcertainlythoughthewouldhavehadmoreteeth.

“Ok,wanker,”Marklaughs.
Whenwefinallygetintothebuilding,IalmostknockDocBingover.“Good

morning.”Hehandsmehislittledog.RobertE.Leegivesmeathousandlicksinthree
secondsashesquirmsinmyarms.

“Ididn’trealizeyouwereintoday,”Imanagetosaybetweenlicks.
“IneedtohaveaquickchatwiththeYankeeherebeforeyourshow.”
DocBingcollectshispupandIfeelastingasIwatchthemwalkofftomyofficefor

theirprivatemeeting.I’mtheshowrunnerhere.Shouldn’tIbeinvolvedinthat
conversation?

Istomptothestudioallbutt-hurt,butfeeltheimmediatecalmingeffectofNight

Vixen’svoice.MyheartrateslowsandIsipatmycoffeetospeeditup.MaybeNight
Vixenreallyisavampire.She’sonthemicreadingcopyaboutaVFWHallshownext
weekend,andevenjusthearingsomethingboringlikethatmakesmecalmer.Ilether
sneakintheseunpaidboostsforthelocalscenelikeVFWbecauseherdevotiontothe
realscenetouchesme.Shepushesthenexttrackandwavesmein.

“Howdidyoulikeyourfans?”Vixenwinks.
Istifleagroan.“Howdidyouknow?”
Shethumbsattheparkinglot.“Someofthemhavebeenouttheresincelastnight.”
Iperchonthetablenexttoher,shakingmyhead.“It’sprettyweird,I’vegotta

admit.”

“Prettycool,Rose.”Sheadjustshermicandlaysoutherfinaltwotracks,thenturns

tome.Hefaceisblankandserious.“Becarefulthough.”

BeforeIcanaskwhatshemeans,Markboundsintothestudio.Oninstinct,Ismileat

him,butthenrememberI’mmad,dammit.Iexittheboothandtrytoscowl,butitfeels
morelikeapout.“WhatwasthatmeetingwiththeDocabout?”Doubledamn.Isound
likeI’maccusinghimofsomething.That’snotfair.Icheckmytone.“Imean,wasit
anythingimportant?”

Heshakeshisheadandshrugs.“HewantstoknowifI’dbeinterestedinextending

mytimewiththeshow.Throughspringtrainingandbeyond.ByremotewhenI’mon
theroadandwithguestspotsandstuff,youknow,otherpeoplefillinginformewhenI
can’t.”

Ifeelarollofuneasytensioninmybelly.“Doyouwanttodothat?”
Heshrugshisbigshouldersagain.“Idunno.It’sneverbeendonebeforewithan

activeplayer.Stanleymentionedthismighthappen.Iguesswe’reallgoingtotalk
aboutitnextweek.Butyouknow,I’vegotspringtraininginthreeweeks...”

Ihunchmyshoulders.Iknowhe’sleaving.Iknewthatallalong.Iwasgladforitat

thestart.Sowhydoesithurttoberemindedthathe’ssteppingbackoutofmylifein
justthreeweeks?

“Right.Imean.Youneedtoconcentrateonyourgame.”Myvoicesoundsthickwith

hurt,nomatterhowItrytodisguiseit.

Hereadsmydespairandrestshishandonmyshouldergently.“Look,we’reinthis

together,Rose.Remember?I’mateamplayer.Ifthisshowgoesnational…”

“National?”Idon’tknowifIexhaledthewordorinhaledit,butwhateverIdiditwas

loud.Me.Runninganationalradioshow.

Beingonanationalradioshow.
Morefansintheparkinglot,morefanstuningintoeveryshow.Tonsofexposure.

Pilesofmoney.

AguaranteedcareerforaslongasIwantit,onanationalradiostation.Myhead

spins.It’severythingIeverwantedfrommycareer,andyet,confusingly,it’scoming
fromapartnershipIdon’tthinkIshoulddelvetoodeeplyinto.BeingwithMarkmakes
meworrythatI’lllosefocus,forgetaboutmycareerandlosemyselfinhis…

Markisshruggingagainlikeit’snobigdeal.“Right,national.Itwouldbecool.”Buta

dropinthebucketforhim,fameandmoneywise.

Ilookaroundthestudio.Cheapwoodpanels,smellycarpetandwiresheldtogether

withducttape.Couldanationalshowbemyfuture?Inastate-of-the-artstudio?

Doingsportstalk?
IsthatwhatIwant?
Iwouldbehellastupidtowalkawayfromanopportunitylikethat.Themoney

alonecouldfundtheever-livingshitoutofmeandGeo’spodcast.Icouldgetanational
syndicate.Makemusicontherealbig-leaguewaves.

Butforallitsdecay,IdoloveW-ALT’scharm.Whatwouldhappentothisstation?

CouldIbringitnationalwithme,orwouldIneedtoleaveitinthedust?

“SpringtrainingisinFlorida,”Marksaysandmyheadsnapsbacktohim.Iheard

thewords,butcan’trespond.Mytongueisfrozeninmymouth.

Iknewthisallalong.Iknewthetrainingwasn’there.Iknewhewasleaving.I

repeatthosewordslikeamantrainmyhead.

ThenMarkcocksaneyebrow.“Yougotabikini?You’vealwayshadasmokin’bod.”
Nowmymouthdropsopen,butitstilltakesasecondtounfreezemytongue.

“But…”

NightVixenvacatestheDJbooth,andIgetamomenttorecoverasMarksnapson

hisheadphonesandsetsup.

“Myjobishere,”Isputter.
Heshrugs.“Unlesswe’rerecordingtheshowfromtrainingcamp,”hepointsout.
Oh.
Oh.Stunned,Iplopdownonmychairintheproductionboothandcueuphisintro.
Florida.Afewshortweeksago,theSunshineStatedidn’tcrossmymindunlessI

staredatitslogowhiledrinkingorangejuice.Nowit’smorphedintoanimpossibly
suddenpossibility,andIcan’tprocesswhatitmeanstomycareer,myplans,mylife.
Butthere’snotimenow.Mark’sintroisending.

It’sshowtime.
ThefirstcallerisFrankie,adiehardbaseballfanfromBayonne.She’sanewonefor

me,butMarkgreetsherlikethey’vehatedeachothersincechildhood.AsIlisteninto
theirargument,headswimmingfromallthestatisticschat,onethingbecomesclear:if
thisthingisgoingtomoveforward,ifIamgoingtoproduceanationalbaseballshow,I
havetolearnaboutbaseballandIneedtolearnitfast.

EspeciallyifI’mgoingtomovetoFloridatochasespringtrainingcamp.
AtthefirstbreakIgetonMark’sheadphones.“Hey,canIaskafavor?”

ROSE

“Wherearewegoing?”IshoutoverMuse’sAbsolution.Mark’struckcrossedthe
GeorgeWashingtonBridgefiveminutesagoandwearedeepintheBronx,adark,
scaryplaceIhaveonlybeenonceindaylight.He’sbeenquietfortherideexceptto
repeatthatwherewe’regoingisasurprise.He’sbeenteasingmealldayaboutit,ever
sinceIaskedhim—asafavor—toteachmeaboutbaseball.Somethingaboutthe
requestputapermanentsmileonhisfaceandhe’sbeensmirkingeverytimeIlookat
him.

Ashedrivesusthroughaninnercitywarzone,Istealglancesathimandsmileat

thethingsInotice.Sometimebetweenleavingthestationandpickingmeupat9,he’s
showeredandshavedagain.Freshasadaisy,heis.Thoughconsiderablymoremanly.
Alsohesmellsbetter.Likethepineycolognehewears,layeredbeneathhisown
unique,headyscent.Icouldn'tgetenoughofthatsmellwhenwedatedinhighschool,
anditstillintoxicatesmenow.Butmynoseisalittledistractedfromhimbythefaint
lemonscentinthetruck.Myeyescatchtheglossyglowofhisdashboardinthe
moonlight.

Someonehadtheirtruckdetailedafterhisshiftthismorning.
So,Igetthathe’ssexuallyinterested.That'salwaysbeenobvious.Butequally

obviousisthefactthathewouldprobablybanganyfemale.Butallthisextraefforttells
meheespeciallywantstobangme.Ican'tfigureoutwhyexactly,ifhisnormaltypeis
moresupermodelthansuper-DJ,butforsomereason,hewantsmebad.Partofmeis
thinkingthat’senough.

Maybe.
Ontheotherhand,Icouldwindupjustlikelasttime.Alone,rejected,skippingout

onprombecausehesettledonahottermodel,nursinganotherbrokenheart.

“Theresheis,”heinterruptsmythoughtswithanodforward.Ilookoutandsee

YankeeStadiumintheneardistance.Allthelightsareonandit’slightingupthenight.

“Isthereagametonight?”Ithoughtitwasoffseasonandtherewerenogames,but

whatdoIknow?

“Yes,”hesayswithagrin.“Abigone.”
“Who’splaying?”
Helaughssoftlyandhepullsintotheemptystadiumparkinglot.“Meandyou.”
Iblinkinhisgeneraldirection.“What?”

Hepullsinfrontofagateandswitchesofftheengine.Tossingandcatchinghiskeys,

hewiggleshiseyebrowsatme.“Thebestwaytolearnbaseball,”hesays,“istoplay
baseball.”

Attheentrancegate,Iturnmyfaceaway,butpeekasMarkpalmsafewsecurityguys
somecashandshakestheirhands.I'mguessingthecashwasacourtesyonMark’spart,
becausetheguysarestaringathimwithpoppingeyesandtoothysmiles.Heistheir
god.

Marktakesmyhandandpullsmedownalonghallwayuntilwereachadoor

markedLOCKERROOM.Hepushesopenthedoorandthesmellofathousandsporty
guyshitsmeintheface.It’snotabadsmellbyalongshot,justareallyoverpowering
masculinesmellandmybodyinstinctivelyrespondswitharushofsexhormonesto
mybrain.SuddenlyallIcanthinkaboutisthetightshirtMarkiswearing,thewayit
outlineseverymuscleinhisbody.That,andhowbadlyIwanttoripthatshirtoffhim
andrunmyfingersovereveryinchofsaidmuscles.

WestopinfrontofalockerandIseeaplaquereadingCARRINGTONatthetop.He

popsitopenandpullsouttwowell-oiledmittsandabat.Thenhehandsmehisjersey
andsettleshisofficialcaponmyhead.Hisscentsettlesaroundmyshouldersalong
withthejersey,faint,sincehe'swashedthething,butsomehowhecouldn'thidethe
factthatthisjerseybelongstohim.Now,wearingit,IalmostfeelasthoughIdo,too.

Dangerouslineofthoughttoallow.Ishakemyheadtoclearit.
"TodayyouareaYankee,”hetellsme,grinningfromeartoear,andIsmileback,

evenasmystomachtwistsinwarning.AllIcanrememberisthatsearingkisslast
night.

I'mintrouble.

OfcourseIknowYankeeStadiumisbiggerthanabreadbox,butIhavenoideahow
immenseitisuntilMarkleadsmethroughagatewayandontothefield.Feelingalittle
dizzyinthevastemptiness,Ialmosttripovermyownfeetstaringupatthestands.

“Whoa.”Markcatchesmyelbow,steadyingme.“Iknowhowyoufeel.Butthisis

nothing.Youshouldseewhatit’slikewiththecrowdroaringandthecameras
followingeverymoveyoumake.”

“Ican’timagine.”Butinaweirdway,Icansensewhatitmustbelikeforhim.When

westopathomeplateIscanthestadiumandpicturethepressureofperformancehe
faceseverytimehewalksontothefield.Ican’tevenkeeptrackofmyowntwofeetin
anemptystadium,andyethebatshomerunswiththousands—no,millions—ofeyes
onhim.

Afterhetossesourglovestotheside,hedirectsmygazetotheballthrowing

machineonthepitcher’smound.“I’mgoingtoturnthatonandyou'regoingtohita
coupleofballs.”

“Me?”Iexclaim,buthedoesn’thearme.He'salreadyjoggingtowardthemachine.

Withaflickofhiswrist,hejogsbacktohomeplate.

Hetakesthebatandmotionsformetostandoutoftheway.“Letmeshowyouhow

it’sdone."

Hepositionshisbodyandhiseyessquintintolaserfocus.Helookslikeastatue,legs

bent,elbowsout,everymuscletensed,hiseyestightonthemound.There’sacrank
fromthemachineandaballspitsout,flyingatwhatlookstomelikethespeedoflight.
IinstinctivelycowerbackandshieldmyheadasMarkswingsthebat.

CRACK!
Myeyesfollowtheballup,up,up....andout,out,out,untilitfadesintothenight

waypasttheneareststands.ImouththewordWOW,butMarkdoesn’tseeme.He’s
lickinghislips,shufflinghisfeetandchokinguponthebat.Hisgazeonceagainhones
inonthemachine.Helookslikehe’sgonnafuckitup.Itspitsoutanotherball…

CRACK!
ThisoneIdidn’tevensee.It'sjustabullet-likeblur.It’sprobablyinJapanbythe

timeheturnsaroundtocurvehisfinger,beckoningme.

“Batterup!”
ItiptoetohimlikeI’mabouttogetaspanking,tornbetweennervesand

excitement.Mysportsexperienceisprettymuchlimitedtodrunkenbeachvolleyball
andwatchingSuperbowlforthecommercials,butcomeon.I'minYankeeStadiumfor
aprivatelessonwithafamousbaseballplayerwhoishandsomeashell.I’lltakea
swingortwo.

Hehandsmethebat,handlesidefirst,andstepsoutoftheway.Iquicklygetinto

position,mimickinghisstance.Myelbowsfeelallwrong,nottomentionitseemslike
I'mstickingmybuttoutinhisface.

Sureenough,asecondlaterhetouchesmyelbow,lightly,tonudgeithigher.Itryto

ignoretherushofadrenalinethatshootsupmyarmfromhistouch.

“Headsup,”hemurmurs,hisvoicewarminmyear.Withastart,Ilookupatthe

machinetorealizeit'sfiring.

There’sahumofthemotorandaswooshofair.IswingashardasIcan...andwhirl

aroundinacircle,nearlytopplingover.

Miss.
Heclapsanyway.“Goodeffort."
Irollmyeyes,buthe'salreadyshakinghishead,pushingmebackintoposition.
"Tryagain.Leanintoit.”
Irepositionthebatinmyhandsandglareatthemachine.I’mready.I’mgoingtodo

this.Thismachinehasnothingonme.

Hum...clink...pop,andtheballsailstowardme.
SWOOSH.
Itsoundslikeamissilejustflewbymyhead,butI'vegotnothingtoshowforitbuta

wideswing.Iscowl,pissedthatImissedit.Dammit."Thisthingischeating!"Iglareat
it.

Marklaughsandstepsupbehindmeagain.Heputshisstronghandsonmyhips

andpullsmeawayfromtheplatebyaboutsixinches.Thenhewrapshisarmsaround
mineandI'mengulfedinhotmanmuscle.Nice.

“OK,”hewhispers,hisbreathticklingmyneck.“Bendyourknees.Notthatmuch,"

heamendswhenmykneesalmostbucklefromlust."Leanover."Istickmyassout,

andcollidewithhiscrotch.

What'sthatIfeel,pressinghardagainstmyass?Iwrigglemyhips,resistingtheurge

togrin.FuckhefeelsevenbetterthanIremember.

"Notthatmuch,"herepeats,thoughI'mgratifiedtonoticehisvoicesoundsthicker

thistime."Armsuphigher,too.”

Ihearhimsighandthenfeelhisentirebodyatmybackasaballbuzzesbyus.It’s

likehe’sspooningmestandingupandIcanfeelhistightmusclesonmythighs,assand
back.HisheatenvelopsmeandI'mlovingit.Hetightenshishandsovermineonthe
bat,andittakeseveryounceofconcentrationIhavetokeepmyeyeontheball.

“Watchandwait.”
Anotherballexplodesoutofthemachine.Ifeellikeit’scomingrightatmeand

grindbackonMark,nervous.Thatwillhurtifithitsme.Butheholdsmefirm...um,
reallyfirm.Hisbig,powerfularmsforceminetoswingandIfeeltheenergyoftheball
crackingagainstthebat.Ithitssohardmyarmsfeellikewetnoodles.Myteethchatter.
It’slikefiringariflewithafuckofakickback.

Theballsailsintothestandstotheleft.
Igaspoutabreath,butbeforeIcancongratulatemyselfhesays,“Wecandobetter."

Herepositionshisbodyagainstmine,deepinthezonenow,andIdon’tthinkheeven
feelsmyasspressingagainsthisharddickanymore.Irelaxagainsthimagainand
savorthepowerfulfeelingofhisbodywrappedaroundmine.Iaminnowaya
weaklingofawoman,butinhisarmsIfeelthisintensesenseofstrengthandpower
anditmakesmewanttojustrelyonhismuscles.

WhatwasthatNenehCherrysong?Iamstrongenoughtobeweakinhisarms.
We—no,he—swingsthebatagain.Ifthiswasarealgameitwouldbeahomerun.It

sailshighintothestands,outofreach.“I’llmeetyouatfirstbase,”hesayssuddenly,
slappingmyass.Istartle,andbeforeIknowit,he'sjoggingtowardthemachine.Itake
offasfastasIcanrun,butevenpausingtoswitchoffthemachine,hestillbeatsmeto
first.

Islideacrosstheplate,andhetagsmeasIdo,aspareballinhisfist.
“AmIout?”IpurrupathimafterIcollidewithhischest.Hisarmswraparoundme,

almostautomatic.Unfortunately,Ihaven’trunthatfarforalongtime,soIsoundout
ofbreathlikeIjustranamarathonuphill.

Hekeepshishandsonmyhips,leansin,andIfinallysnapbacktomysensesand

slipoutofhisreach.Hesensesmymood,andshiftshishandstohisownhipsinstead,
surveyingthestadium.

“Myfirsttimeatbathere,Ihitahomerun.”Hepointstothebackofthestadium.“It

wentthatwayandbouncedoffthebackwall.”Hetakesabreath.“I’vehittonssince,
butnothingwilleverfeellikethatfirsttime,youknow?”

Inod.
NotthatIunderstandhittingarunhome,ofcourse.ButIdoknowwhatit’sliketo

listentothatnewrecordfromyourfavoritebandforthefirsttime.Sure,thesongs
becomeoldfriendsafteryouwearoutthetrackswithnonstopplays.Butyouwill
neveragainfeelthatfirsttickleoftheriffsoftheguitarinyourearorthebassline
fuckingwithyourheartbeat.

HisattentionsnapsbacktomeandImustbewearingsomesensualexpression

becausehedoesthatdazzlingeyething,hisgazealloverme,eatingmealive,andhe
stepscloseragain,closingthegapbetweenusoncemore.“Youknow..."Hegrins."You
arenotofficiallysafeuntilyouputyourfootonthebase.”

Iglancedownandseemyfeetaren’tonthebase.Iquicklycorrectit.“AmIsafe

now?”

Hetakesanotherstepcloser.“Oh,notquiteyet.Don’tyourememberhowtogetto

firstbase?”

Ilaugh.“Iguessyouhavetoshowme.”
“Withpleasure,ma’am.”
Hewalksuptomeandstops,hisfaceinchesfrommine.Itfeelslikeadarefora

secondandinmyheadallmyhesitationissilencedbymyinnervoicescreamingkiss
mekissmekissme.FinallyhecupsmyfaceinhishandsandIfeellikeswooning.Notto
becliché,butmykneesdon'twanttoworkwhenhishandsareonme.Theywantto
rebelanddropmedowntothedirt,pullhimontopofmerighthere...Hiseyesstare
medownandheleansincloser,closer,closer...andthen,he…

Kissesmyforehead.
Asmymouthdropsopen,hesprintsawayinthedirectionofsecondbase.“Come

on!”heshoutsoverhisshoulder.Icanhearthelaughterinhisvoice.

Whatatease.
Twocanplaythisgame.
Irunhardagain,fasterthistime,spurredonbyadrenaline(and,okay,motivatedby

theurgentneedfiringinmyladybits).Heletsmebeathimtothenextbaseandeven
sauntersthelasttenpaceswithasmirkonhisface.“Accordingtobaseballrules,”he
saysinanofficialannouncervoice.“Secondbasemeanstits.”

Ifoldmyarmsacrossmychest.“Oh,isthatso?”
“Yep.”Hefoldhisarmsacrosshisownchestandtapshisfootonthebase.“My

house,myrules.”

Pressingmylipstight,Iglancearoundthestadium,thenbackathimjustintimeto

catchthateyebrowwiggle.Naughtinesswashesovermeandmyfaceheatsup.Igrab
thebottomhemofmyshirtandtugitawayfrommybody,lockingeyeswithhim.

Hiseyeswidenandhismouthparts.Idon’tthinkheactuallyexpectedmetotake

himuponthis.“Yes…”

Allinonemotion,Iliftmyshirtandflashhim,archingmybacktoshowoffmybare

breasts.ThenItugmyshirtdownagain,lightningfast.

Hefrowns.“Hey,wait.Thatwastooquick.”
“Yourturn,”Icounter.
Withhissmileintactandhiseyestrainedonme,hepeelsoffhisshirtandtossesit

behindhim.Underthestadiumlights,well,let’sjustsaymyeyesarefeastingonthe
glisteningperfectionofhisnakedchest.Hetakesasteptowardme,butI’malready
sprintingtowardthird.

“Iknowwhatthirdbaseis,”IcallovermyshoulderasIrun.“Doyou?”
Heboltspastmeandjumpsonthird.Heturnsandlooksatmeforamoment.Then

hisfacegrowsseriousashestepsclosertome,stillsilent.Suddenlyit'shardtobreathe.
Hebiteshislipandcurveshisfinger.“Comehere,”hewhispers.

“Why?”Myeyessearchhisface.Isheteasing?Isheserious?

ButIcan'thelpit.Istepclosertohim,mybodysinginginanticipation.I'mvibrating

outofmyskinwithsexualheat.Ifhedoesn'tkissme,I'mjustgoingtohavetotake
mattersintomyownhands.Specifically,thosedeliciousabsofhis...

Onceagain,asIreachhisside,hecupsmyfaceinhishands.“I’mgoingtokissyou,”

hewhispers,lookingintomyeyes.“I’vebeenwantingtotasteyou.”

Ibarelyhavetimetonod.Ican'tthinkstraight.
Slowly,deliberately,hislipsbrushagainstmine.Thenhismouthpressesintothe

sweetestkisshehasevergivenme.Softmouth,hardtongueandjusttherightamount
ofpressurethatIcanfeelallover,butmostlybetweenmylegs.Rubbingmyhandson
hischest,Ipressmyhipsintohis.Hedeepensthekiss,hiskneeslidingbetweenmine.I
grindmyhipsagainsthisthigh,andfeelhiscockdigintomyinnerthigh.He’shardand
hotandeveryinchofthatisforme.

Fuck,Iwanthim.Iwanteverypartofhim.Iwanthiscockinsideme,Iwanttograb

hishipsandridehimuntilwebothcollapse...

Hestopskissingmeandwegazeintoeachother’seyesforalongmoment.Bothof

usarebreathinghard,andIdon'tthinkithasanythingtodowiththebasesthistime.At
least,nottheonesinthestadium.Ireachdowntostrokehisharddickoverhisjeans
andfeelhisbreathhitch,hishipsrocktowardmine.Hishandcreepsupmyside,
grippingmesohardit'llleavebruises,butIfuckingloveit.Hebrushesstrayhairoutof
myface.“Rose,I….”

ILOVEROCK‘NROLL
No.Ididn’thearthat.
Ipressclosertohim.
ILOVEROCK‘NROLL
“Isthatyourphone?”
Inod.“Theemergencylinefromthestation,”Imumble.I’mstillstaringathimwith

myhandpressedagainsthisjeans.Ifeelthatharddickbehindthedenim,andgod
damndoIwantit.

ILOVEROCK‘NROLL
“Shouldn’tyoupickup?”
“Idon’twantto,”Ipout.Butheraisesaneyebrowatme,soIstepawaywithasigh

andgrabmyphoneoutofmybackpocket.“ButIguessIhaveto.”

Henodsunderstandingandbrushesmycheekwiththebackofhishand.
“Hello?"
“Rose."It'sChris.“We'reofftheair.Thetransmitterblew.Rightinthemiddleofa

set.Callsareexplodingbutwecan'trecordorrespond...”

Iscrunchupmyforeheadandresisttheurgetoscreaminfrustration.“I’llbethere

assoonasIcan.”Ihangupthephoneandjustgroanforwhatfeelslikeaminute
straight.

Markwincesinsympathy.“Youhavetogoin?”
Inod.“Disaster.Ourtransmitterburnedout.Ifwearen'tbackontheairwithinthe

hour...”

Hewrapshisarmaroundme.“Comeon,I'lldriveyouover.Ifanyonecansolvethis,

it'syou.”

MARK

Mytherapistisalwaystenminutesearlyforoursessions.Notnineminutes,noteleven
minutes.Exactlytenminutes.Themanisconsistent,and,ifI'mhonest,that’spartof
thereasonhe'sstartingtogainmytrust.That,andhesatthroughatleasttensessions
ofmerantingaboutstupidTommyPizzaandtheidiotsinthepresswhomademefeign
affectionforhim.

NowhesitsacrossfrommesippingtheteaImadeforhim.TeaIdidn’tevenknowI

had.Teathatmagicallyappearedinmycabinetasifwaitingformetomakeit.“Earl
Grey.”Hesetsthecuponthecoffeetable.“Alwaysagoodchoice.”

"I'mnotsurehowoldthatis,"Iwarnhim."Itmustbefromatleastfourgirlfriends

ago."That'sthelasttimeIcanrememberdatingsomeonewhopreferredteatocoffee,
themoresensiblecaffeinechoice.

"Tastesfinetome."Hesmiles,andthat'sanotherthingIappreciateabouthim.This

guyisdowntoearth.Notanotherpretentiousoverpricedheaddoctor.

“How’syourkid,bytheway?”Aftertenintensesessionswiththeman,Ifinally

pickedupsomeinfoabouthislife.Marriedforadecade,he’sgota4weekoldson,and
that’safterheandhiswifetriedforyearstogetpregnant.

“Good.”Hegrins.“Exhausting.”
“Youlikebeingadad?”InoticeI'mrubbingmylegs,soIstop.
Helooksatmyhandsandthenbackatme.“EvenbetterthanIexpected.What

aboutyou,Mark?”

“Me?”Iambacktorubbingmylegs,hardernow.
Hewaitsformyeyestomeethisagain.“Yes.Doyouwantafamily?”
“Yeah,someday.Ijust…”Iletoutabreath.“Igotsomestufftoworkonbetween

nowandthen.”

Asheflipshisnotebookopen,henods.“Speakingofwhich,doyouhaveyour

homework?LasttimeIaskedyoutomakealistofthingsthatmakeyouhappy.”

Ipeelthepaperoutofmypocket,wrinkledfrombeingfoldedintomybackjeans

pocket.Iwroteitabouttenminutesbeforehegothere,admittedly.ButIremembered,
whichismorethanI'vedoneanyothertimehe'scomehere.IwroteitassoonasI
wokeuptoprepareforhisvisit,tidyingthelivingroomandcleaningupthekitchen
aftermylatenightburgerbingelastnightwhenIgotbackfromdrivingRoseintothe
station.Iopenthenoteandclearmythroat.“Firstfrost.Mytruck.Mycabin.

Hamburgerswithextracheese.”Ishiftinmyseat.“Hittinghomeruns.Doingmy
morningshowontheradio.MyDJpartnerontheradio...."

"Andwhoisthat?"heprompts,sosubtlyIalmostdon'tnotice.
"Oh,justRose.She'sanoldfriendfromhighschool."
"Really?"Hetapshispenonhisnotebook."Soyouvolunteeredforhershow?"
"Well,no,butnowthatI'mdoingit,it'sfun.Anddoingitwithherisfun;wehavea

goodrapport..."

“Let’stalkaboutthatrapport.”
Ishrugandlookdownatmyhands."It'snice,Iguess."WhenIglancebackup,he's

blinkingatme,lookingmoresurprisedthanI'veeverseenhimlook.

“Mark,areyouawareyou'resmiling?”
Istarttoprotest,butthenIhavetoadmitit—he’sright.

ROSE

Iamastressmuffin.

Thetransmitter—inplacesince1984—hasbeenblinkingonandoffalldayand

night.EventhoughIdon’tseesmokecomingfromitanymore,IswearIcanstillsmell
it.ChrisandIhavebeentakingturnsstandinghereeyeballingit,policingittokeepW-
ALTontheair.Iwasabletogetalittleshut-eyeonthecouch,butnotmuch.Itooka
splashbathinthebathroomsink,armpitsandfaceonly,andfeelslightlyrevived,butI
stillmightcollapsefromanxiety.

AllIneedisforthisdamnthingtocrapoutagainduringMark'sshow,andIcankiss

thosenationalsyndicationdreamsgoodbye.Nobodywillhiremetohelpwiththe
show.NotwhenmyonlyjobistokeepitontheairandIcan'tevendothat.

Theshittyoutofdatetransmittershutsoffagain.Iwhackit,anditsputtersbackto

life,butforhowmuchlonger,nobodyknows.

Doc'sresponsewaspredictableasever.Newtransmitternotinthebudget,hereplied

bytexttomyfranticcalls.Nevermindtheextracashwe'reflushwithfromMark's
show.Nevermindthatwehaveadrevenueoutthewazoonow.

Ihaveeveryfaithyouwillmakeitwork,herepliedtomystringofcursewords.This

iswhathappenswhenacrazyoldrichguyrunsyourmediacompanyforkicks,instead
ofneedingtomakeanactualprofitoranything.

Damnhim.
"Allgood?”NightVixenshoutsbetweensetsfromtheDJbooth.Icanjusthearher

throughthethinwallofthetransmitterroom.

"Notevenalittle,”Imutter.Itakeadeepbreath,butitdoesn’thelp.Ihtinkitmight

bepossibletodieofaheartattackat25."AnyluckwithChris?”Ishout.Hewastryingto
wrangleadealwithanearbycollegestationthatwentdigitalandgetthemtoloanus
theirtransmitter.

Ifthatdoesn'twork,Idon'tknowwhattodo.
ButIkindado,actually.
Betweenwhackingandwigglingandguardingthetransmitter,I’vebeendoingthe

mathinmyhead.CalculatinghowmuchIhaveonmycreditcards.Maybebetween
themIcanfinaglethethousandsneededforareplacementtransmitter,onebuiltthis
century.

"Nojoy,"NightVixenshoutsback,andmyshouldersslump.

Dammit.Iamgoingtomaxoutmydebt.
ButIloverockandrollandIamfool.
Thisismystudio.Mybaby.NightVixen,Chris,allourlisteners—theydependonme

tokeepherrunning.Theyareworthit.

Somehow,despitethedebtI’llberackingup,IfeelmuchcalmernowthatIhavea

direction.Myenergylevelsareshootingup.IradioChris.“Chris,pleasebabysitthis
hunkofjunkthroughtherestofNightVixen’sshow."

"Whatareyougoingtodo?"heasks,withtheairofamanaskingadoctorhowto

curehiscancer.

"Ihaveaplan,"Iassurehim.
Wetradeplaces,butI'mlessthanhalfwayoutthedoorwhenIcollidewithMark.
“Goodmorning!”Heholdsoutacupofcoffeeandholdsupaboxinhisotherhand.I

don’tmove.Heplacesthecupinmyhand,butitbarelyregisters—becausemyeyesare
gluedtothebox,theunbelievable,giant,brandedbox.Whatinthe...

“Whoa.”NightVixensticksherheadoutofherDJboothtostare.Shelookslikeakid

onChristmasmorning.“Isthat...?”

Iamawaremymouthishangingopen.IsnapitshutandjuststareatMark,whois

grinningeartoear.“DigitalwasallIcouldfind.Hopethat'sokay.Idon’tthinkthey
evenmakeanalogtransmittersanymore."Markwinks,evenasIradioChristocome
outofthedungeontechroom.“Doyouthinkyoucangetittoworkbeforetheshow?”
MarkissayingwhenChrisjoinsus,jumpingupanddown,hiseyesbulgingasmuchas
NightVixen'sdid.

"Hellyes,Ican,"Chrisshouts.
Me,I'mstillspeechless.
ChrisshakesMark’shand.“Thanks,man.ThishasgottabethebesttransmitterI’ve

evertouched.”

AndstillIamjuststaringatMark.
“DidIhitahomerun,Rose?”hefinallyasks,thatslylittlegrinIloveplayingonhis

lips.

“Youdidn’thaveto…”
Heholdsuphishand.“YesIdid.”
“But…”
“Rose…”HelooksatChris,thenatme.“Letmedomypart,ok?LikeIsaid.Team

player.”

“I…”Ijustcan’tbelieveitandIamtrulytouched.“Thankyou,”Ifinallysay,finding

myvoice.

Henods.Ithinkhemightbeblushingalittle.“Youareverywelcome.”
“Thankyou,”Irepeat.Butthistimeit’sawhisper,justforhim.

Theshowisablurofcallers,myScarlettJohanssonimitation,andMark’sintenselooks
fromacrosstheroom.Ihavebeenridingawaveofvictoryendorphins.Thecallshave
beenonfiretodayandthattransmitterisworkinglikeacharm.Mark’sT-shirtisnice
andtight,butwekeeplockingeyes.Aseachsecondoftheshowpasses,Iwanthim
more.Ikeepstaringathimandtouchingmyfingerstomylips.Duringourlast

segment,Itakedownmysloppybunandshakemyhairlose.

“Tomorrowis,uh…”Marktrailsofftostareatme.Hebiteshislip.“Uh,what’s

tomorrowagain?

Ileanintomymic.“TomorrowwehaveAlexRodriguezandDailyNewssports

journalistDavidBell,”Icoo.“Nottomentionmorecallsfromyourawesomedie-
hards.”

Marklaughs,alittleforcibly.“Gonnabeagreatshow,”hesays.“Later,wankers.”
AsRalphshufflesthroughthestudiodoorwithhisvinyl,IgiveMarkacomehither

lookandheadtotheproductionroom.Ostensibly,heneedstodosomevoiceworksoI
canspliceitintothefinishedpromopiecewehavetofinishtoday.

Butthat’snotallIwanttodointhere.Wehaveunfinishedbusinesstosettle.
Homerun,hereIcome.
Wordlessly,Markfollowsmetotheproductionroomdownthehallway.
Whatthehell?Alittlesexneverkilledanyone.IbreakouttheShakirahipsright

now.Theyrollwithadeliberatesexinessandcantellnolies,dammit.Ifeelthehot
wetnessbuildbetweenmylegsandmyentirebeingshiverswithanticipation.Iwantto
bealonewithhim.Iwanttotouchhim.

Iwanttofuckhim.AndIdon'tgiveashitabouttheconsequences.
Islamthedoorbehindhimandturntoseehehashishandraisedintheairfora

highfive.

Really.Idonotdohighfives.I’mafistbumpgirl.Ijuststareathimwithfake

annoyanceuntilhegivesmealighttaponthefist.

“Iamawesome,”hesays,grinning.
Ibowtohistruth.“Youare.Yousavedthedayandwonagain.AndforthatIam

eternallygrateful.”Ipointtotheheadphonesaroundhisneck.“Nowgetthosebackon.
Wehavetorecordacoupleoflines.”

“Yes,ma’am.”Hesnapsthemon.
It’sjustthreelinesofcopy.Simple.Icoulddoitinmysleep.Andsocouldhe,

apparently,becausehe’sperfectonthefirsttake.

ButIdon’twanthimtoleave.AsIworktheknobs,Ibrushmyhipsagainsthisand

rewindthetape."Again,"Icommand.

Thistime,hisvoicesoundsalittlethicker.Deeper.Hisouterthighgetsastrokefrom

myhand,andIleanwaytooclosetopointouthisline."Again,"Irepeat,myboobs
brushinghisbicep.HegivesmeasmilethattellsmeheknowsI’mstalling,heknows
I’mteasing.Andhe’steasingbackbyleaningin.Theonlyquestioniswhoisgoingto
sealthedeal.

Herepeatsthelineagain,andthistime,hisvoicehitcheswhenIbrushmyhand

lowerdownhisthigh.

“Youknow,”hemurmursafterthetenthtake.“IthinkIknowwhatmyproblemis.”
“Hmm?”
HepointsatmyDavidBowieshirt.It’svintageandthinnedfromamillionwashings.

Mynipsarepoppinglikemadanditmakeshimsmilelikeadevil.“NeverbeenaBowie
fan.”HetracestheThinDuke’sface,whichjusthappenstocrossmybreast.Hisfingers
lingeronmyhardnipple.“I’mdistractedbyyourshirt.”

“Oh.”Ilookdownwithafakepout.

“Takeitoff.”
Myeyeslightup.“Thatcouldwork.”Iletmygazewanderalloverhischest.“But

youfirst,”Isay,tuggingatthesleeveofhisT-shirt."It'sonlyfair."

Hehalfsmiles.“Noproblem.”Heremoveshisheadphonesandtakeshisshirtoffin

onegloriousswoop.Hekeepshiseyesonmeasitdropstothefloor.“Letmehelpwith
yours,”hewhispers.

Itakemyheadphonesoffandsetthemontheproductiondesk.
“Youhavethemostluscioustits.”Hesmiles.
HishandsareonmebeforeDavidBowieevenhitsthefloor.Hotandrough,his

fingersfeelamazingonmycool,softskin.Hesqueezesandkneadsthem,pinchingmy
nipples,harderwitheachpass.Histhumbflicksonenippleashegentlykissesthe
other,andthendoesthisloving,long,slowsuckonmyleftnippleuntilIcanfeelitin
mypussy.

“Isthatbetter?”Imanagetogasp.Iwanthimtokissme,soIguidethebackofhis

headupuntilhismouthisinchesawayfrommine.

"Almost.ButI’mgoingtoneedalittlemorefromyou,"hepurrsjustbeforeourlips

collide.It’sthekissIhavelongedforanditmakesmewantmore,more,more.

Helicksmylipsandthenhisown.“Howwedoing?”Hereacheshishandundermy

skirt.Ashekissesmeagain,hestrokesjusttherightplaceoutsidemypanties.Sweet
tendertouchesthatsetoffsexysparks.Mykneesforgethowtobekneesagain.“You’re
soakingthroughyourpanties,”hesays.

Hepullsmeclosetohimandhishot,nakedchestagainstminedrivesmewild.Ican

feeleveryinchofthosepecsonmytits,hiswashboardabshardagainstmystomach,
diggingintome,ourhipbonescolliding.Ibitehislowerlipandthenkisshim,my
tongueprobingintimewithhisfingersagainstmyundies.

Andthenmypantiesaresuddenlyoff,butIcan’ttestifyastohoworwhen.Ijust

feelarushofcoolairinthethrobbingspotbetweenmylegs.Thisisit.Nomore
waiting.Ihungrilytugathispants,completelyforgettinghowtounbuttonorzipthem.
Hestopsmewithagrin,fingerscurlingaroundmine.“Igotthis."

Hegazesatmeasheslideshisharddickoutofhisjeansformyinspection.
Jesus.It'sbiggerthanIremembered.
MorethanIexpected,butIcandeal.“Thinkyoucanhandle…”hestartstosay,

smirking,butmyfingerstouchhistip,shuttinghimup.

Liftingmyskirtup,Ipressmybackagainsttheproductionroomwall.Inonefluid

movement,Ikickmylegupandhehooksitinhisarm.WecouldbeonDancingwith
theStarsor,well,maybeDancingwiththePornStars.Thenextthinghedoesisswirl
theheadofhiscockagainsttheentranceofmypussy.Thenhepauses,justasI'mwet
andachingforhim,readytotakehimintome.

“I’mgoingtofuckyouwithmyhugecock.Youthinkyoucanhandleit,Rose?”
“Yes,”Ipant.
“Butmycondomsareinmywallet...whichisinmyjacket...whichisinyour

office…”

Ismileathimandjerkmyheadtotheside.Hisgazefollowsminetotheright.On

theproductiontablesitsalargeglassbowlofcondoms,agiftfromtheNJBoardof
Healthbeforelastsummer’smusicfest.

“You’reonehellofaGirlScout,Taylor."Hegrabsone.
AsIbitemylipdamnnearbloody,Iwatchhimtearthewrapperwithhisteethand

rollupthecondomwithonehand.Isavortheviewastherubberrollsdownhisthick
deliciouslength.Hedoesn'tevenlook.Heistalented.

Ashestaresatmewiththoseintenseblueeyes,heliftshishipsagain,bracedatmy

entrance."I’mnotgonnagoeasyonyou,”hesays,thoseeyeshardandhungryallat
once,andohfuckIcan'ttellhimhowmuchIlikethesoundofthat.

"Fuckme,Mark,"Igasp.
Inasingle,deepthrust,hefillsmewithhiscock.Imeltashepenetrateseveryinch

ofmypussy.Hegrindsagainstme,intomeandIthrustbackwithfuryuntilIcan’tsee
orhear.Ijustfeelredhotboltsofenergy.MykneebucklesandIfeelthestrengthofhis
armsholdingmeupandthepowerofhisdickbangingmetoanotherplace.Every
thrustsendsmehigher,closertotheedge,andI'msowetandhot,butIcanfeelevery
inchofhiminme,everythrustmakingmegaspinecstasy.

"You’resotight,"hegrowlsinmyear,handsroughonmyhips,pinningmeagainst

thewall.

“Fuck,”Imoan,tossingmyhairovermyshoulder.Markgathersmyhairinhisfist

andpulls,makingmegasp.

“I’mgonnamakeyoucomesohard.”
Ican'thelpbutobey,cryingoutfaintlyasIpeakovertheedge,theorgasmmaking

mywholebodyquake.Hekeepsthrusting,hard,unrelenting,andIspiralrightbackto
theedge,nearlyreadytocomeagainwhenhepinsmetothewallandfucksmefast
andhard,hisbreathahotrushinmyearashefinishes,gasping.

Thankgodhe'sthisstrong,becauseIcouldn'tstandonmyownrightnow.Onlyhis

stiffbicepsandthewallbehindmekeepmeupright.

Then,withoutwarning,whilewe'rebothstillpantingforair,tryingtorecover,

there’saknockatthedoor.Byitslight,rhythmictapIknow—thankgod—it’sBecks.I
amnot100%inlovewiththeideaofherfiguringoutwhat’sbeenupinhere(Mark),
butoutofallthestaff,she’stheleastlikelytospillmyjuicysecrets.Theproduction
roomisherMILFypersonalfuckpalace,sosheknowsifsheratsonme,I'vegotmore
thanenoughdirtonher.

“Beoutinasec,”Imanagetoblurtout.BecksmumblesaresponseandIhearher

walkaway.Mark’sheadrestsonmyshoulder.Ifeelthesweatofhisforeheadtrickle
downmyclavicle,andhisgaspsofbreathwarmmyneck.Me,I'mgaspingintohis
forehead,mybreathsstirringthehairathistemples.

Theroomstartstoresolveintoanormalroomagain,notadistanthallucination.I

wriggleoutofhisembrace,butheclingstightertome.Afterasecond,Ipushhimoff
withagentleshove.Hisjeansarearoundhisanklesandhe’sgotthatwrylittlesmileon
hisfacethattellsagirl:jobwelldone.AsIadjustmyskirt,hepullsuphispantsand
leansintokissmeagain.

“Weshoulddothatagainsometime.”Hetakesmyfaceinhisbighands.“Likeright

now,or…”Heraisesaneyebrow.“Inafewminutes…”

ButBecksistappingatthedooragain.“Seriously,Rose,”shebarks.“Theproduction

roomisn’thereforyourpersonaluse.”

“Wehavetogetoutofhere,”Ihissandskirtpasthimtolocatemyunderwear.

“There."Markpointsuptotheceiling.
“Howthehell…”MylacypurpleFrenchcutbriefsaredanglingfromthelight

fixture.Itrytoreachthelowceiling,butmyfingersareabouthalfafootoutofreach.
Becksisgoingtofreakout.

“Letme.”Markreachesupandeasilyplucksthemfromthefan.
AsIwiggleintomyerrantpanties,Isquintathim.“So,thisisn’tgoingtobecomea

lockerroomrumor,isit?”ThatwasalwaystheexpressionIusedwithhimtokeep
myselfoutoftherumormillwhenwemadeoutinhighschool,butnowIsayitasa
tease.

Thepost-fucksmileonhisfacegrowsasheshakeshishead.“Ourlittlesecret.”He

looksmeupanddown.“Youdecent?”

Idoaquickwardrobecheck.“Decent,”Iconfirm,seeinghehashishandonthe

doorknob.

WeopenthedoortoBecks'scowlingface.“Wow,really?”Sherollshereyes."At

leastwaituntiltheovernightshiftliketherestofus."

Giggling,andhopingI'mnotblushingtoohard,wespeedwalkdownthehallway

awayfromtheincriminatingcircumstantialevidence.

MARK

ThelastcoupleofdayshasbeenachallengetoseehowmanycrazyplacesRoseandI
canfuck.Mytruckhasbeenchristened,cabandflatbedalike.Wediditinheroffice
andinthelobbyafterhourswhilethatvampirechickyammeredonthroughaspeaker
aboutTheCure,andagainastheblowupdollwatched.Seemslikethereareonlythree
placeswehaven’tdoneit:herbed,mybed,andtheW-ALTDJbooth.

Iwanttoseeherplacetoseeifmatcheswhat’sinmyhead—analtartothemusic

sheloves.IexpectcandlesburningaroundaframedpictureofTheRamoneswitha
lotteryticketproppedupagainstit.Iamsureshe'sgotbandT-shirts,cdsandLPslaying
allovertheplace,plusmaybeanelectricguitarleaningagainstawall.

Iwanthertoseemyplacetoo,mycabin.IwanthertoseehowfarI’vecome.Since

mylastexplosion,Icleanedup.ThefloorshavebeensweptofsmashedglassandI
replacedthebrokencouchandinjuredflatscreenTV.Sofar,Ihaven’tdestroyed
anythingelse.

ThismorningIamdustingmypiano.Yeah,Idoitmyself,becauseIamparticular

abouthowit’sdone.Can’ttrustthemaidtousethespecialmicrofiberclothIboughtor
haveagentletouch.

Thisisn’tthepianoIgrewupplaying.Thatonemymomsoldfordrugs.ThisoneI

gotatanestatesale.

Rosedoesn’tknowIplay.Nobodyleftalivedoes,infact.IwanttoshowherIstill

rememberhow,butnotonlycanInotdecidewhichsong,Ican’tseemtogetherto
agreetocometomyplace.Nevermindgettinganinvitetohers.

She’sfriendlyandflirtywithmeontheonairandthesexinmytruckissmoking

hot.She’shungryforitwhenwefuck,andsheevenseemsemotionalsometimes,aswe
catcheachother'seyesafterward,orwhenshe'srestinginmyarms,gaspingfromher
latestorgasm.ButpartofmethinksthatmaybeshestillthinksI'mbeneathher.Maybe
Iamstillbeneathher.

IfindI’mrubbingthepianotoohardandIbackoff.Later,whenIcalmdown,I’ll

finish.Thephonerings.Citynumber."Yeah?"Ipickup.

“Hey,kid.I’moutinJersey.Aboutthirtyminutesaway.CanIstopby?”
ItakeamomenttodecidewhetherIfeelanxiousorhappy,butendupjustfeeling

confused.Stanley’sphonecallsrecentlyhavebeenshortandtothepoint,sothisvisitis
unexpected.“Sure,”Ifinallysay.“Comeonover.”

TimeawayfrommehasdonewondersforStanley.AfterIhandhimaclubsoda,hesits
onmycouch.Helooksfifteenyearsyounger.Hisfrownlinesaregoneanditlookslike
hegotsomesun.

“KeyWest,”heclarifies,easingbackonmycouch.“BevandItookalongweekend.”
Ashesipshisclubsoda,Inoticemystomachisturningover.I’mnotknownformy

subtlety,soIjustdriverightin.Icrossmyarms.“Stillhatingme,huh?"

Hecoughsalittleclubsodaasheshakeshishead.“No,kid.Icouldneverhateyou.”

Hetakesanothersipandthenlooksatme.“Ijustwantedyoutogrowup.That’sall.”

Idon’tsayanything.Istareatmyhalfpolishedpiano.
“Youseemtobegettingontrack,fromwhatIhear.Radiogigisgoingwell.Make-up

appearanceswithTommyworked.Yourtherapistsaysgoodthings.”

Nodding,Ilookbackathim.“Ihaven’tmissedonesessionwithhim.Idon'twantto

bethatguyanymore.Theangryone.”

Stanleysmiles.“Nomoreslugginganythingbesidesaball?”
Ishakemyhead.“Thosedaysarebehindme.”
“EvenifaguylikeTommyPizzagetsinyourface?”
Isnort.“Evenifhedeservesit.”
Heshakeshishead.“Youcan’tletguyslikethatrentspaceinyourhead,kid.”
“Iknow.”
Hesetshisdrinkonthecoffeetableandslapshisknees.“Timetoaddressthisradio

businessbeforewemeetwiththatnutownertomorrow.Andwehavetotalkaboutthis
new24HourRadioMarathonIjusttalkedtothestationabout.YouandRosearegoing
toraisealotofmoney.”

Anothernight,anotherevent.Thesepartiesareallthesame.Press,PRtypesanda
couplecelebswiththeirpeople.Thedrinksaregenerousandthefoodissparse,butyou
alwaysgetadecentswagbag.It’sstupidhowmuchgettingthesebagspleasesme.
Dumbstuffreally.WhenIlookinthebagIseestuffIneverknewIwanted.Abottleof
topofthelinewhiskey,aDVDofsomeactionmovieI’veneverheardof,cufflinks,
threepowerbarsand,ofcourse,thewholereasonwe’reallheretonight—BustUp
digitalsocks—sincethey’rethenewestofficialsponsorofLittleSluggers.Thesesocks
aremadetobroadcasttoyoursocialmediaaccountshowfaryouwalkinaday,how
manycaloriesyouburn,howmuchenergyyouexpend,totryandguiltyouinto
exercising,Iguess.

Okay,soItakeitback.Iwantmostofthestuffinthisbag.Thesocksareabitcreepy.

IstartthinkinginmyheadwhointheworldIcangiftthesesockstowhenIfeelthe
energyintheroomchange.

Ilookaroundtoseewhathappened.Didthelightsdim?Didsomeoneopena

window?

ThenIseeher.
Rosebreezesthroughtheroominatightlittlereddressthatinstantlymakesmeand

probablyeveryotherguyinthisroomthinkdangerousthoughts.Pairthatwithher

kissablemouthandthoselong,sensuouslegs,legsIcanstillfeelwrappedaroundmy
waistasIthrustintoher,andwell...I’mgoingtohavetroublekeepingitinmypantsfor
longtonight.She’sshowingoffsomeskintonightandthoseheelsmakehershapely
legslookevenhotterthanusual.Ispotherthesecondshewalksintotheplace,andso
doeseveryoneelseitseems.Sheliterallystealstheairrightoutoftheroom.

Iwatchherscantheroomwithaninscrutablelookonherfaceuntilsheseesme

andsmiles.

Then,“Hey,BadBoy,”awomaninterrupts,shovinganotherdrinkinmyhand.I

don’tevenseethatgirl;I’malreadydodgingpasthertowardRose.

AsIkeepmyeyesonRose,hangers-onsurroundme,likeit’sagiantplantokeepme

frommygoal.Theguytotheleftisfromsomebeercompanyandtheguytotheright
ofmeisfromESPN.Thegirlwithhimkeepseyeingmelikeshe’swonderingifher
boyfriendwillmindifshepropositionsmeforathreesome.

Myearhasbeenbuzzingallnightwithbullshitpraiseandpitches.Stanleyandhis

teamdotheirbesttokeepthemoffofme,butabunchofthemmanagetoweasel
throughanyway.Ijustsmileandnod.That’swhatIdo.Smileandfuckingnod.

Iprefermysinceredie-hards.Theyliveandbreathebaseball.Notmoneyandfame,

whichisallthesehangers-onhavetolikeaboutme.

IwatchRosewalktothebarandorderadrink.Weagreedtokeepourdistance

tonight,that’sthedeal.Everythingonthedownlow.Everythingasecret.Notsureif
shelikesthatbecauseshethinksit’sthesexythrillofasecretaffair,orifshejust
doesn’twantitonthestreetthatwehitit.

Andwearedefhookinguplater.She’sthrownmeaboneandletmethrowher

mine.Haha.

She’sagreedtocometomyplaceinthecitytonight.IhaveMoetchillinginthe

freezerandalistoffilthythingsIwanttodotoher.Iwasabletotalkthemaidintoan
emergencydeepcleanandIgotWestElmtodeliversomefancyknickknacks.Ihave
thissewnup.ShewillseeIamnotthatwrongsideofthetracksguyanymore.The
condoain’thomelikemycabin,butit’snice.

“Hey!Hey!”someguyinasuitshoutsatme.Icantellbyhiswobbledwalkand

glassyeyeshe’sbeenhittingsomethinghardandI’mnotsureifit’suppersorwhiskey
orboth.Hemakeshiswaythroughthecrowdandhitsmybackacoupleoftimeshard
asheleansintomeandmumblessomethingaboutrealestate.

“Excuseme.”IwalkawayfromhimandIcanhearhimsluracursebehindme.
ImakeabeelinetoRoseandInoticeherbristlealittle.Shelooksaroundtheroom

likeshe’sworriedsomeonemightseeherwithme.

“Wedoworktogether,”IpointoutinalowvoicewhenIreachher.
Shelaughs,andthedeep,throatysoundsendsajoltstraighttomycrotch.“Iknow,I

know.”

HerTequilaSunriseisalmostempty,soIorderheranotherandgetabeerfor

myself.IseethebartenderhasopenedtheBrooklynBrewerybottleandintendsto
handittome.“Inaglass,please.”InoticeRosehasaquestionmarkonherface.Ilean
intoher.“IthinkIhaveabeercontractpending,soIcan’tbeseendrinkinganyspecific
brandinapicture.”

Rosefightstheurgetosmile,Icantell.“Isallthathardtokeeptrackof?”

Itugatmysuitjacket.“I’mgettingpaid50largetowearthistonight.That’snoteven

countingtheshoes.”Ipullatmytie.“Thisisonlyfivethousandthough.”

Rosebrushesmytiewithherfingersandeventhoughshe’snottouchingme,Ifeel

likeshe’sstrokingskinnotsilk.“Areyouawalkingbillboardorwhat?”

Imeantochuckle,butitsoundsalittlesad.“Prettymuch.Mybodyisforrent.”
Shetiltsherhead.“Isthatweirdforyou?”
“Itwaswhenitfirststarted.Idunno.Awkward.Buttheseclothingcompaniespay

metoweartheseclothes,sowhenIgetpappedtheygetpress.Andit’snotlikeIhad
anybrandsIreallylovedtowearbeforeoranything.Sowhynot?Win-winforbothof
us.”

“Iguesseverythinghasaprice.”
“Well...”Iletmyeyesrakeoverherbody,slowly,thenleanclosertoherandlook

intohereyes.“Noteverything.”

Shesmirks.“True.I’mnotforsale,ifthat’swhatyou’rethinking,Mr.Bigshot

Ballplayer.”

“ThatisexactlywhatIloveaboutyou,”Ireply,trailingafingerupherarm,barely

touchingher,awareofalltheeyesonus.Butfuckinghell,doIwanttodomore.Ican
tellbyherdesperatelittleshiverthatshedoes,too.Ileaninclosertoherearand
murmur,“Ican’twaittofuckyoutonight.”

Asshebitesherlipandlooksaway,cheeksflushedred,Irestmyeyesonhertits

thatarepoppingoutofherdress.

“Youaresuchatease…”shewhispersback,butshelookskindofdreamyaboutit,

eyeshalf-hooded,andIwanttokissherrighthere,rightnow,fuckwhatanyoneelse
thinks.ButthenIseeherfacedropashereyesfocusonsomethingbehindme.

Iturnaround.
Amber.
Yes,thatAmber.Myexsauntersher5’10”framestraighttowarduswithacoupleof

hairtossesandanarchedeyebrow.Howthehelldoesshekeepgettingintomyevents?

Oh,right.Iguessbeingthehighestpaidmodelintheworldtendstomakedoormen

sympathetic.

That,andshe’sprobablyfuckinganotheroneofmyteammatesbynow.Backwhen

wesplit,Ithoughtthatwouldbotherme.Now,Idon’tevenmindthethought.

She’sstillwalkingthiswayandwaving.Roseshocksmebywavingback.“Youknow

her?”Iask,raisinganeyebrow.

“Ofcoursenot.”
RosewigglesoffthebarstoolandgreetsAmberwithapoliteintroductionandoneof

thoseairhugsgirlsdo.Lookingatthemsidebyside,Ican’thelpbutcomparethetwo.
RoseisstandingnexttoMaximmagazine’shottestwomanalive,butIcan’tseeAmber
atall.AllIseeisRose’slong,honeycoloredhairbrushingthecurveofherwaistand
thateasy,sweetlaughbubblingoutofherbeestungmouth.

Ambermustbesensingdefeat,becauseaftersneakingalookatme,andmerefusing

tomeethereye,toobusywatchingthedipwhereRose’sdressrevealshersmooth,bare
shoulder,Amberskulksofftoanotherteammate.

“Sorryaboutthat…”ImurmurtoRose.ButRosejustshrugsandtugsmytie.
“I’llseeyoulater,”Rosesays,drawingoutthewordlatersoIknowit’sapromise.As

Iwatchherwalkaway,Ambernoticesandwalksbackmyway.

Dammit.
NowIfeelRose’sparanoiaabouttheall-seeingpubliceye.Idonotwantthemediato

thinkAmberandIareanitemagain.

AmbertouchesmyfacewithherlongfingersandIpullawaywithafakesmileon

myfacejustincasesomeonewithacameraiswatching.

“Stillmad?”shepurrs.
“Let’snotdothis.”Istepaway.IspotStanleytalkingtooneofhisinternsandIhead

straighttohim.HeexcusesthecollegekidwithaglanceinAmber’sdirection.Hisface
isredandIwatchhimtakeoutahandkerchiefanddabhisforehead.WhenIreach
him,heshakeshishead.“Youhavetoexpectthat.”

“What?”
Herubshisneckandwinces.“Amber’scareerhascooledsinceyoutwobrokeup.”
“Noway.”
“Twentyfiveisancientinmodelyears.Sheneedstobepairedwithsomeonelike

youtokeephercareerafloat.”

“Stan,herfaceiseverywhereandshe’salreadybanginganotherjock,I’msure.”
Stanleylaughs,closeshiseyesandscruncheshisleftshoulder.“Sheain’tno

supermodel.She’sjustaprettygirlwholooksgoodinabikini.Eachdayanother
younger,prettiernewgirlstealsherthunder.IhearFordmightbedroppingher.”

There’snosympathyinmyheartforher.“That’sherproblem,notmine.”
IhearStanleygaspandwonderifhe’sreallythatsympathetictopoorAmberthe

aged-upmodel’sdilemma.Butthenhefallsagainstme.Oninstinct,Icatchhim,but
he’sheavy,andittakeshimasecondtofindhisfeetagain.AtfirstIthinkhe’sdrunk,
andmarvel,becauseI’veneverseenhimeventipsy.ThenIrealizehe’sclutchinghis
chestwithonehandandsqueezingmyhandwiththeother.Isithisheart?

“Getmeoutofhere,kid,”hewheezes.“Don’tletanyoneknowwhat’sgoingon.”

ROSE

“I’msorry,ma’am,buthedoesn’tappeartobehome,”Mark’sdoormansaysasheputs
downhisdeskphone.He’saboutmyageandmightbecutewithoutthepornstache.He
staresatme,waitingformetosaysomething.

“Whatdoyoumean?Ofcoursehe’shome.He’sexpectingme.”
“Sorryma’am,apparentlynot.There’snoanswer.”
“Well,tryagain.”
Thedoormangivesmeapursedlipsmile.“Ma’am,Ihavetriedthreetimes.Thereis

noanswer.He’seithernotathomeor…”Hebowshisheadatmeasifgivingmethe
cuetofinishthesentenceforme.

Ionlydoitinmymind.IsMarkavoidingme?
No.Whywouldhe?Hewasallhotandbotheredaboutseeingmetonight.

Somethingmusthavecomeup.Orhefellasleep.Orhe’sintheshower.Or,Idon’t
know.Something.

“DoyoumindifIwaithere?”Ipointtoacouchinthelobby.
“Sorry,miss.Iamafraidyouhavetoleave.”
I’msurethisguyhasturnedawaycountlesswomenonMark’sbehalf.Ican’t

exactlyblamehimforlumpingmeinwiththosegirls.

MaybeMarkhastoo.
IhalflaughasIexitthebuildingandwalkdown72ndStreet.FirsttimeIhavedone

thewalkofshamewithoutactuallydoinganythingshameful.Thisissomuchworse,
sinceIdon’tevenhaveanygoodmemoriestotidemeover.

IsummonUberandstampmyfootinfrustration.Dammit.IwishMarkwasn’tsuch

aLuddite.Whothehelldoesn’townacellphone?

Atfirst,Ithoughthisrefusaltouseonewascharminginanoldschoolway,butnow

it’sjustannoying.I’mupsetIwon’tbescrewinghimtonight,butI’msurehehasagood
reasonforskippingoutonme.

Raincheck,Iguess.Iglancedownatmyreddresswithasigh,andpromiseherthat

nexttime,she’llwinduponhisfloor.

Whengethome,IopenthedoortoGeoreorganizinghercollectionof60’svinyl.The
Beatles,TheStones,TheMamasandThePapasarespreadalloverthefloorwithheron

herkneesoverthem.

Shit.Geoonlyorganizesthingswhenshe’sreallypissed.
Iprayit’sboytrouble,butthenshelooksupatmewithaglareandIrealizeit’s

definitelymyfault.Shesaystwowords.“Frightened.Rabbit.”

Doubleshit.
“I’msorry,Geo.Icantalktothemtomorrow,I—”butsheholdsupherhandto

silenceme.

Iwatchherstackherrecordsintonodiscernableorder,onebyone.Theonlysound

isLPslappingonLPandhermouse-likesqueaksofrage.

“Monday,”Ipromise.“ThistimeIswear.”
ShestandsupwiththestackofrecordsclutchedtoherNOWtee.Sheholdsupa

fingertosilencemeandsqueezeshereyesshut.“Thereisnotomorrow,”shesays.
“Tomorrowwasyesterdayandeverydaylastweek.”

I’mnotsurewhathippieprotestsongthatcomesfrom,butsheseemssatisfiedwith

it.Shestormstoherroomandslamsthedoor.

Iheaddownthehallandtapgentlyonherdoor,pressingmyforeheadtoit.“Geo,”I

coo.“Geo,please.”

ThenIheartheangrysoundsoftheSexPistolsblaringinherroom.Dammit.She’s

reallymadifshe’splayingpunk.Betterlethercooloff.

Igotomyownroomandclosethedoor.Frustratedbytheevening,Ieyemypower

vibratorandfigureI’llgiveawhirl.Unfortunately,IforgetthatIshouldn’tpoweriton
unlessmostofthelightsinthehouseareoff.ThesecondIswitchinon,thelightsgo
outandJohnnyRottenstopswailing.

“Forfuck’ssake,Rose!”Ihearthroughthewall.
IstareatThor’shammerinmyhand,nowuselessthankstothefuseIjustblew,and

sigh.Justmydamnluck.

ThenextmorningIfindGeosittingatthekitchentablenibblingongranola.“Still
upset?”Iask,sittingdownnexttoher.

Shefingersherhippiekibbleandpouts.“Ijustfeellikeyoudon’tcareaboutthe

podcastanymore.”

“Ido.”Itouchherarm.“It’sjustthatthingshavebeenso…”
“Crazy.Iknow.Butthingsarealwayscrazy…”
Takingmyhandoffher,Ileanbackinmyseat.“I’msorry.”Isigh.“Ireallyam.”I

takeoutmyphonetopullupthecontactIhaveforFrightenedRabbit’smanager.“It’s
Saturday,butI’mgoingtocalltheirpeoplerightnow,rightinfrontofyou.Ijustneed
toGoogletheirtourdatesrealquicktoseewhere—”

“Wait!”Shegrabsmyarmandcupsmyphoneagainsthercheek.“Youneedtostay

offtheinternet.”

“Uh,why?Areweprotestingsomething?”
Sheshakesherblonde,thindreads.“Iamseriouslymadanddisappointedwithyou

rightnow.But…Idon’twanttohurtyou.SoIwouldratheryouhearitfrommeinstead
ofGoogle.Because,eventhoughIamsosomadatyou,Iloveyouwithallmyheart.”

“Wait,whatareyoutalkingabout?”

Shesqueezesmyhandandlooksdeepintomyeyes.WhatIseeinhergazeispity.

Dreadpoolsinmystomach,butnoamountofworrycanpreparemeforhernext
sentence.“MarkCarringtonjustgotbacktogetherwiththatAmbermodel.”

Ifeellikearedhotknifehasbeenthrustintomychest.Ittakesmeaminutetofind

myvoice,duringwhichGeojustkeepssqueezingmyhand,untilIlosefeelinginmy
fingers.“Great,”Ispit,whenIfinallyfindmytongueagain.“Fine.Awesome.Whoeven
cares.”Convincing,Rose.

“Whathappenedlastnight?”
Ilookatherandcan’tbelievehowshecanbesosupportiveafterIscrewedherover

somuchrecently.Ishouldbackoff.Handlethisonmyown.It’snotfairtopileallmy
shitonherafterdickingheraround.ButIneedtotalktosomeone,soIspillit.

“Hestoodmeuplastnight.Andshewasattheparty;Isawthemtalkingbriefly…”I

shakeitoff.No.Nowayishebackwithher.Itdoesn’tmakesense.“Whatareyou
basingthison?Apicture?Apieceofgossip?”

Geoshakesherhead.“Just,trustme,it’slegit.”
Noway.Imakeagrabformyphone.Geofightsme,butI’mmotivated,soIwinin

theend.Itdoesn’ttakememorethanasecondtoGoogleit.It’sthefirsthitwhenyou
typeinAmberandMark,withouteventheirlastnames.

Shetweetedthismorning.Thenthenewssitesranwithit.
Istareatthescreen.It’sapictureofthemattheeventlastnight.Herinthatcouture

dress.Himintheblacksuithewaspaidtowear.Theyaren’ttouching,Itellmyself.It’s
notlikehehashisarmaroundheroranything.Butthetext,thetextthatAmberwrote
herself,isclear:

#TogetherAgain#ThisTimeForever
“Oh,”Imumble,readingthetweetoverandoverasthepiecesstarttofittogetherin

mymind:thewayMarkdisappearedfromtheeventlastnightwithoutaword,then
gettingstoodupinthelobbyofhishighriseapartmentafterward,thepitying
expressionofthedoormanasheaskedmetoleave,andthewayMarkhasbeen
completelyunreachableonhislandlinephoneseversince.AndgivenMark’splayboy
waysandhistrackrecordwithwomen…itallmakesperfectsense.There’snopoint
beingindenialaboutit.

Thisisjustlikehighschoolalloveragain.I’mjustthecasualhookupthatMark

keepshiddenfromtheworlduntilhefindssomeonehotter.

“Well.”Irisefromthetableandwalkoverandlookoutthewindowatnothingin

particular.“IguessIstillcan’tcompetewithacheerleader.”

“Acheerleader?”
IturnbacktoGeo,who’swatchingmewithhereyebrowsscrunched,andshrug.

“Supermodel.Cheerleader.It’sallthesame,isn’tit?”

“Uh,notreally…”
IpulluptheFrightenedRabbit’scontactinfoandcalltheirmanager.Timetoshift

myprioritiesbacktowheretheyneedtobe.“Hello?”saysanEnglishvoicesaysafter
thethirdring.

“SimonCarlyle?”
“Speaking…”
Iclearmythroatandsitupstraightinmychair.“RoseTaylor.Iproduceapodcast

hereintheNewYorkCityMetroarea…”

MARK

BeverlyWhiteisatoughJerseybroadwhodoesn’tsufferfoolsormincewords.The
secondsheseesmeintheERwaitingroom,shenarrowsherbrowneyesandpokesmy
chestwithherlongfingernail.“Getthefuckouttahere,”shehissesthroughhertears.
It’s4inthemorning.ShewasinMyrtleBeachandmusthavegonethroughhelltoget
hereaftershegotthecallaboutherhusband’smassivecoronary.

Iwanttopleadmycase,butIknowthatnowisnotthetime.IshootBill,Stanley’s

assistant,asadlookandhenodsashegentlynudgesmeoutintothehall.“Go,”he
whispers.“I’llcallyouassoonasweknowanything.”

IhearBev’sharshwordsbehindmeasImakemywaydownthehallandIalmost

tripovermyowngrief.“Thatkidisthereason,”sheyells.“It’sallhisfault.Beengiving
Stanhellforyears.”

Idon’tfeeltheheatofanger,justthedownwardpullofasadnessandguiltcocktail

that’smakingmefeelsicktomystomach.Lostinswirlingthoughts,thetaxirideisa
blur.

StanleyhasbeentheclosestthingtoafatherthatI’veeverhad.Forthelastfive

years,he’salwaysgoneaboveandbeyondourprofessionalrelationship,treatingme
likehisownkid,pullingfavorsforme,helpingmethroughhardtimesinmypersonal
life.

Hecoulddietonight.AndBevisright,itwouldbeallmyfault.

Myapartmentiscoldanddark,butthemooddoesn’tchangeevenafterIturnonallthe
lights.IamsuddenlyawareI’mstarvingandopenthefridgetoseewhatIhave.

Awholelotofnothing.Butthat’sfine.Nothingwouldfilltheemptinessinsideme

rightnowanyway.

Ileanbackonmycouchandtryoutoneofmytherapist’sbreathingexercises.AllI

canthinkaboutisStanley’sfaceashecollapsed.ThestraininhisforeheadasIcarried
himoutside,somehowdodgingthepapsthatswarmedeverywhere.Hewouldn’tletme
callanambulanceuntilwewerefarenoughawayfromthebuildingthatthereporters
wouldn’tsee.Whatifthosefewminutesmakeallthedifference?Whatifhewould’ve
beenbetteroffifI’dcalledanambulancesooner,ignoredhiswishes?

I’mdeepinthatspiralofthoughtwhenInoticethelongstrandofhoneycolored

hairhangingonthesleeveofmyArmanijacket.

Rose.
Stanley’smedicalemergencymademeforgetallaboutourplanslastnight.Shit.I

grabmylandlinephone,buteyethetimeonthemicrowaveandseeit’sjustpast6am.
Doubleshit.It’stooearlytocallhernow,ontheonedayshehasofffromdoingthe
show.

Itellmyselfnottoworry.I’msureshe’llunderstandwhenIcalllater.
ThephoneringsinmyhandandIalmostdropitfromshock.
“Hello,”Ibarkbeforethefirstringisdone.
“Mark,it’sBillBellows.”
Stan’sassistant.Ifeelmythroattightenasamillionbadthoughtsdanceinmyhead.

“Howis…?”Ican’tevenfinishthesentence.

“He’sgoingtobeOK.Closecall,buthe’spastthedangerpoint.”
Iletoutasighthatfeelslikeithasnoend,andcollapsebackintomyseat.“Thanks,

man.”Isay.“CanIcomeseehimtomorrowmorning?BeforetheRadioMarathon?”

“Tellthatsonofabitchtoburninhell!”Bevshoutsfromthebackground.She

soundslikeshehasbeenswallowingchunksofglass.

Billsighsintomyear.“I’llletyouknow,Mark,OK?”
“Thankyou.”

Ampedandunabletosleep,Idrivebacktomycabinonemptyroads.Istayupallday
playingthemostmelancholyshitinmycollection;sultry,moodpiecesthatkeepmein
adarkplace,butit’sallgood.That’smytherapist’sbigthing.

Letyourselffeeltheemotions.Letyourselfbeinthemomentwhenthefeelingsare

rushing.Don’tkeepthingsbottledup.Witheachfingerthatlandsonmyeightyeight
keys,Ifeelthetensioneaseandmyminddrift.

ThefirsttimeImetStanleyWhiteIwasbucknakedtangledinthelimbsofthreehot
chicksIpickedupinabowlingalleybarjustoutsideofMemphis.Twooftheladies
wereidenticaltwins,thethirdwastheircousin,butshelookedenoughliketheother
twothatIfiguredIwouldtelltherestoftheguystheyweretripletsanyway.AllnightI
calledthemHuey,DeweyandLouiewhilewereinventedtheKamaSutraforaquartet.

Goodtimes.
Stanleyhadcomesaunteringthroughmymoteldooratthecrackofdawnon

SundaymorningandhemusthavebeenloosewiththeFranklinsbecausethemotel
manageropenedmydoorforhim,noknockornothing.ThereIam,spread-eagle
nakedonthebed,withHueyonmyright,DeweyonmyleftandLouie’sheadresting
onmystomach.Theplacewasamess,withpizzaboxesandMillerLitecans
everywhere;theaftermathofavictorycelebration.I’djustbrokenaminorleague
battingrecordthenightbeforeandpartiedlikeitwas1999.

Stanleydidn’tbataneye,justgavemethatfaint,amusedsmilethatdefineshim.

Standingoverthebedinhisgraysilksuit,hecouldhavebeenataboardmeetingora

funeral.Notahairoutofplaceonthatguy,notanemotionbetrayedonhisface.

“Ineedtotalktoyouaboutyourfuture.”
Iwashungoverasfuck,myskinwasstickyandIsmelledlikethetriplets,butI

didn’tblowhimoffbecauseIknewwhohewas.Evenbackthen,hewasabigdeal.And
Iknewyoudidn’tsendsomeonelikehimpackingevenifyoudidneedaSilkwood
showerwithbleachandasandpaperloofa.

Thatmorningmylifechanged,andnotjustintermsofballplaying.Stanleybecame

apartofmylifeIhadnoideaIwasmissing:aguidinglight.IamsurroundedbyYes
men,buthe’stheonlyguywhohastheballstotellme,No,kid.

Idon’tevenfinishtheBeethovensonata.Idigthroughmysheetmusicandpullout

somePuccini.MadameButterflyishisfavoriteandthispianoarrangementistops.
Whenhegetsoutofthehospital,I’llplayitforhim.

Iwakeuponmycouch,mybodyscreamingfrombeingtwistedlikeapretzelandmy
headpoundingfromscotchonanemptystomach.Withoutthinking,Ifliponthe
plasmaandseethatthemaid—blessherBelarussianheart—leftitonE!insteadofmy
usualESPN.AsIstandandstretchoutmybody,IchuckleattheRhiannathinkpiece
oneofthetalkingheadsisspewing.Somethingabouthowasee-throughtopis
empoweringtowomen.NotthatI’mcomplainingabouttheview.Thoughofcourse,E!
blurredouthernipsinthephototheyprovide.

Mycoffeemakercostathousanddollars,butIpoursomeDunkinDonutsbeansinit

asE!detailsanotherscandalousstoryaboutTaylorSwiftandsomevideoshemade
aboutanotherex-boyfriend.Yougogirl,getyours.IhavetowatchE!more,thisshitis
funny.

ButwhatIhearnextisn’tsofunny.Beforegoingintoacommercialbreak,theydrop

afuckofateaser.

MarkCarringtonandsupermodelAmberarebacktogetherandE!hastheexclusive

story!

Ilookupandseeapictureofus—meandAmber—atlastnight’sevent.Inthephoto

we’reside-by-side,clearlyaselfiefromAmber’scamera,thoughshe’stheonlyone
smiling,ahugetoothygrin.

That?Really?
Fuckinglazyjournalism.
Thenagain,whatdoyouexpectfromE!,Iguess.
Withmypipinghotcupofjoeinhand,Iplopdownonthecouchandwaitoutsome

ladyadstocheckoutthisbullshitstory.Intheprocess,Ilearnwaymoreaboutskin
careandhealthygutflorathanIeverwantedtoknow.

I’mpreparedtoseeafluffpiece,theusualdrivelthatoverthinksacandidshotata

mediaevent,typicaltabloidfodder.Thenthestorystarts,andmythroatdriesup.

E!Newsistellingme—andtheworld—thatAmberhasbeentweetinglikecrazy

aboutus.Asifthereisanus.She’sbeenatitallnightapparently,ravingaboutourtrue
love.Howweneverreallybrokeup,thetabloidsmadeitallupforpress,exaggerated
onelittlefight.Theyhaveheronthephone—anexclusive—andshe’sgushinglike
Yosemite.

“He’swonderfultome.ThefirstmanI’vebeenwithwhoreallytakesour

relationshipseriously;whodoesn’tseemeasjustanotherpairoflegs.”

Blah.Blah.Blah.
Normally,Idon’tgiveafuckaboutgossip.Normally,themostarantlikethisfrom

anexwouldmakemedoissendheraceaseanddesistletter,maybecoupledwithan
interviewofmyownaboutfemmefatales.

ButnowIcare.BecauseallIcanthinkaboutrightnowisthatsomewhereoutthere,

Roseiswatchingthistoo.

IreachforthephonetocallStanley.Hewasrightabouther.Hewillknowwhatto

do...

IttakesawholeminuteofhisphoneringingandsendingmetovoicemailbeforeI

rememberthereasonI’mhungoverfromwhiskeyonanemptystomachinthefirst
place.

Fuck.

IhittheStarbucksonthe17andgrabRose’snofrillsfavorite:astraightupventiblack
coffee.She’sanuncomplicatedgalandIappreciatethat.

Herphonewenttovoicemailthismorning.Thathappens.Ididn’tleaveamessage.
Ijusthavetotalktoher,Ikeepthinking,butIamalsocursingmyself.
WhydoIcare?WhydoIfeellikeIoweheranexplanation?Idon’t.Thisismycrazy

extodealwith;ithasnothingtodowithher.Anditwasmyagentslashfatherfigure
slashmentorslashlifecoachinthehospital.Idon’thavetoexplainwhyImissedour
hookupforthat.

Iknowthatinmyhead,butmygutistwisting,sohereIambarrelingupthe17at6

amwithadrenalinepumpingthroughmyveinsandanEthiopianjavasplashingonmy
Corinthianleather.HeropinionmatterstomeandIdon’tknowwhatthatmeans,but
thetruthis,it’salwaysmatteredtome.

Evenbackinthedaywhenwewrotethatstupidplayandmadeoutinsecret.Even

whenIfeltlikeherdirtylittlesecret,thedumbjockshewastooembarrassedtoadmit
shewasseeing.Eventhen,Iwantedtoimpressher,wantedhertothinkwellofme.I
stilldonow,afterallthistime.

“Shecan’ttalktoyou.”TheunfamiliarchickpeekingthroughRose’schainedapartment
doorisscowlingatme.Hereyeslookcrazymad,butIgiveherasmileanyway.

Ialreadyknowhowthisisgoingtogodown.She’spissedatmebecauseshe’s

protectingherfriend.I’msureRosetoldhereverything.Evenifshedidn’t,thisgirl
musthaveseenthetabloidsbynow.Irackmybrainsforthegirl’sname.Rose
mentionedherroommateafewtimes.Somekindofrock-soundingname.Theearth,
nottheband.Amethyst?Crystal?No,itwasearthier,hippier…

“Geo,right?”Iask,lookingdeepintohereyes.Foralongmoment,shesaysnothing.

Shit,Ithink.Wrongname.Thenshebreaksthedirecteyecontactandlooksdown,but
nods,unabletoresistalittlesmile,probablybecausethiscelebrityshe’snevermet

knowshername.Score.It’sworking.

“Listen,Geo.”Idropmyvoicetoalmostawhisper.“Ijustneedtoexplainthree

thingstoher.That’sall.”

Sheputshereyesbackonme,hermouthstillahardline.
Keepingmyvoicecalm,Ileanin.“Lastnight,aclosefriendofminehadan

emergency.”Hereyeswidenslightlywithsympathy.

“Sorrytohearthat…”
“Thesecondthingisthatmyexisaliar…”Georollshereyesandopenshermouth

tospeak.Ijustknowit’sgoingtobesomefemalesunitething,soIdon’tletherget
there.“Whenyouarehighprofile,peoplemakeupthingsaboutyouforthemedia,and
forprofit.Evenpeopleyouoncetrusted.Theyputtheircareersoveryourlife,andthey
don’tcareiftheyhavetothrowyouunderthebustodoit.”Iletalittleheatseepinto
mytone,becauseIknowthat’swhatAmberisdoing.Aswespeakhere,she’sprobably
gettingre-signedatCoverGirl.

Geo’sscowlmeltscompletelyandadimpleshowsuponhercheek.Iamdoingwell.
“Andthethirdthing.”IholduptheStarbuckscup.“IsthatRose’scoffee'sgetting

cold.”

Grinning,Geobitsherlip,andgentlyclosesthedoor.IsmilewhenIhearhersliding

thechainoff.Sheopensthedoorandtakesthecoffeefrommyhand.

“Thanks,”Isay,butshedoesn’tstepbacktoletmein.
“Nowfuckoff.”Sheslamsthedoorinmyface.
Thatdidnotgoasexpected.

WhenIpullintotheparkinglot,therearemorefanscampingoutthanusual,inspiteof
thecold.That’stobeexpectedwiththebigmediapushlikewehavegoingforthis24
HourRadioMarathon.Theparkinglotispackedwithnotjustmydie-hards,butalsoTV
trucksandreporters.

Billrodeoverwithmefromthehospital,whereIwasn’tabletoseeStanleyyet.

Sleeping,thenursetoldme,thoughnotbeforeIcaughtaglimpseofhisroomthrough
thewindow,andsawBevglaringdaggersinmydirection.

Aswestepoutofthetruck,Billleadsmetowardthecrowd.Ipauseindifferent

placesalongthegauntlettodomyjob.Apicturehere.Anautographthere.Stanley
wouldbeproudofBill.Althoughjustfreshouttacollege,heisagreatpartnerthrough
thecrowdandreallyhasthingstiedup,shufflingmealongandinterrupting
overzealousfansatexactlytherightmoments.

InoticeanoldCorollapullupandIspotRoseinthecar.ThatGeochickisdriving

and,man,Icanfeelthehatelasersshootingoutofhereyesfromthisfaraway.Iflooks
couldkill,I’dbeapileofsearedmeatinthemiddleoftheparkinglot.

RosetakesoffherseatbeltandGeotoucheshershoulderandsayssomething.

ProbablysomegentlewordsabouthowIamsuchadick.

UsuallyIlaughaboutthiskindofthing,butnotnow.Itbugsthefuckoutofme.

Whynotwaittohearmysideofthingsbeforeyoubreakoutthepitchforksand
torches?

“So,whatareyourthoughts,Mark?”Amichoversinmyface,acameratrainson

meandareporterinabadtweedsportcoatandworsetoupeestaresatme,waitingfor
ananswertoaquestionIdidn’tcatch.

Ishakeitoff.“Sorry,what?”
“YouandAmber…”
Billcutshimoff.“Nocomment.”Hepushesmealong.
Atthefrontdoorofthestation,Billleansin.“SaynothingabouttheAmbersituation.

Silenceisdenial.”

Damnright.NotthatIwould’vesaidanythinganyway.Ihaveotherreasonstosay

nothing.JustbecauseI’mfamousdoesn’tmeanIhavetoansweranyquestionsabout
mypersonallife.Fuckthat.

AndIdon’tneedtoexplainmyselftoRoseeither.
ButIwantto.

The24HourRadioMarathonisallaboutraisingfundsfortheLittleSluggers,my
favoritekidsatbat.Stanleyputittogetherbeforehisattack,andit’stheleastIcandoto
seeitthroughonhisbehalf.Evenifthingswithhimarestilluncertain,withthedoctors
reportingnochangeinhiscondition…Notgoodnews,butnotbadnewseither.Just…
waiting.

AtleastthiskeepsmymindoccupiedwhileIdo.
Wehavearidiculousgoal:raise$100Kin24hours.
Iknowthedie-hardswilldoit,andourratingsaresohotthatI’malsoexpectinga

bunchofnon-die-hardstothrowussomedough,too.TheYankeesarematchingevery
dollarifwereachourtarget.Earliertoday,BustUpsportsdrinkannounceditwill
matchtoo,andsowillEdgeShavingCream.Plusme,ofcourse.

ThatcouldearnhalfamilliondollarsforLittleSluggersandallIhavetodoisstayup

for24hoursstraight.That,andkeepsaneenoughtotalkontheradio.ButassoonasI
reachthelobbyandspyRose,Irealizethisisgoingtobecomplicated.Sheboltspastme
withoutawordandslamsthedoortoherofficebehindher.

“What’supwiththat?”Chris’sfurryeyebrowsarearchedtohishairline.
IshrugmyshoulderslikeIdon’tknow,butinsideIfeeltheangerstarttoburn

again.

100,99,98…
Idon’thavetocountdownfurther.She’ssteamingmad,butshe’sstillsmokinghot.

Shemovedbymeinawhirl,butIsawthehighheeledbootsandlittleskirt.Thisisjust
alittlegameshe’splaying.Shewantsattention,soI’llgiveittoher.

Chrissighs.“Well,letmeshowyouthesetup,anyway.”

NightVixenfiresmeadirtylookwhenChrisandIreachthestudio.Iseethegoodnews
isallovertheplace.

Thistime,Idon’tknowwhotobeangryat.Ican’tblameNightVixen—orRose,for

thatmatter—forlisteningtothegossiprags.Theyareprettydamnconvincing.I’d
believeAmbermyself,ifIdidn’talreadyknowshewascrazy.Andnobodyknowsabout

StanexceptmeandBill,perStan’spersonalrequest.

Butstill…you’dthinkI’dhaveearnedsomebenefitofthedoubtbynow.
Thestudioisdeckedoutwithgearandpostersfromoursponsors.Iweavebetween

theboxestotakeoverfromNightVixen,andspotapileofsnacks,food,andsoftdrinks.
Nottomentionatonofcaffeinatedbeverages.RoseandIhaveeverythingweneedto
getthisthingdone.

“Reporterswillcomeinthroughouttheday,”Chrissays.“Tofilmandwhatnot.”
“Cool.”
Hehandsmeapieceofpaper.It’sthescheduleforthenext24hours,includingalist

ofcelebritynames.Everyhoursomeonefamousinandoutofbaseballwillcallinto
pushthecause.

“Thisisamazing,”Isay,gapingatsomeofthenamestheymanagedtosign.“Great

job.”

Hechucklesashetapsthepaper.“Rosehasbeenworkingherassoffthelastcouple

ofdays.”

MyjawclenchesatthementionofhernameandChrisdoesn’tmissit.Heshakeshis

head,tornbetweensighingandlaughing.“WhydoIhavethefeelingthatyoubeing
lockedinthestudiowithRosealldayisgoingtobelikebeingsealedinaglassjarwitha
thousandhornets?”Asheshakeshishead,heleavesthestudioandIturntocatch
NightVixenrollinghereyesatme.

Well.He’snotwrong.

ROSE

Nowomanwantstofeellikeanotchonsomeguy’sbedpost.NotevenMark
Carrington’sLouisvilleSlugger.Butwhatmakesitworseisknowingthatit’smyown
damnfault.Ifellforitagain,justlikeIdidinhighschool.

Damnhim.
Butdamnmemore.Afterall.Foolmeonce,shameonyou.Foolmetwice,that’son

me.

Ican’tavoidMarkforever,butIdoadamngoodjobofitmostofthemorning.

Everysecondofmyroutinewaspepperedwithinnermonologuechantsof“Idon’t
care.”“Idon’tcare.”“Idon’tcare.”

Butwithallthatinmyhead,why,ohwhydidIgrabmyfuckmepatentleather

pointybootsandmicroskirtoffmypileoflaundrythismorning?

Oldhabitsdiehard,Iguess.
PartofmeknowsIhavezerorighttobepissed.MarkandIhadasexdeal.There

wassomecuddlingafter,butnowalkingintherainholdinghands.Nothingthathad
anyhintofthetwofierceRs:RomanceorRelationship.

Fuckbuddies.That’sallwewere.
Hedidn’tmakemepromises.Wedidn’tsaywewereexclusive.Wedidn’tsay

anythingexceptfuckmeharderorohfuck,I’mgonnacome.Well.Thatandafewother
choicephrases.

WhenIgotoutoftheshower,Geotoldmehestoppedbyandpassedonthe

Starbuckshedelivered.“It’sjustagame,”sheassuredme.“Heonlywantstofuckyou.”

She’snotwrong.Henevertookmeoutonadateinpublic.
Hedidn’twantanyonetoknowaboutusjustlikehedidn’twantanyonetoknowin

highschool.I’manembarrassmentforaguylikehim.Anobody,azillionleagues
belowhim.

Iknewthisgoingin,sowhydoIfeelsodisappointed?WhydoIfeelsoscrewed

over?

WhydidIdablavenderoilonmyneckandgivemyselfafreshshavethatinvolved

yogamovesandahandmirror?

Isitatmydeskandsqueezethelifeoutofmystressball.Ihavenoideahowto

handletheangerandhurtI’mfeeling.Ican’tblamehim,notreally.LikeIsaid,my
faultthistime.Butitstillhurts,morethanIexpected.Idon’tknowwhattodowith

that.

MyeyesdrifttotheMotivationalQuotecalendarBecksgavemeatthelaststation

holidayparty.Ihaven’tpeeledoffthedatesforweeks.NotsincethedayMark’sradio
showstarted,infact.Igrabthecalendar,angrysuddenlyatthatdate.Fuckthatdate.

Tearingofftherestofthedatesnow,Igothroughsomeprettylaughable“quotes.”I

crinklethemuponebyoneandshootthemtowardmywastebasket.

Astrangerisjustafriendyouhaven’tmetyet.
Gobigorgohome.
InevermetachallengeIdidn’tlike.
Butoneofthemstrikesme.Goddamnitifitisn’tfromPamelaAnderson.Happy

fontimposedoverabeachscene,theformerBaywatchstarandPlayboymodel
somehowgetsmysoul.

Youcan’tcontrolothers,youcanonlycontrolyourownreactions.
Damnstraight,Pammy.
Idon’tcare.
Idon’tcare.
Idon’tcare.
Everymuscleonmyfacehastobeonboardwiththatthought.Myhandscan’t

shakeandIneedScarlettJohansson'svoicemorethanIeverhavebefore.Ireadsome
copyoutloudinmyofficetomakesuresheisstillwithme.Sheis,thankheavens.

Igotthis.Iamgolden.Icanbelockedupwiththemanwhojustrippedoutmy

heartforasecondtimeinasmallroomforthenext24hoursandfeelnothing.

Atleast,pretendIfeelnothing.I’mgoodatpretending.Iamthequeenofthepoker

face.

Beckssticksherheadinmydoorwithoutaknock.“Magictime.”
AndwhenIstandfrommydeskandsmileather,shebuysthehappyexpressionon

myface.

MarkandIarenotaloneinthestudio,atleastnotyet,soIhavealittletimetoadjustto
hispresence.Andthatunbelievablehotness.He’sdressedinanothertightT-shirt,this
onedarkgreen—hemusthaveaclosetfullofform-huggingshirtsandadrawerstuffed
withperfectfitdenim.Hisjeansareloosewheretheyneedtobelooseandtightwhere
theyneedtobetight.Hehasthebootyofthegodofglutes.

HeturnsawayfromChrisandcatchesmyeye.“Goodmorning,”hesays,cheerilyas

fuck.Ican’tfindwords,soIjustnodathimandavoidthoseblueeyes.

NightVixenstillhasfifteenminutesleftofhershowandChrisandBecksandMark’s

guyBillareputteringaroundgettingsomemediaguysinplacetofilm.Thefirstcouple
ofhoursontheair,wewillhavepressintheroom.Afterthat,it’sallusandthemics
andthephones.

TheroomishotwithallthebodiesandlightsinhereandIamhotforotherreasons

too.MuchasI’mpissedatMarkrightnow,beinginthesameroomstillmakesathin
layerofsweatbeadalongmyskin.IfeellikeI’monfire.Ican’tstoprememberingthe
lasttimewehookedup,inthebedofhistruck,stillhalfwrappedinourcoats.We
couldn’twaittogetsomewherewarm.Weneededtohaveeachother,rightthenand

there.Hepushedmedownintothetruckbedandbentoverme,hisbodyhotenough
tokeepmewarminthechillynightair.Hiswarmhandsworkedtheirwayundermy
shirttotoywithmynipples,gettingthemhardasrocksbeforeheslidoneofthose
handsintomyjeanstocirclemyclitinstead.

“Ican’twaittogetinsidethathotlittlepussy.”
Bythetimehefinallyundidmyjeans,Iwaspantingwithdesire,myhandstearing

athisbelt.Buthecaughtmywristsandheldmyhandsagainstmystomachashe
strokedhisfingeraroundandaroundmyclit,makingmewrithewithdesire.Whenhe
finallyplungedonefingerintome,IthinkIshoutedloudenoughtowakeupthebirds
inthetreesalongthehighwaywherewepulledover.

Hekeptmesilentafterthat,hismouthpressedhardintominetoswallowmy

moansashefinger-fuckedmeuntilmylegsturnedtojelly.Onlythendidherelease
mywristsandletmedrawhiscockout,strokinghisfull,velvetylengthashewriggled
myjeansdownmyhips.

Hefuckedmesohardthetrucknearlyrockedofftheroadwehadparkedalongside.

Hisfistsduginmyhair,heldmyheadbacksohecouldkissmyneck,mychest,mytits,
ashethrustintomeagainandagain,makingmybackarchandmytoescurlandmy
assslamagainstthetruckbedwitheachthrust.

Whenhecameinsideme,thenitwasmyturntograbhisfaceandkisshimhard

enoughtostiflethedeafeninggroanheletout.

So,yeah.AllthosethoughtswereabitdistractingasIwatchedMarkchatwithChris,

thesamebodythatbentoverminejustaweekagonowtotallyofflimits.Thenafew
moremediaguysstartedtofloodintobeginthefirstinterviewseries,andIforcedmy
headbackonstraight.Focus,Rose.Thisisnotimetoloseyourhead.Icanmournmy
ownidiocytomorrow.Today,Ineedtoplaytheicequeen,andplayherwell.

Themorningpassesinwhatfeelslikeafewseconds.Thankgod.

Threehoursdown,21togo.Thestudioclearsoutbitbybit,reporterafterreporter,

andthenfinallyit’sjustMarkandme.Ibusymyselftoavoidhisgaze,butpeekingout
ofthecornerofmyeye,IcatchhimstaringatmewithalookIcan’tfigureout.It’s
somewherebetweenpissedandsmoldering.

Withallthefury,wehaven’ttalkeddirectlytoeachotheronceonair,nevermindin

thedowntimebetweencalls.Wesitinfrostysilenceifwearen’ttalkingupacaller.

Coldplay’slatesthitisspinningandIchecktomakesureIhaveeverythingonmy

endlinedup.Ourfirstcelebritycalliniscomingupandit’sadoozy.BonnieFaithisone
ofmyidols.IhavelovedhersinceIwaseight.HeralbumQueenofRockiswhyIgot
intomusicinthefirstplaceandIlearnedallhersongsonguitarbythetimeIwas12.
WhenIputthecallouttohermanagerIjustdidittotrytobringinsomemoremusic
people,hopingthecharityanglewoulddrawher.Still,Ineverexpectedforherto
personallyemailmewithanenthusiasticyes.Turnsoutshe’snotonlyamassive
Yankeesfan,butoneofMark’sdie-hardstoo.

“Hey,BadBoy,”shepurrsinthatfamousraspyEnglishaccent.“Whoareyou

punchingnext?”

“Ah,Bonnie.Wouldn’tyoulovetoknow…”

“StillafanofChopin?”
Chopin?Markchucklessoftlyintohismic,butIseehimblush.“Don’tbenaughty,

Bon.Let’snotspillstatesecrets.”

“Oh,do,”Iblurtintomyownmic.Idon’tknowwhyIsaidthatandneitherdoes

Mark,whoshootsmealookofsurprisecompletewitharchedeyebrowsandagaping
mouth.

“Idon’tkissandtell,”hefinallysaysinalowvoice.
Awesome.Markhasbangedmyfavoriterockstar.Ileanbackinmyseat,feeling

nauseousasIlistentotheirsexybanter.

Whocaresthathebangedher?Whocaresifhedoesagain?Noneofmybusiness!
Besides,thisshouldnotbothmebecauseIDON’TCARE.ThewordsofSaintPammy

bouncearoundmyheadandIsteelmypokerfaceandsteadymyquiveringhands.

“See,youaround,BadBoy.”Isitmyimaginationorhasheraccentgottenextra

Englishastheconversationwenton?Suddenly,IhateBritishaccents.

“Later,die-hard.”
Finally,it’sover.Ibidfarewelltomyformerfavoriterockstarwithaquickthank

youandstartastreamoffivelongsongssoMarkandIcanhaveabreak.

Breakinitiated,Istormoutoftheproductionboothwiththeintentionofhidinginmy
officeforthenexthalfhour,butMarkisstandinginfrontofthestudiodoorblocking
myexitasRHCP’sDaniCaliforniaplays.

“Move,”Isay.
“Nope.”Hecrosseshisarms.“You’rebeingridiculous.”
Hejuststaresatmewiththoseeyes.Thosewaytoobluetobelegaleyes.
Goddamnwhyishesuchagorgeoushunkofaman.Myresolveismeltinglikethe

Arcticicecapsandmypantiesstarttopuddle.

“Rose,”hewhispers,andthesoundofmynameonhislipsmakesmylegswakeup

andwalktowardhim.Traitors.

Hewrapshisarmsaroundmeandkissesme…ontheforehead.Again.“Yousuckat

beingadramaqueen.It’sreallynotyou.”Withgentleyetfirmhands,hepositionsmy
bodysomybackistothedoor.

“Whatdoyouthinkyou’redoing?”Iamtryingtosoundfuckyou,butScarJois

makingmesoundfuckme.

Hisanswerisaneyebrowwiggleashepresseshisbodyagainstmine.Igetanother

kiss.Thisoneisonthemouth,softandslow,opened-eyedandplayful.Ilovewatching
thoseblueeyeswidenasIkisshimback,mylipsmeltingintohis.Heslowlylowers
himselftohisknees,keepingthoseblueeyestrainedonmineasifinadare.Heslides
hishandsupmyskirt,thenbackdownwiththesidesofmypantiescurledaroundhis
thumbs.Ifeelarushofcoolairbetweenmylegs.

Hesmiles.“Ireallywantedtodothistoyoutheothernight.Unfortunately,lifegot

intheway…Letmegiveyoumypeaceoffering.”

“No.Idon’tacceptoralsexfrommenwhoarecurrentlydatingtheirsupermodel

ex-girlfriends.”Imentallypatmyselfonthebackforstayingstrong.Butinsteadof
lookingguilty,orevenangry,helookssincere.

“Idon’tknowwhatIcansaytomakeyoubelieveme.Amberisdelusional.She’s

makingupliestosavehercareer.Thereisnooneelse,Rose.Justyou.Comehere.”

AsIsteptowardhim,IcheckthewindowstotheDJbooth,butthestudioisempty

foronce.Markgrabsmetohim,flushagainsthishardbody,andkissesme.

Andagainstmybetterjudgment,Ikisshimback.It’sdeepandconnected,andeven

ifhedoesn’thavetherightwordstomakethisallbetter,he’sconvincingmewithhis
intensity.

“Rose,”hemurmurs,pullingmeeventightertohim.
Icanfeelhismouthcurvingupintoasmirkashishandroamsupmyinnerthigh.I

don’tbotherfightinghim,becausethisisexactlywhatIwant.Withasoftmoan,Ilet
mylegsslideapart.

ThankgodIworehighheeledbootstoday,becauseevenwhenMarkisonhisknees

he’sstillatallguy.Iliftmyskirtandhelooksatmyundiesforafewsecondsandthen
slowlyslidesthemtherestofthewaydownmythighs.

Whenmybarepussyisexposed,hetiltshishead,grinning.“Iseeyou’veprepareda

landingstripforme.”

MyfeetandkneesarestilltogetherbecauseIwanttoplayalittlehardtoget.Iwant

himtoworkforit.

“Iwanttotasteyourlittlepussy.”
Myresistancecrumbles.Hespreadsmypussylipswithhisthumbsandtrailshis

tonguealongmyslit.Ihadnoideahistonguewasthatlong;hereachesmyhotspot
withease,slippingthetipofhistongueintome.Iletoutaninvoluntarygaspoflust.

Hesoftenshistongueandletsitdoslowwavesalongmyclit,throwinginsomesoft

lippuckeringtomixthingsupandkeepthingsinteresting,suckingandnibblingonmy
clitbetweenlicks.It’sallwarmrhythmicperfectionandIfindmylegsspreadingwider
ashishandspinmyhipsagainstthedoor.Hisstubblerubbingagainstthesoftnessof
myinnerthighsisfuckingdelicious.“Itfeelssogood.”

Histongueplungesdeepintomewithrenewedforce,withdraws,thencirclesmyclit

again,relentless.Itdoesn’ttakelongbeforeIhavebothfistsinhishair,clenchingtight
andpantingwiththeeffortofholdingback.

“Mark,”Iwhisper,myhipsbuckingasIopenmythighsaswideasIcan,ridinghis

face,needingtofeelhistonguefuckmeevendeeper.

AllatonceIcumharderthanIcanrememberinyears,andcollapseoverhim,my

kneesquivering.

“Youtastesogood,”hesaysasheguidesmeintoachair.Thenhebendsoverme,

hisblueeyessharponmine.Whenhislipsfindmineagain,softernow,Icantaste
myselfonhistongue,anditmakesmewetalloveragain.“AmIforgiven?”

“Notentirely,”Imanagetogasp.
Hetakesabreathandaknee.“Listen.I’msorryabouttheothernight,Rose.Ihadan

emergency.”

Itossbackmyhairandarchaneyebrow.“Asupermodelemergency?”Damn.Why

didIsaythat?Allmycardsarefaceupnow.

“Great.”Heshakeshishead.Takingmyhandsinhis,hestaresatmeafewmoments

beforespeaking.“What,areyoustilljealousorsomething?Ijusttoldyou—”

“No.Idon’tcare.”SaintPammybewithme.

ButIdocare,Ido.Cheerleaders.Supermodels.Sportsreporters.Rockstars.Thisisn’t

simplysexualjealousy.No,it’ssomethingelse.IcareabouthimandIwanthimtocare
aboutmetoo.Asmorethanjustafuckbuddy.Therealizationmakesmefeelweakand
vulnerable.

“Thenwhythedrama?I’mtellingyouthetruth—I’mnotbackwithher.”
IshrugmyshouldersandlookawayandmumbleagainthatIdon’tcare.
“Sowehavenoproblem,then?”
HiseyesareonmineandI’mmelting.Ihavenochoicebuttosighandadmit,“I’m

notamodel…”

Heholdsmygazeforasecondandthensoftlylaughs.“No.Youaren’t.”Hestrokes

mycheekwiththebackofhishand.“AndI’mgladforthat.”

Warmthandjoyfloodmybody.CouldIflyrightnow?IfeellikeIcould.ButIdon’t

wanttocomeacrossastooexcited.Ismileandclearmythroattoregainsomesnark.
“Youdidstillstandmeuptheothernight,youknow.”

“Itoldyou.Ihadanemergency.”
Ibitemylip.Helooksserious.Deadlyso.Andalittlesad,too.There’salinebetween

hiseyebrowsthatI’veneverseenbefore.“Whathappened?”

“Youhavetopromiseyouwon’ttellasoul.Seriously.Itcan’tgetouttothepress.”
“Ipromise.”Irestmyhandonmyhearttoemphasize.
“Stanleyhadaheartattack.”Hecloseshiseyesandgrimaces.“Abigone.He’sstillin

thehospital.”

“Oh,god,I’msosorry,I…”Ifeellikesuchabitchrightnow.“Shit,Ihadnoidea.Is

hegoingtobeokay?Whatdidthedoctorssay?”

“Theysaid—”Markholdshisfingerupandlooksupatthespeakeroverourheads.

“Wait,isn’tthatthelastsongending?”

ROSE

WesprintbacktothecontrolsjustasMGMT’sPretendisroundingout.IgiveMarka
nodtosignalhismicisliveandheleansintoitasheslidesonhisheadphones.

“Andweareback.”Helickshislipsinmydirection.“ButIhadatastybreak.”
MyentirebeinglightsupinredandIwidenmyeyesathim.“Whataboutyou,

Rose?”hepurrs.“Howwasyourbreak?”

HegivesmeawinkandIbustoutlaughing,silently,sothemicswon’tpickitup.

“Relaxing,”Icoo.

“OK,die-hards,youstillhavealotofworktodotoday.ThephonesareopenandI

amexpectingyoutoopenyourheartsandwalletsforthekids.”

OurpartnerBustUpsportsdrinkhasanoffsitephonebank,buttheyareforwarding

bigdonorcallsandacoupleofstand-outdie-hardsformetopatchthrough.Goodold
Mackhasbeensentthroughandmyeyesbulgeoutatthescreen.Thisdie-hardhas
pledgedabignumberforthecause.

“Tenthousanddollars,”Iread.“Greatjob,Mack.”
“I’mimpressed,”Marksays.“Ithoughtyouspentallyourmoneyonmustachewax

andnachos.”

“Stillhateyou,Mark.”
Astheyargue,Iworkthephonestofindthenextdie-hardtoputthroughbeforewe

breakintoasongset.ThenInoticethatthededicatedlinewehaveforthecelebrity
callsislightingup.

That’sweird.EliManningisn’tsupposedtocallforanotherhalfhour.Thinkinghe

musthaveconfusedthetime,Ianswerthecallwithoutthinking.“Eli?”

“No,”afemalevoicesays.“It’sme.”
IknowthatvoicebutIcan’tquiteplaceit.“I’msorry,Idon’tthinkIhaveyoudown

onourschedule,itmustbeanerror.Whoisthis?”

Thereisapause,thenanaudiblesigh.Whoeversheis,she’ssoundslikeshe’sbored

totearswithmyquestion.“Amber.”

Mystomachchurns.“Oh.Uh.WhatcanIdoforyoutoday?”Jeez.Isoundlikean

airlineticketcounterrep.

“IwanttotalktoMark.”
Ipauseforamoment.“He’sbusy.”
“I’mafraidIreallymustinsist.Whoisthis,anyway?”sheadds.

“Holdplease.”
MarkmakesthesignalthathisconversationwithMackisdrawingtoaclose.Even

thoughacallisschedulednext,IplayaStoneTemplePilotssong.

“Mark,”Isayintohisheadphones,ignoringthepinchinthepitofmystomach.

“Amber’sontheline.Whatdoyouwantmetodo?”

Hegroans.“Justhanguponher.”
Inodandshoothimasmallsmile.Oureyeslockinperfectunderstandingandthis

time,IfeellikeIreallycanfly.

Until8pm,theRadioMarathonremainsfun;after8pmitbecomesexhausting.By
midnight,Igointorobotmode,mechanicallypushingbuttonsforsongs,for
commercials,forcalls.ScarJoatsomepointturnedintoRodStewartandmyback,legs
andneckfeellikeI’vebeenbreakingrockswithasledgehammeralldayandnight.

Mark,however,isamped.Asthemarathondragson,eachhourseemstobringhim

moreenergyandhe’sshowinghisfunside.He’sreallygoosingthedie-hardsand
teasingthecelebrities.HetreatsmetoalipsynchedperformanceofWonderwalland
reallynailsit.Hisenergyiscontagiousandflowsintome.

Around2amwehaveatensongbreakscheduled.Thankgod.
“Didyouwanttonap?”heoffers.“Ifeelprettygood,Icanwakeyouupinanhour

orso…”

“Thatwouldbeaterribleidea.IthinkifIletmybodyrestI’llfallasleepandnever

wakeup.”

“Ihaveabetterideathen.Whattimedowehavetogetback?”
Ilookatmywatch.“2:50.”
“Let’sgototheroofandgetsomefreshair.”
“Howdoyouknowabouttheroof?”Iask,suspicious.Shit,didChristellhimabout

thesecretstashofrumwekeepupthereforemergencies?

Redfloodstohischeeks.“Beckstriedtoluremeuptherewithaboxofwineand

someseriouslyfilthywords.”

Isnort.“Oh.”
“Thenshetriedagainwithabottleofwhiskeyandsomedifferentdirtywords.”
“Ohmygod.”Myshouldersshakewithlaughternow.
Heshrugshishunkyshoulders.“Ididn’tgo,”headds,catchingmyeyeandlingering

there.“ButshespokesohighlyofthegreattimeIwouldhaveupthere,Iaminterested
tosee.”

Ileadhimtothebackoftheoffice,tothedoorbehindBecks’sdesk.Thereisnolock

onthedoorandiftruthbetold,anyonewhowantedtogetintotheofficecoulddoso
fromtheroof.Pre-MarkCarringtonera,wehadneverconsideredsecurityoutsideof
NightVixen’soccasionallovesickHotTopicvamps,buteventheyjuststalktheparking
lotandpout.

AsIclimbthespiralstairs,IrememberIneverdidputmyunderwearbackon,so

Markisgettingquiteashow.

“Niceview.”
“Wearen’tevenontheroofyet.”

“Won’tbeabetterone.”HereachesuptosqueezemyassasIroundthelaststep,

andIletoutastartledgasp,thoughtobehonest,itfeelsmorepleasantthansurprising.

CoolairhitsmewhenIstepoutsideandIwraptheblanketIluggedupstairsaround

me.

“Ihavethreatenedtoshutthisroofdownamilliontimes,”Iexplain.“Toomuch

smokingweed.Toomanyantics.”IturnbacktoMark.“Anddon'tgetmestartedonthe
insuranceissueswecouldhaveifthiswereeverfoundoutbyanyoneinreal
authority.”

“Thenwhydon’tyoushutitdown?”
I’veneveraskedmyselfthat,butIthinkIknowwhy.Icouldsayitwasforpeaceof

mindduringthedayorevening,knowingyouhaveaspottoescapefromworkdrama,
butthat’snottrue.“Rememberwhenweusedtogoplaces?Awayfromschool?Away
fromtown?”

Henods.“Ofcourse.”
“It’skindoflikethat.”IrealizewhatIhavejustsaidandthinkofhowtobacktrack.

“Imean,I…”

“Igetit.Ilovedsneakingofflikethat.Whileeveryoneelseinourseniorclasswasat

thatcrappymallorwatchingmoviesinthenexttown,wewenttoweirdplacesnoone
elseknewaboutoreventhoughttolookfor.Itwasjustforus.”

“Exactly.”Ismileathim,andthenwelapseintoacomfortablesilence,enjoyingthe

view.Afterafewminutes,Ishiverfromthecoldandhearsomeechoedshouts.“What
isthat?”

Markpeersovertheroofledge.“Shh.Comesee.”
Iwalkoverandtakealookatthedie-hardsbelow.Twoofthemarearguingabout

BabeRuthalmostahundredyearstoolate.

Hewrapshisarmaroundme.“KindofcoolthatIcanseethemandtheycan’tsee

me.Foronce.”

Ithinkofhowdifferenthislifeisfrommine.“Doyoulikebeingfamous?”
Hesighs.“Ican’treallyanswerthat.”
“Why?”
“Idunno.I’vegottenusedtoit.”Hepauses.“Thereareupsidesanddownsides.How

doyoufeelaboutyourfame?”

“It’snotreallyfame,”Iprotestwithaneye-roll.
“Kindais.Yourprofilehasshotupalotinthelastcoupleofweeks.”
Ismile.True.“Idunno.Iguessit’scool.”Ihatetoadmitittomyself,butinalotof

waysI’veenjoyedit.I’veGoogledmyself.Infact,IspentlastSundaylookingatpictures
ofmyselfontheinternet.IlikedtothinkIwasdoingitjusttoseewhatcameraangles
workedforme,butatsomepointsomethinginsidemeclickedanditwaslikeIcouldn’t
stop.BeforeIknewit,acouplehourshadgonebyofmegazingatme.“Yeah,it’scool,”
Isayagain,butthistimewithapinchofguiltinmygut.

“Itiswhatitis.Itstartsoutgreat,butovertime…”Heshrugsagain.
Fortherestofthebreakwewatchthedie-hardsbelowus.Eatingjunkfood,playing

withtheirphones,talkingtoeachother.Mark’sarmsstayaroundmeasweswayinthe
cold,hischeeknexttomine,andIwonder.Isthismylifenow?Onlytherooftopswill
beprivate?I’llneedtohavehideawayseverywhereIgo?

Ontheotherhand,withMarkbesideme,itallseemsdoable.Morethanthat.
Itseemsright.

Bythetime10amrollsaround,wehaveofficiallysurpassedourfundraisinggoals.
Overwhelmedbyexhaustion,Idon’tevenrememberthepost-marathonpress
conferenceMarkandIdid.I’vehitthekindofexhaustionthatmakesyoufeeljustsick.
Irealizenowthatwithalltheprepforthisevent,Ihaven’tsleptfordays.It’sbeengo,
go,goandmybodyisrebelling.Afterthelastpresspersonleaves,Iwobbleouttothe
lobbyandcollapseonthebeerstainedcouch.

“I’mdone,”Imutterintothenotsofreshsmellingpillow.“Finished.Justleaveme

hereandletmedie.”

MarkstandsovermeandIfeelhisbodyblockingallthelight.“Youaren’tdoneyet.”

Ifeelhisbigarmswrapmycoataroundmeandthenheliftsmeupinhisstrongarms.
Heatiscomingoffhisbodylikehe’sanuclearreactor.Squeezingmyeyestight,Ilet
mybodygolimp.AfterbeinglargeandinchargeoftheRadioMarathonforthelast
coupleofdays,itfeelsincredibletojustletgo.

“Iseeyougother,”IhearChrissaywithalaughinhisvoice.
“I’llsay,”saysBecks.Shesoundsannoyed.Isthatjealousy?Myfacetwitchesin

satisfactionthatIamtheenvyofthehottotrotofficemamaminx.

Ikeepmyeyessqueezedtight,hearthedooropenandfeelthecoldwinterairkiss

myskin.Markholdsmetighterashewalksoutintotheparkinglot.

“Rose!”Variousdie-hardsareshoutingmynameandmyeyelidsflickerattheflash

ofcameras.Chrisassuresthecrowdthatinspiteofappearances,Iamnotdead,just
deadtired.

Marksaysnothingbut,“Heybuddy,willyagetthedoorforme?”tosomerandofan

whoobeyshisbaseballgodwithahearty“yes,sir.”

Marksetsmeinhistruckandsnapstheseatbelton,makingmefeelsafeand

secure.Hemusthaveturnedhistruckonwithhiskeyremotefromthelobby,because
it’swarminsideandW-ALTisblastingonthespeakers.“You’llbeOK,”hemurmurs.

Ialreadyam.Dudehasseatwarmersandmyassiscooking.Mmm...Sleepinessplus

horninessfeelsniceashell,eventhoughmybodystillaches.

Whenwehitthe17,Ireachacrossthegearshifttotrailmyhanduphisthigh.He

castsmeasidewaysknowingsmile,putshishandonmylegandletshisfingersdance
upmythigh.Closingmyeyes,IleanmyheadbackandlistentoourreliefDJRockin’
RalphannounceaPJHarveysongasMarkstrokesteasinglybetweenmylegs.Itdoesn't
takemyfingertipslongtofindthebulgeinhisjeans,andtracetheoutlineofhishard
cockthroughthefabric,evenashefingersmyclitthroughmyskirt.

“I’mgoingtogetyoufeelinggoodagain.”Withonehandonhissteeringwheeland

hisotherundermyskirt,Iwatchasstripmallsandbillboardswhirlby.Histouchis
gentle,withjustaslightpressure,nottakingmeonatriptoecstasy,butkeepingme
lingeringinasweetplace,halfawakeandhalfdeliriouswithdesire.“Iamtakingyouto
mycabin,andIamgoingtofuckyouwell.”

“Hmmm.”Iclosemyeyes.
Promises,promises.

Imusthavefallenasleep,becausethenextthingIknowweareinaforest.Markurges
metowakewithapeckonmycheek.“OK,sleepingbeauty,”hewhispers.“Timeto
wakeup.”

AsIrubmyeyesandfighttokeepthemopen,hewalksaroundthetruckandopens

thepassengerdoor,lettingincoolcountryair.

“Canyouwalk?”Markholdsthedoorwideforme.
Iwouldloveforhimtocarrymeagain,butIdon'tthinkIcanpullthatbabymove

offtwice,soInod.“Wherearewe?”

Hegivesmeashysmile.“Myplace.”
His‘place’isaglam-rustic,beautifulcabin.Mostlysurroundedbytrees.Ispyabarn

inthedistanceandsomefallowacrestotheback.

“Youliveonafarm?”NotexactlywhatIpicturedafterhisdoormankickedmeout

ofhiscityabodeintheoverpriced,fancy-as-hellhighrise.

“Don'tknockittillyoutryit.”
"Iwasn'tknockingit,I'mjust..."
"Surprised?"Hegrins.
Groggyandstillwobblyinmytortureheels,Ihavethegaitofaneightyyearold

woman,butImakeituptheporchstepstohisfrontdoorwithhisarmaroundmy
waisttosteadyme.Beforeheopensthedoor,hegivesmeaproudsmile.“I’vewanted
tohaveyouover,youknow.Thisisn'tjustaploytogetunderthatsexyskirtofyours.
Although,thatisalsotheplan.”Heturnsthelock.

Onceinside,Icanseewhy.Mybrainquicklyregistersacoupleofthingswithinthe

hugeinteriorofthecabin.One:theviewofhugetreesandrollingfarmland.Two:
Markhascomealongwayfromwhathewasborninto.

“Nice,”Islur.IamsotiredIfeeldrunkandIcollapseontohiscouch.Iwanttolive

onthiscouchforever.

“Stayhere,”hesays,asifIcanmove.“I’llberightback.”
AsIloungearoundthecouch,Itakeaganderathisspace.Yeah,thisisalongway

fromthesticks.Dude’sgotaBasquiatandaWarholthatdon'tlooklikeprints.

So80s.Iloveit.
Everythingisperfectandclean,butMarkwasalwaysfastidiousabouthispersonal

hygiene.Healwayssmelledfreshlyshoweredandhisclotheswerealwaysspotless,an
amazingfeatconsideringhishomelife.Hishandsespeciallywerealwaysmeticulous.
Notmanyteenageboyspaythatmuchattentiontotheirnails,buthiswerealways
trimmedalaKoreanmanicure.

Agrandpianodominatestheroom;it’sblackandgleamingwithitsliduptoreveal

theintricateharpinside.IlookaroundhisapartmentfortouchesoftheMarkIknew
backintheday.Ittakesaminute,butfinallyIfindit.Behindhisgrandpianoishis
framedbaseballjerseyfromLambertvilleHighSchool,number13,intheschoolcolors,
maroonandgray.Thathekepthishighschooljersey,thatheframedit,makesmy
wholebodygoawww.

He’sbackandseesmyeyesonthejersey.Hegoesoverandmakesamoveto

straightentheframeeventhoughit’snotcrooked.Hecatchesmyeyeandkinda

shrugs.“IbelievenomatterhowmuchsuccessIhave,nomatterhowmuchmoneyI
make,IshouldneverforgetwhereIcamefrom.”

“Goodidea.Istillhavethetapesfrommyshowsinhighschool.Theymakeme

cringewhenIlistentothem,butIhavethem.”Then,whilehe'snoddingin
understanding,Irubatatightspotinmyneckandwince.Damn.Headache.

Hereleaseshisjerseyframe.“Iknowjustwhatyouneed.”
“What?”
“Comewithme.”
Heleadsmetohisprivategym.Amongtheweightsandmachinesisamassagetable

flushagainstthemirroredwall.“Let’sgetthoseknotsworkedoutofyou.”

HetakesoffmyT-shirtandfoldsitwithsuchprecisionit’slikeheworkedattheGap

foradecade.Heactuallydidworkthere,nowthatIthinkaboutit,butonlyfora
summer.

Next,heslidesoffmyminiskirtandthenbendsdowntoremovemyboots.
“Hopon.”Hepatsthetable.
Iclimbonandlayonmystomach.“Areyoucertified?”Itease.
“Nope.”Heoilsuphishands.“ButIhavehadthousandsofmassages.It’spartofthe

processtoavoidinjuries.”

Isetmyfaceintheholeinthemassagebed,butmyentirebodyremainstense.
Ifeelhishandsonmyback,andsuddenlymyskinprickleswithheat.“Whatthe…”
“Liquidheatmassageoil.Trustme,Rose.”
Irelax—justalittle—ashecontinuestorubdownmyback,shouldersandneck.Itis

fuckingmagic.MusclesloosenandthepainI’vebeensufferingforhoursfadesastingly
sensationsreplaceit.Heworksmyfeetwiththeaplombofasexed-uppodiatristand
witheachkneadofmyarchestheOhyespleasesensationintensifies.

“Youlikethat?”Icanhearasmileinhisvoice.
“Love.”Isallmymouthcanmuster.
Heworkshishandsupmylegs,rubbingmycalvesandthebackoffmyknees.His

thumbsgetdangerouslyclosetotheareaofinterestandIwigglemylegswiderfor
easieraccess.Laughing,hepatsmyass,thenslapsit,thenmassagesthespothejust
smacked.Iwriggleandsighhappilythroughouttheprocess.

"Flipover,”heorders.“You’redoneonthisside.”
Onmyback,heworksmyfeetagain,drivinghisthumbsintomyverysoles,making

aboltofwarmthshootupeachleg.“Mmm,”Imoan.Nootherwordscometomind.

Heworkshishandsupmylegstomyinnerthighs.Onceagainhisthumbsbrush

closetomysweetspot,teasingthetopsofmythighsandbrushingalongthecurveof
mybikiniline.Buthedoesn'tquitetouchmyclit.“Oh,comeon."Ishiftmyhipstoward
him.

Hebendsdownandkissestheoutsideofmypussylips.“Patience.”
Thenhegentlymassagestheoilintomybreasts,armsandshoulders.Inoticemy

legsarepartingwitheachsecondthatpasses,untilmykneesarefurtherapartthan
LondonandTokyo.Grabbinghisarm,Itughimtomeandhelaughs.“Alright.I
supposeyou'vebeenpatientenough,Ms.Taylor..."

MARK

IamnowhereneardonepleasingRoseandIgiveherawickedsmilebecauseIknow
exactlywhatI’mgoingtodotoher.Scoopingherupinmyarms,Icarryhertomy
bedroom.It’stimetofuckheronmyTempurpedic.Ihavebeenfantasizingaboutthis
momentforweeks,orhell,ifI'mhonest,foryears.

Yes,wehavehadsexinplacessoridiculousthatpornstarswouldtakepity.Butit

makesitallseemunofficialanddistant.Here,inmyownbedroom,Icanreallydigmy
kneesintothisexpensivemattressandgiveittohergood.

Inmybed,shewilltrulybemine.
Iwanthertowantme.
Iwanthertobeg.
Andthat’sexactlywhat’sgoingtohappen.

Abeauty,atrue,well-oiledbeauty,isspread-eagleandnakedonmybed.Herfadedtan
linesfromlastsummershowthetracesofatinybikiniIwouldlovetoseeherin.The
oilnotonlyhasrelaxedherandheatedherskin,butshowsoffhercurvesinthedim
light.Hereyesarehalfclosedinrelaxationanddesire.Curlingupnexttoherinspoon
fashion,Icupherbreastinmyhandandkisshernecksoftly."Rose..."

Shesighshappilyandleansbackintome.Ifeelthesoftnessandwarmthofherbody

againstmine.This,righthere,feelssodifferentandyetsofamiliar.Ihavebeenwith
manywomen,toomanytoname,tobehonest.Butthisfeelslikehome.Thewayshe’s
lookingatme,thatunguarded,wantinglooktellingmeshefeelsaconnectiontoo.

Iwanttotakemytimeinmybedwithher.
Iwanthertobegformycock.Iwanthertolosetrackoftheworld,she'ssolostin

ecstasy.Iwanttowatchhercomeagainandagainandknowit'smedrivingher
mad...andIwanttohearhersayshewantstobeherewithmetoo.

Herlipsfindmine,hardandinsistent,andIkissherdeeply.Shesmellsoflavender

andsweetsweat.Itastehermouth,andherlipsaresosoftIimagineit’slikekissinga
flower.ForamomentIamlostinkissingherandstrokingherface.Ican'tgetenough
ofher.Evenherkissessetmeonfirelikenothingelse.EventuallyIslidedowntokiss
herneck,thenhershoulders.Iworkmywayalongherdeliciouscollarbonetothesoft
moundsofhertits.Icircleherhardnippleswithmytongue,enjoyingherheavypants

asshearchesherbodyagainstmine.

Onlywhenshe'swrithingacrossthebedindesiredoIslidebackuptolickherear

gently,thensuckherearlobeintomymouth,tonguingherearrings.Shegaspsin
frustration."Doyouwantmetofuckyounow?"Imurmur.

"Yes,please,"shegasps.
"Ididn'thearyou.Iwantyoutobegformycock."
Shethrowsmeaglareoverhershoulder,butherpussyissoakingwetandmy

fingeristoyingwithherentrance.Shenarrowshereyes,butrepeatsherself,louder.
"Yes.Please."

"Louder.Andmoredescriptive.OtherwiseI’mgonnamakeyoukneelandsuckme

off."

"Goddamnit,fuckme,Mark,please,"shegroans,andtheheatandpassioninher

voiceistoomuchtoresist,asmuchasIloveteasingher.

Iliftherlegandenterher,pleasedtohearhermoanwithdesire.Suchincredible

heatandwetness.Fuck,she'ssofuckingtightandhotforme.

“I’mgonnafuckyousodeepandhard,”Igrowl.Herpussycontractswitheachslow,

painfullycarefulthrustandwemovetogether,measuredandperfect.ShelikeswhenI
talkdirtytoher.Iwatchherface,hereyesclosed,hermouthslackandquiveringlike
herpussy.

“Mark…”shewhispers.
“Youhavethetightestpussy.You’refuckingperfect.”
Keepingmycockinsideher,Irollontopofher.She’sflatonherstomachandI

reachunderhertorubherclitasIfuckher.Imovemyhipsalittlefasterandthrusta
littledeeperasherripeassrises.Harder,deeper,slowlyIbuildtherhythmuntilwe're
bothpantinginearnest,readytogoatit.

Puttingonehandonherhipandoneonhershoulder,Ifuckherlikeshe’snever

beenfuckedbefore.Sohardwebounceacrossthemattress,andIfeeleveryinchofher
envelopingmyrockhardcock.She’slovingit,herlegsspreadwideandherface
pressedintothemattress.Witheachinchthatfillsher,Ifeelanalmostpainfully
ecstaticsensationshootthroughmybodyandIwanttocum,sofuckinghard,butno.

Notyet.
IthinkofbaseballstatsasIcontinuetopoundher.Themound,thepitch,anything

tobreakmyconcentration.Butherpussyisalivewithmovementandsogoddamn
tightaroundme,distractingmefrommynumbers.Itrytokeepmymindoffjusthow
amazingherpussyfeelsrightnow,andhowfantasticitlookswrappedaroundmydick
whenIpullbacktowatchherbodywrithebeneathme.

“I’mgonnapoundyousohardyouwon’tbeabletowalktomorrowwithout

rememberingmydickinyou.”

She’smoaningandgroaning,desperateandhornyandsowetforme,cryingout

loud,AHAhAhalllllmostthere.God,Iloveacockhungrywoman.

Mypacequickensintimewithherresponse.She’sgettingthere.
“Yes,harder!”sheshoutsintothemattress.“Fuck.Fuck,I'mgonnacum,"she

whimpers,hervoicemuffledbutloud.

Now.
Istopmoving,mycockstillinsideher.

“Fuck,"shegroansandgrindsbackagainstme.ButIdon’tmove.Ittakeshera

secondtorealizeI'vestopped.Thensheglaresoverhershoulder,furious.“Fuckme,
dammit!”

Istilldon'tmove,eventhougheverysingleounceofmybeingwantsto.Iwantto

finishinsideher,feelhercomeonmydick.

Instead,sayingnothing,Islidemydickoutofher.Sherisesonherkneesandgrabs

myfaceinherhands,thetopofmyhardcockbrushingagainstherstomach.Herface
isredandshe’spanting,hereyeslitwithfire.Fuck,shelookssosexyrightnow.

“Don’tyoufuckingstop.”Eventhoughshemightclawmyface,Ijustsmile.Her

stareissointense,sosexy,Ifeellikeshe’slookingintomysoul.

“Iwanttoseeyourfacewhenyoucum,”Itellher.
That.AndIwanttohearyousayyouloveme,Ithink.
TakingherbytheshouldersIpressherbackontheTempurpedicanddigmyknees

intoit.ShewrapsherlegsaroundmywaistandIenterheragain.Intentonfinishing
thejob,Ikeepmyeyesonher.Timetohititoutoftheparkandintothestratosphere.

Itbarelytakesusanytimetoreachthepeakagain.We'rebothshoutingsoon,

moaningandgaspingandtellingeachotherhowfuckingamazingitfeelstofuckeach
other,nocareforwhooverhearsus.Theadvantagesoffarmlife.

Butit'sherfaceasshecomesthatthrowsmeovertheedge.Thewayhereyesroll

backalittleandshelookshalfpained,halfecstatic,hermouthparted,lipsfulland
kissed,bodyglisteningwithasheenofsweatandoil.

Mymouthbetraysme.“Iloveyou,”Igroanintoherneck,justasmyownorgasm

sweepsthroughme.

Butshe'scummingsohard,shedoesn'thearme.
Thankgod.

ROSE

Thereisnothinglikeanakedsleepingman.

Markissprawledonhisback,relaxedinadeepslumber.Withthetopsheettangled

athisfeet,heisexposed,givingmeawonderfulopportunitytoexplorehisathletic
body.Althoughhismusclesarerelaxed,theyaredefinedandhiswell-tonedchestrises
andfallswithslow,shallowbreaths.HisstubbleismoreprominentnowandItoywith
thethoughtofwhathewouldlooklikeinafullbeardandhowthosemanlybristles
wouldfeelagainstthesofterpartsofme.

Stirringalittle,hismouthisslightlyopenandhiseyelidsflutterinREMmode.What

ishedreaming?Isitaboutme?Orisheatbat?

Withtheslightestkissofatouch,Iworkmyfingersuphisinnerthigh.Hisface

breaksintoasmilebeforehiseyesopen.“Goodmorning,”hesays,hisvoicelowand
hiseyelidshalfclosed.Hisdickalsostandsathalf-mast.

“Goodmorning.”Ikisshischestandworkmywayuptohisneck,thenhismouth.

“Didyousleepwell?”

“Likeababy.”Hekissesmyforehead.“Youhungry?Iknowtheperfectplaceto

orderin.It’sactuallytheonlyplacethatdeliversouthere,butitreallyisgood.”He
grabsatthephoneonthenightstandwithonehandandreachesforhisboxershortson
thefloorwiththeother.ButIyanktheboxersawayfromhim.

“Nope.”Idropthemtothefloor.“That’sagainsttherules.”
"Rules,huh?"
“Yes.TodayisNakedSaturday.Wehavetospendthewholedaynaked.”
“Ilikethat,”hechuckles.“ArethereotherrulesforNakedSaturday?”
“Maybe...”Irunafingerdownhischest."Firstrule,Ieatfirst."
Hiseyebrowsrise."Ohreally.Andwhatareyoueating,dear?"
Ipretendthatmychestdoesn'ttightenatthesoundofhimcallingmedear.To

distractmyself,Ikissmywaybackdownhischest."Forstarters,you..."

Heleansbackonthepillowsandarcheshishipstowardme."IsupposeIcouldget

usedtothatkindofwakeup,"headmits.ThoughhisvoicecatchesattheendasInibble
athiship.

HiscockisrockhardbythetimeIreachit.StillItaunthim,skirtingaroundhisdick,

kissinghisthighs,thetrimmed,neathairlinearoundhiscrotch,evenhisballs.Mm.He
smellssomuchlikehim,masculineandsweatyandstillalittlesexedupfromourromp

lastnight.Itrailmytongueuptothebaseofhisshaftandcirclehim,lettinghiscock
brushmysoftcheekasIdo,savoringhisquietgroans.

Turnaboutisfairplay.Andheteasedmeenoughlastnight.
IgethimsohardthatprecumformsatthetipofhisshaftbeforeIstarttogoathim

inearnest.ThenIlickupanddownhisdickinlong,hardstrokes,whilemyhandstoy
withhisballs.Finally,Ilethimsinkbetweenmylips,butonlywhenhishipsstart
buckingoffthebedandhegaspsmynameafewtimes.

Itdoesn'ttakelongforhimtoworkuptospeed.Prettysoonhe'sthrustingupatmy

mouth,andIcan'tgetenoughofthesoundshe'smaking,moaningandgroaning,
totallyundermyspell.IdigmytongueintotheundersideofhiscockasIsuckhimoff,
andthatdoesit,likeflickingatrigger.Hecriesoutashefinishes,andIkeepgoing,
lickingeverydropofcumfromthetipofhim.

Hetastesexactlythewayhesmells,saltyandmasculineandfamiliar,yetuniqueall

atonce.

WhenIfinallyliftmyhead,he'sstaringatmewithsomethinglikeshock.Iwatch

him,waitingforthatstaretomeltintoasoftsmile,whichitdoes.ThenIslideuphis
bodyandcurlupinhisarmsagain.

"How'sthatforbreakfastinbed?"heasks,whenhe'srecoveredenoughtospeak.
Ismirk."Prettydamngood."Ileanintolickhisear."What'sfordessert?"
Sufficeittosay,ittakesusalongwhiletoevenplaceanorderwiththedelivery

placehementioned.Whichturnsouttobeapizzaplace.

IlookoutthewindowasIseethesunisgoingdown.“Pizza,ofcourse.”
“Yourwishismycommand.”
“Don’tdisappointme,”Isay,archingmyeyebrow.
Ablushspreadsacrosshecheeksandhegrinsandshakeshishead.Weareboth

thinkingthesamething,I’msure.“Neveragain.NotsureIcanhandletheglareof
stingingdisapprovaltwice.”

WhileMarkordersenoughfoodtofeedeveryoneinYankeestadium,Icheckmy

phoneandseeGeohasbeentextingmelikeadisgruntledex-boyfriend.Ittakesmea
fewminutestoworkoutwhathasherinsuchatizzy.TurnsoutthatpicsofMark
carryingmetothecarareallovertheinterwebsandspeculationissoaring.IsMark
cheatingonAmber?DidIstealhimfromher?Orhasthisbeenalovetriangleallalong?

“Oh…”Igapeatmyphone.
“What?”
Ihandhimthecellandhesquintsoveritandscrolls.Lettingoutasigh,hehandsit

backtome.“NowyouknowwhyIrefusetohaveaphone.”

IworkmywaythroughmoreGeotextsandseemorelayerstothebullshit.

“Teenagegirlsaretalkingsmackaboutme.TheysayI'maman-stealing…”

“Stop.”Marktakesmyphonefrommyhandandputsitinhisnightstanddrawer.

“You’regoingtodriveyourselfcrazyifyoukeeplookingatthatstuff.”

“But…”
“Comehere.”
Icrawltohimonthebedandlaydownbesidehim.Hefoldsmeinhisarms,then

turnsmyfacetohis.“IhavebeenridingthisfametrainforfiveyearsnowandI've
learnedsomeimportantthingsfromStanley."

“Likewhat?”
“Don’tfeedthetrolls.”
“Butit'snoteventrue!"
Hecloseshiseyesandshakeshishead.“I’mserious.”
“Isthiswhatitfeelsliketobepopularinhighschool?Witheveryonetalkingabout

you?”

“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Well,backwhenwewereinhighschool,youwerethissuperpopularjockand

everyonegossipedaboutyou.Nowit'slikethat,butonawaybiggerscale.Likeallof
Americaisonegianthighschool.”

Heblinksatmeforafewseconds,thenleansbackonthepillowandlaughs.His

wholenakedbodyislaughingwithhim.Evenhisdickseemstobeshakingwithmirth.

“What’ssofunny?”
Herubshisface.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?Everyoneknewyouinhighschool,

too.Ourschoolonlyhadlike500kidstotal.”

“Butyouwerepopular.Peopletalkedaboutyou.”
Helaughsagain.“Peopletalkedaboutyoutoo.”
“Sure,butonlyaboutwhatanerdIwas.”
“Noonesaidthat.”
Irollmyeyes.“Yestheydid.”
“Who?”
ItrytocomeupwithanamebutI’mdrawingblanks.“Idon’trememberexactly.

Yourbuddies,I'msure.”

Heshakeshishead.“Theyneversaidanythinglikethat.”
“ThedayyougotassignedtomeinMrs.Singletary’sclass,Deanwhateverhisname

wasactedlikeyouweresentencedtodeath.Andyouagreedwithhim!”

Hepresseshislipstogetherandshakeshishead.“Youmisremember.”
“PrettysureIremembermyhighschoolhumiliationsaccurately.”
Hetracesmynippleswithhisfingers.Ittickles,butIdon’tstophishand.“Wrong.”
“Howdoyourememberitthen?”
Helooksawayforasecondandtakesadeepbreath.“IrememberDeanandthe

guysteasingmebecausetheyknewIhadacrushonyou.”

Iblinkforacoupleofseconds.It’sgoingtotakesomere-orientingofmymemories

toworkmyheadaroundthatone.Inarrowmyeyesathim,positivehe’sbullshitting.
“Youhadacrushonme?”

Hemeetsmyeyesforalong,smilingmoment.“Abigone.Iwasobsessedwithyour

tits.”Hepincheshisfingerstighteraroundmynipples,whichstarttohardenathis
touch.“AndIlovedthewayyouwalked.Thatass,deargod.Andyouweresmart.Sexy
smart.”

NowI’mstaringathim.“Really?”
Hepropshimselfonhiselbowandbrushesstrandsofhairoffmyface.“Andit

wasn’tjustthat.Ithoughtyouwerehot,butwhatreallygotmetonoticeyouwaswhen
youepicallyfailedatthattalentshow…”

“Ohmygod.”Ishudder.“Ilostabetwiththebiologyteacher.”WhichmeantIhad

todancealone,onstage.ToDestiny’sChild.Infrontofourentireschool.

“ThathadtobetheworstdanceinterpretationofSayMyNameever.Wasthatall

yourownchoreography?”heasks,laughing.“Didyoureallyfeelitnecessarytodoa
cartwheelinthemiddleofthesong?”

Iplay-slaphim.“Iknow,itwashorrible.God,Iwantedtodie.”
“Butyoudidit.Everyonethoughtyouweregoingtochickenout.Butyougotupon

thatstageandruinedBeyoncé’ssongforeveryone.”Hesmirks.“Anyway,that’swhenI
firstnoticedyou.Andyourtitsandyourass."Heslapsthemeachforemphasis."Iguess
allofthatatthesametime.Butseriously,Iadmiredyourcourage.”

“Aw.”
“Youweresoweird,butinagoodway.Youalwaysputyourhairupinthe

afternoonwiththisbarrettewithabumblebeeonit.Andyouworethecolorgreenall
thetime.Andyoualwayshadabook…”

“Inoticedthingsaboutyoutoo.”
Hisfacebrightensinasmile.“Yeah?What?”
“Irememberallthefoodyouateinthecafeteria.Andthatyourlockerwasalways

neat.Andthatyoutiedyourshoeswithdoubleknotand…”Isigh.“Yeah,Inoticedyou
too.”

SuddenlyIseethepastinawholenewlight.Iflashbacktodifferentsceneswith

thatnewpieceofstartlinginformation.Hismonosyllabicanswers.Thetensioninhis
bodywhenhewasaroundme.Howlongittookhimtofinallyspeaktomeoutsideof
ourproject,whichIassumedwasbecausehehatedme.

Thenlater.Thoselingeringkissesanddeepstares.
“Youhurtmyfeelingsalot.”Hestaresattheceilingwhenheadmitsthis,andI

watchhimcarefully,concerned.

“Idid?”
“Youwouldcallmestupidsometimes.Alotofthetime,actually.Youwerekinda

mean.ButIlikedyoualot,soIjustkeptgoingbacklikeachump.”

“Youweremeantometoo,youknow,”Ipointout.
Hesquintshiseyesatme,thenblinks.“Huh.”
“What?”
“I…”Hesoftlychuckles,thenrollsbackonthepillowandrubshisface.“Yeah,I

guessIwas.IjustfeltlikeIwasn’t,youknow,enoughforyou.Likeyoulookeddown
onme.SoIwasmeanback,Isuppose,sometimes.”

Istrokehischestandlookintohiseyes.Hisjawisclenchedandhiseyesaresetin

pain.“Mark,IamsorryifImadeyoufeelthatway.ButIhonestlythought—stillthink
—thatyouareamazing.Iwasimpressedwithhowyoucarriedyourself,howyou
soldieredoninspiteofeverythinggoingonathome.”

Heblinksatmebutsaysnothing.
“Iwassuperself-consciousatthatage.Mostkidsare,Iguess.Iwasconvincedyou

wereashamedofmeanddidn’twantyourfriendstoknowaboutmebecauseIwasthe
fatnerdygirl.SoIkindoftookthatoutonyou."

Heburstsoutlaughingandrubshisfaceagain.“Nope.Noway."Hesitsup.“Ididn’t

wanttotellanybodybecauseIwasterrifiedyouwouldbreakmyheartandeveryone
wouldknow.Ihadsomeselfimageproblemstoo,youknow,witheverythingthatwas
goingonathome.”

“Ofcourse.”
“Iguesswebothhadourissues.Butthatwasthenandthisisnow…”
Ishakemyhead.He’sright.“ButIamsorry.”
“Metoo.”Hestrokesmyface.“Can’twejustbetogether?Hereandnow?"
Istraddlehimandbenddowntokisshiminresponse.Thekissdeepensandhe

wrapshisarmsaroundmyhipstotugmedownagainsthim.JustwhenI’mwarming
uptotheideaofsexinghimup,there’saknockatthedoor.

“Foodishere.”Hereachesdowntograbhisboxershorts.
“Nope.Againsttherules!”
“ButhowamI…”
“Becreative.”Iwink.
IwatchMarkrisefromthebed,grabsomecashoffhisnightstandandwalktothe

doorbucknaked.“Coming,”heshoutswithalaugh.“HowthehellamIgoingto…”

Itiptoedownthehallbehindhim,peekingaroundthecornertoseehowheplansto

pullthisoff.Heopensthefrontdooracrackandslideshisarmthrough.“Uh,keepthe
changeandleavetheboxesontheporch,dude…”

AsIdissolveintolaughter,Markrunsbackovertome,scoopingmeupinhisarms

andcarryingmebacktobed.Wecanwaitalittlelongertoeat.

RightnowIamonmy4thsliceofpizzaandgreaseisdrippingdownmychin.Mark’s
response?Heflipsanothersliceontomyplateanddanglesanothermozzarellastickin
frontofme.“Friedcheeserules,”hesays.

Igobbleupthegooeyglobfromhisfingertips.
“Thatpianoisbeautiful,”Isaywithafullmouth.“Doyouthrowelegantpartiesand

hiresomeonetoplay?”

Markshakeshishead.“Iplay,”hesaysquietly.
“Really?”Iblink.Idon'trememberhimplayinginhighschool.
“Iknow.Notalotofpianosinthesticks.”
“Ijustmeant,younevermentioneditinschool."
Helooksawayandcrackshisknuckles.“Therewasthisniceoldladythatlivednext

door.Awidow.Arealgrandmothertype,youknow.Alwaysmakingcookiesand
watchingkidsintheneighborhoodforfree…”

Movingnexttohim,Itouchhisshouldertosilentlyencouragehimtotalk.
“Anyway,shewouldhavemeover,youknow,whenmymomwasamess.Tokeep

mebusy,shetaughtmetoreadmusicandplayheroldbabygrand.”

“Soyoukeptupwithit,Isee.”
“FirstthingIboughtwhenIgotthisplace.”
"So.Areyougoingtoshowmehowwellyou'vekeptupwithit?"Iwinkathim.
“Isthatachallenge?AreyouaskingmetoproveIcanplay?”
“HellyeahIam.I’dlovetohearit.”
Markstandsandgrabsmyhand.Heleadsmetothepianoandsetsmeonthe

woodenbench.Thenhesitsdownbesidemeandcrackshisknuckles.

Aripplingmelodyfillstheroomashisfingersdriftoverthekeys,andIcanfeelthe

vibrationsticklemybodythroughthepianobench.“Thatsoundsfamiliar.FurElise?”

“Goodear.”
Hechangesthetunetosomethingmoreupbeatandrhythmic.It’sonthetipofmy

tongue,butIcan’tnameit.“Ithinkthat’sarag?”

Henods.“MapleStreetBlues.ScottJoplin.”Hechangesthemelodyagain.Thisone

isannoyinglyfamiliarandmakesmegrimace.

“SayMyName?Seriously?”
Helaughsandraiseshishandsinsurrender.“OK.Howaboutthisone?”
Hisfacechangesashelowershishandstothekeysagain.Alightheartedticklingof

notespepperedwithsomedramaticchords.It’sabeautiful,hauntingmelody,butI
can’tplaceit.“Canyougivemeahint?”

“Closeyoureyesandlisten.”
Shuttingmyeyes,itfeelslikethemelodyismakingmerise.“Isitapopsongor

somethingfromclassical?”

“Listen.”
Layingmybodydownacrossthepiano’smantel,Iopenmyeyesandfindhe’s

staringatmeasheplays.Themoodofthepieceshiftstoadarkertone,butthenmelts
backintothejoyousmelody,butthistimeit’slayeredanddramatic.“Whatisit?”I
whisperwithasmile.

Hetakesthevolumedownandloopsthemelody.“Iwroteit.”
Ismile.Iamnotsurprised.Eighteenyearoldmewouldbe,butadultmeknowsthat

themanbeforemeisn’tadumbjockfromthesticks.Hehasdepth,somuchmorethan
Ieverglimpsed.NowIwanttoknowmore.“Whatdoyoucallit?”

Hissmilewidens.“ARoseisaRoseisaRose…”

MARK

WhenRosesleeps,nuclearbombscan’twakeher.It’sSunday,sonoradioshowthis
morning,butIamupatthecrackofdawnlikeusual.Iwakeuphard,andwatchingher
chestriseandfalldoesn'thelpmatters.Ithinkaboutmaybestrokingherpussyalittle
torouseherandarouseher,butshe’ssleepingsopeacefully,Ican'tinterrupthernow.
Later,baby.

AsSleepingBeautyslumberson,Ishowerandmakeafewcalls.Ourshowwillbe

overinaweekandI’llbeofftospringtrainingwithmyteaminFlorida.Yankees
managementareawareRosewillbecoming,butIhavetobuttonupafewmore
details.

Oncethat'sfinished,Iheadintothekitchentogetaheadstartonbreakfast.

Everythinginmyfridgeandpantryisbreakfastrelated.Justbreakfast.Igetdeliveryfor
everythingelse.AsIgrabthebacon,theeggsandthepotatoes,IfeelgratefulthatI
finallygotachickwhofuckingeats.

Thefreshbrewintheexpensivecoffeemakerdoesn’trouseRose,andneitherdo

thescentsofthehomestylepotatoesortheeggs.Butwhenthebaconaromafillsthe
cabin,Ifeelherarmsaroundmywaistandawhispered,“Goodmorning,”inmyear.
Thankgodshe’sup.Myballsareachingfromlackoflove.

“Sitdown,”Imurmur.“IwillservetheQueenofSighs.”
“QueenofSighs?”Shechuckles.
“Youshouldhearyourselfsometime.”
AfterIforkeggsintohermouthandfeedherbacon,Iwigglemyeyebrowsatherto

indicateIwanttofuck.

“Isthatyourspecialsignalforme?”Shesmilesandwrapsherarmsaroundmy

waist,whileIletmyhandswanderdownherhips.

This,righthere,isexactlywhatIwant.

“OK,Mark.Openyoureyes.”

MytherapistToddissittingacrossfromme,stillinthatweirdgreensweater,stillin

thosesillygoldrimmedglassesthatmakehimlooklikeayuppieJohnLennon,but
somehowhelooksdifferentnow.

Iusedtohatethesebreathingandmeditationexercises,butnow,afterbreathing

andmeditating,Ithinkhe’sawesome.It’sastrangemagicIcouldonlyperformonthe
moundoratthepianoorwhenIambangingRose.

“Howdoyoufeel?”heasksmeinthatcalmvoicehealwayshas.Inod,butIknow

it’snotenoughforhim.“Words,please.Aswediscussed.”

AfteraswallowandanotherbreathIamreadytodescribehowIfeel.“Relaxed.And

alsoenergized.Whichiskindofsurprising.”

“Good,”hesaysashewritesinhisnotebook.“That’sgood,Mark.”
Irubmylegsandthenmyface.“It’sgettingeasiertocalmdownnow.”
Toddnodsashecontinuestowrite.“Good,nowyouhaveanotherexercisetogoa

littledeeperintothoseemotionsandpurgethem.”Ican’thelpbuttoletloosealittle
laugh.“Somethingfunny,Mark?”

“It’sjust,whenIfirststartingworkingwithyou,Ithoughtitwasgoingtobeawaste

oftime,butnowIcanseethatit’shelping.So,IguesswhatIamtryingtosayisthank
you.”

“You’rewelcome.Andalthoughyouhavemadegreatprogress,youknowyoustill

havealotofworktodo.”

Theweightoftheworldfeelslikeit’sbeendroppedonmyshoulders,butIletthat

sensationpass.“I'mguessingyouhavemorehomeworkforme.”

Smiling,heripsoffapagefromhisnotebookandhandsittome.“Forthenext

week,Iwantyoutotakesometimeandmakeanewlist.”

Iglanceatthepageandreadaloud.“Listwhatmakesyouangry?”
“Whatwe’vebeenfacinginoursessionsisthatyourfirstresponsetoextreme

emotions,emotionslikesadnessorembarrassmentorevenpressure,isanger.Sowhat
Iwantyoutoexplorenowiswhattriggersyourangersothatnextweek,wecan
discussappropriateresponses.Good?”

“Soundsgood,doc.”
Squintinghiseyes,hetapshispenonhisnotepad.“Howisthenewromancegoing?”
Myskinflushesalittlehot.Yep,Ifuckingblush.“Well…”
“Wordsplease,aswe…”
“Iknow,Iknow.”Lookingaroundtheroom,myeyeslandonthepianoandIsmile

atthethoughtofRoseperchednakedonit.“It’sjustbeenacoupleofweeks.Butsofar
sogood.Andit’sweird…”

“What?”
“EvenwhenIhavegottenfrustrated…Idon'tgetthecrazyangerthinghappening

whenshe'saround.”

“Whynot?”
“Dunno.”Ishrug.
“OK.Wecanexplorethatnexttime.”
AfterIseeToddout,IgiveRosearingonhercell.She’sworkinglatetonightto

splicetogetherhighlightsfortheshow,butIwanttodosomethingspecial.Thatis,after
Ivisitanotherspecialsomeone.

Clutchingthebooktomychest,Iexittheelevatortoheadtoroom14B.Stanleyisgoing
tolovemygift.Rosehappenedtobecollegeroommateswithsomeoneatthe

publishinghouse,soshescoredmeaneditor’sadvancecopyofthenewMickeyMantle
biographythreemonthsearly.

Walkingdownthehallway,Icheckmyemotions,myanxiety.Ihaven’tsomuchas

talkedtoStanleysincethenightoftheheartattack.BetweenBev'spresenceandhis
touch-and-gostatus,Ifiguredstayingawaywasthebestsolution.Billagreed,
unfortunately.

ButIcan’texplainwhyI’msojumpytoseehimnow.MaybebecauseIwantto

impresshim,pleasehimandmakehimhappy.Butalso,becausesomuchhaschanged
sincethatnight.BetweenmeandRose,betweenmeandmyself...Iwanttoshareit
withhim.

ToddwouldbeproudImadethatconnection,Ithinkwithasmirk.
PausinginfrontofStanley'sdoor,Iforceasmile.StressiscontagiousandIdon’t

wanthimcatchingmine.Ishakeoffmynervesandtaponthedoor.Itswingsopento
revealBev.Hercuriousexpressionmorphsintoanoh,it’syouface.“Mark.Nowisnot
thetimeforyourshit.”

Iholdupthebook.“Noshit,Iswear.Icomebearingagift.”
Hereyessquintatthetitleandsheshakesherhead.“Ican’thaveanydramaorany

stressinthisroom.”

“Yes,ofcourse.Iunderstand.”
Shescowlsatme.“You'dbetter.”Shewidensthedoor.
Shit.
Stanleylookslikehell.TheMiamitanisgoneandhe’spaleandhollowlooking.His

eyesblinkopenandfocusonme,afaintsmileonhislips.“Kid,”hesaysinavoice
barelyaboveawhisper.

Stretchingmyfakesmile,Iinhalehardandapproachthebed.“Hi,Stan.Howyou

feeling?”

“Aces.Whatyougotthere?”
“YouknowthatHalBritainbioaboutMickeyyou’vebeentalkingabout?”Iholdthe

booktohimandhetakesitwithatremblinghand.InoticeIamtremblingtoo.

Hecloseshiseyesforwhatseemslikeaneternityandthenopensthem,tryingto

smile.Ithurtstowatch.“Thanks,kid.Howyoubeen?Billhasn’ttoldmemuch.”

“We’vebeenkeepingworkoutoftheroom,”Bevinterruptsbehindme.Hertoneis

stern,soItakethatasawarning.

“Doinggreat.WeraisedalotfortheLittleSluggers.”Stanleynodsandcloseshis

eyesagain.Iwait,buthedoesn’topenthemagainandpanicstabsmyheart.“Stan…”

Bevtouchesmyarmandhernailsdigin.“He’sfine.Hedoesthat.Justdriftsoff.”
“Oh.”Ilookatthebookwhichhestillhashuggedtohim.
“It’stimeforyoutoleave.”

IsitonmycouchforhalfanhourandmakemyListofThingsThatMakeMeAngry.As
instructedbyTodd,Iwritefortwentyminutessolidandrarelyletthepenleavethe
notepad.

HeartAttacks.

FoulBalls.
BlueBalls.
Flattires.
Burnedcoffee.
Gossip.
Rumors.
Amber'srumorsinparticular,sinceshe'smovedontospreadthewordthatI

cheatedonher.LikethethingwithRoseisn'tonawholeotherlevelthanAmberandI
everwere.

TOMMYFUCKINGPIZZA.
Bev’sharshwords.
Wheremylockerinthelockerroomis.Tooclosetotheshowers.
Thatdingonmytruckhood.Wherethefuckdidthatcomefrom.
Thetrafficonthe17inthemornings.
ThehangnailIhaveontheringfingerofmylefthand.
ApologizingtoTommyPizza.
Eric’sscars.
Potholes.
Headcolds.
Mymother’smugshotsforherarrestfordrugsandtheftandprostitution.
Istopandlookatthelastitemonmylistoffury.Wheredidthatcomefrom?Toddis

asneakyfuckandIcannowseewhyhewantedmetowritethislist.Igetit.Aflattire
isnotequaltoStanley’sheartattack.Ahangnaildoesn’tcomparetomyshit-tastic
childhood.

Ihavetriedeverythingtohelpmymom.AtfirstIthoughtstraight-upcashwould

fixthings.WhenIsignedtotheYankees,IboughtMomahouseintheburbsandfilled
itwithbeautifulthings.

Stupidme.Shestoppedgettingbustedforstealingandhooking,butshestilldidher

drugs.Afteranoverdose,Igottough.Justpaidallherbillsdirectlyandhadgroceries
delivered.

Shesoldeverythingshecouldoutofthehouse,firstthefurniture,thenthe

appliances,thenthecopperwiring.

ThenIputherinrehab.Fiveplaces.Nowasixth.She’sinArizonaandhasbeen

cleanforthreemonthsandIamhopeful,butcautiousaboutit.

Afteralongmomentofthought,Ipickupthephoneanddialthenumberatthe

rehab.Ineedtotalktoher.Ineedtotellherhowmuchshefuckedthingsupforme.I
needtotellherIamsickofcarryingaroundthisanger.

ThenIneedtoforgiveherandletthisshitgo.

ROSE

MarkandIhaveslippedintoaroutinebeforeourshows.WhileI’mstillsleeping,he
takesashowerandwhileI’mshowering,hemakesbreakfastforhisQueenofSighs.I
haven’tsleptintomyownbedfordaysandImightnotbeabletogoingforward.His
Tempurpedicisthebomb,andnotjustforsleeping.

Thismorninghecutupsomefreshfruitformewithascoopofyogurtinit.Andthat

isn’ttheonlywayhe’sbeenspoilingme.Heheatsmytowels.Nottomentionwehave
exchangedmanyajoyousmassageonthatsweettableofhis.

Mypersonalitemshavebeenslowlyaccumulatingathisplace,too.Firstitwasa

toothbrush.Thenacoupleofpairsofpanties,butinthelastcoupleofweeksI’veadded
mymakeupbag,severalchangesofclothesandsomebooks.Ievengothimtoupgrade
thetoiletpaper.

What’supwithguyshavingcheapoTP?Imean,he’sgotthisexpensiveJapanese

luxurytoilet,butbargainbasementpaper.

Eventhedrivetothestationthismorningiswonderfullyroutine,despitethefact

thatwehavetobeinextraearlyforameetingabouttheshowgoingnational.Thisis
ourlastofficialweekbeforeMarkandIgotoMiami.I’mstartingtofindcomfortin
that.LikeI’minthewholelovelysafetybubble.

Ilovethathedrivesme,andsurprisinglyIdon’tmissmycaratall.Ilovethatwe

talkaboutstuffonthewayin.Ilovethatheisgrowingabeard.Ashedrives,Ireach
overandstrokethesoftstubbleonhisface.

Nice.
Thismorningthedie-hardsareintheparkinglotasusual.Atthispointtheyarelike

oldfriendsandIknowmanyofthembyname.

“GoodMorning,Delores,”IsaytotheolderladydeckedoutinbedazzledYankees

accessories.Shemusthaveamillionpicturesofmebynow,butalwaysseemstowant
another.Idon’tgetit,butIalwaysaccommodateherandIknowmybestselfieposes
now.

AsImakemywaythroughthegauntlet,IseethatChrisisoutsidethestation’sdoor

suckingonacigarettelikehe’sgettingoxygenfromit.He’sshufflingfromfoottofoot
andInoticehisfacelooksmoreweatheredthanusual.Something’swrong.

“Chris.”
Hepuffsoutahugebillowofsmoke.“Iwouldhavecalledyou,”hesays,avoiding

myeye.“ButIfigureyoualreadyknow,so.”

“What’sup?”Marksays.Ifeelhishandonthesmallofmyback.
Chrisjusthuffsanddropshiscigaretteontheground.That’sano-noandhecatches

myeyetomakesureIseehimdoit.Hestompsitoutwiththeheelofhisbikerboot
andthenopensthedoorforus.

MarkandIexchangeconfusedlooksbeforeweenterthestation.

ThefirstthingInoticeisBlowsysittingbehindthedeskinthelobby.Stillwearingmy
oldbridesmaiddress,butshe’sgotanewaccessorythatmakesmystomachrollin
waves.

“WhyisBlowsywearingacowboyhat?”Markasks.
Ican’tfindwordstocompletemythoughts.Ijustshakemyhead,dreadpoolingin

mystomach.

NightVixenstandsnexttoChriswithherarmscrossedandhertoetapping.“We

havegonecountry?”

Chrislookstotheground.“It’sfuckingover.”
Igapeatthem.
"Youknewaboutthis."NightVixenjabsatmychest.
“Ididn’tknowanything,IswearI…”
“Oh,sure.”Beckswalksinfromheroffice,andgrimaces.“Likeyoudidn’tknowDoc

BingsoldustoHalcyon.”

“What?No!”IfeelMark’shandonmybackandit’stheonlythingkeepingmefrom

fallingover.“Thatcan’tbetrue.”

Beckswalksuptome.“Everyoneisoutofajob.”
“Exceptforyou,Rose,”NightVixensays.“Iguessyou’vebeenscheming,huh?”
“Yeah,lookslikeyou’regoingtocomeoutsmellinglikeaRose,”Chrissays.
MyentirebodygoeslimpandI’msurprisedIcanstillstand.“Listen,guys,”Isay,but

Becksjustwalksaway.

IlookatChrisforcomfort,butheglaresatme,everyinchfurious.“Well,Iguess

youneedtohitthatmeetingnow,don’tyou.”

Themeetingisablur.Idopickupacouplethings.RobertE.Leehasanewcollar.Doc
isburstingwithhappinessatthemillionshemadesellingout.AndnextweekSporty
TalkwillgonationalonHalcyon'svastnetworkacrossthecountry.WhileW-ALT,poor
littleW-ALT,goesliteralcountry.

DJs,programdirectors,theyareathingofthepast.ExceptforSportyTalk,

everythingwillbehandledoutofPortland.Everythingwillbecomputergeneratedand
generic.Mysalaryhasbeenincreased5xovermycurrentbase,andthenewbenefits
areridiculous.Icouldpayoffmystudentloanswithintheyear.

ButIfeelnojoy.Noneatall.
Marksaysnothing,butgivesmesympatheticlooksduringthemeetingandoncein

awhilehesqueezesmyhandunderthetable.AtleastIamnotaloneinthis.

Beforeweleavethemeeting,DocBingclearshisthroatandremindsmeIsigneda

bindingcontractwithhim.Icouldquit,butI'dstillhavetodothisshowforthenextsix
months.That,orowehimafucktonofbackpaysalarywhichI'vealreadyspent.

HalcyonownsmyassnowandthereisnothingIcandoaboutit.
AsMarkandIwalkdownthelonghallwaytothestudio,Iturnandstophimin

place.“Didyouknowanythingaboutthis?”IsoundlikeI’maccusinghimofwar
crimes.

Heshakeshishead,eyeshuge.“No.Ipromise.”Hebiteshislip.“IbetStanleywould

havefoundoutandtoldme,ifhewasaroundworking,but….”

Icovermyfacewithmyhands.“I’msorry.Ididn’tmean…”
Hepullsmetohimandplantsakissonmycheek.“I’msorry.Iknowhowmuch

youlovedW-ALT.”

MarkandIenterthestudioandhearthatNightVixenisplayingTheQueenisDead.

Shewon’tlookatme.Shewon’teventurnherfacetome.Fuckballs.

Asshestormsoutofthestudioforthelasttime,shekeepsherheaddown.ButI

hearhermutter“Traitor,”assheslipsoutthestudiodoor.

IwishIcouldragequit,butIknowIcan’tunlessIwantHalcyontosuemeinto

debtor'sprison.

“Comeon,”Markwhispers.“Let’sjustgetthroughtoday,OK?”
Ientertheproductionboothandputonmyheadphones.HoweverIfeelnow,I

haveashowtodo.

ThefirstsongcuedisCarrieUnderwoodandmyeyesimmediatelytearup.

Aftertheshow,newHalcyonpersonnelmoveinastheoldmoveout.Beckstellsmeto
gofuckmyselfassheshufflesoutofthelobbywithaboxofsalesbooksinherarms
andkicksthefrontdoorclosedbehindher.

Chrishasastackofrecordsinaboxashewalksbyme.Icallhisnameandheslowly

turnstofaceme.Thelookonhisfacemakesmewanttocry.

"I’msorry.”IwishIcouldsaysomethingmoreprofound.
“Youknow,”hesays,shufflingtheweightofthebox.“IkindathoughtIwouldbein

thisgiguntilIwastoooldtowork.Ididn'twanttoretire.Butnobodyisgoingtohirean
oldclassicrockgeezerlikeme.”Heshakeshishead.“Later,Rose,”hesaysasheslips
outthedoor.

IfeelMark’sbighandonmyshoulderandIknow,Iknow,Iknow.It’s

unprofessional.It’schildish.It’sstupid.ButIputmyheadonhisshoulderandcry.

AsweleavethestationweracethroughthegauntletandleapintoMark’struck.Ican
seehandymentakingdowntheflappingstationbannerInevergotachancetofix.

Markfollowsmyeyesandreachesformyhand,givingitatightsqueeze.“Let’sjust

gohome.”

MARK

“OK,”Isay,andslidethepieceofpapertoRose.“IthinkIfoundacoupleofmore
rockingcountrysongsherewecanuseasbeds.MaybewecangetHalcyon…”

She’sjuststaringoutthewindowlikeshedoesn’thearme.Coldrainfallsoutside

anditmatcheshermood.She’sreallyupset,likedoesn'twanttofuckorletmegodown
onherorevenjustgiveheramassageupset.Iamatalossastowhattodo.

WhatwouldRyanGoslingdo?I’mtryingtoremembereverychickflickI’vebeen

forcedtowatchbymymanyexes,butnothingseemstofit.There'snotexactlya
"Here'showtocheerupyourgirlwhenthestationshespentherwholelifebuilding
andbankedhercareerongetssoldoutfromunderher"guidebook.

ThenIaskmyselfwhatwouldIwant.SuddenlyIknowwhattodo.Iwillfix

everything.

AfterIthrowanotherlogonthefire,Idropdownnexttoheronthecouch.“DidI

evertellyouaboutthedaytheYankeessignedme?”Noresponse,butIcontinue.“It
wasboththehappiestdayandsaddestdayofmylife.”

“Why,”shedrones.Hereyesarestilllookingattheraindropshittingthewindow,

butatleastI'mstartingtogainherattention.

“IwashappybecausemydreamswerecomingtrueandsuddenlyIwasa

multimillionaire.”

Silence.
“ButIwasalsodevastated.”
Sheturnsherfacetome,finally.“Why?”
“Iwasleavingmyminorteam.Ilovedthoseguys.Ilovedthecoach,thefans,

everything.IlovedTexas.”

Shelooksbackoutthewindow.
“Haveyouthoughtthatyougettingthisboosttoyourcareercouldbeagoodthing

fortherestofyourteamintheend?”Iaskgently.

“How?”She'sbitingbacktearsnow.
Irestahandonhershoulder.“Nowyou’reinpositiontoreallyhelpthemout,job

wise.”

Shetakesadeepbreathandcloseshereyes.IamfailingattheRyanGoslingthing.

ThenToddpopsupinmyhead.Useyourwords.Expressemotion.Alightbulbgoesoff
inmybrain.

“Rose,”Iwhisper.“Tellmeeverything.Tellmeaboutthestation.Tellmehowyou

feel.”

Hereyesfloodwithtears,butshemovesclosertomeandputsherheadonmy

shoulderasthefloodgatesopen.Shetellsmehowmuchithurtstohearhercoworkers
blamingher.Howmadsheisthatshedidn'tseethiscoming,atherself,atDocBing,at
Halcyon.Shetalksaboutfeelinglikeasell-out,worsethansomeoftheverybandsshe's
raggedonforbuyingintothecorporation.Ilisten,andkeepmyarmsaroundher,and
whenshe'sfinallyalltalkedout,shejustliesthereinmyarms,cuddling.Butthetears
havefinallystoppedflowing.

MaybeIdohavetheRyanGoslingthingdown.

ROSE

AllI’vedonethelastfewdaysisplayCountrySamFMand,well,Mark.

SomehowImakeitthroughtheweek.Honestlythough,Ican'timaginehowIcould

havedoneitwithoutMark.He’sbeensupersupportivethroughtheendlessmeetings.
I’vebeenatCountrySamFMfortwelvehourdays,recordingnewpromosandlining
upsongsandrunningthefrontdeskandcompletingallsortsofbusywork.Launching
anationalshowisnosmallthingandneitherisworkingwithcorporatedroneswho
speakinbuzzwordsandfollowsomemysteriousinternalscriptIamnotprivyto.

“Demoswantthisguy,”Chadsays,tapingapictureofahockeyplayerwho

miraculouslyhasallhisteeth.“HisQratingisphenomenal.”Chadismynewco-
producerandheisarmedwithmarketinganalysis,focusgroupfeedbackandthesort
ofthingsthatearnedhimaMassCommdegreefromPrincetonandanMBAfrom
Harvard.

Everysecondofthenewshowisplannedwithzeroroomforspontaneity.Eventhe

musicweuseasbedsbetweensetshasbeenvettedbyourtargetfocusgroup:dudes
between18and34.Ifanyoftheseguysturnedtheirnoseupatasinglesong,weain’t
gonnaplayit.

IjustnodateverythingChadsaysbecauseIfeeloutofmyleague.IhaveaMass

Commdegreetoo,butit'sfromalocalcollege,andIhaven’tusedthestatpartofmy
degreesinceIpassedtheexam.Asleastthestation'scoffeeisbetter.Isipitashe
mansplainseverythingtomelikeI’mfive.

Ihatehimandhisspraytanandhisperfectlycoiffedhair.Everythingoutofhis

mouthsoundspatronizing.It'sworsethanmansplaining,it’sdouchebabbling.Tobe
fair,though,I’msurehe’sthiscondescendingtoeveryoneregardlessoftheirgender.

JustwhenChadisabouttolecturemeaboutthefinerpointsofdemographicsinthe

Midwest,thenewtrafficmanager,Kristy,pokesherheadinthedoor.“Youguysalmost
finished?Theguyswanttostartpaintinginhere.”

“Yes,ofcourse,”Chrissays,closinghislaptop.“Wecangooverthislater.”
TheW-ALTIusedtoknowisdisappearingbeforemyeyes,morphingintoCountry

SamFM.Afterallthe“superfluous”non-Halcyonpersonnelweresentpacking—i.e.
everyoneexceptme—BlowsygotstabbedinthechestwithapenknifebyKristy,
deflatedandstuffedintoagarbagebag.Ididn’tevengettotakeagoodbyeselfie.

Allthewornoutcarpethasbeenrippedup,andthebeer-stainedcouch—Night

Vixen’sdaytimecoffin—hasbeenreplacedwithwhatlookslikesomethingfromahigh
enddentaloffice.Alltherockpostersaregonefromthewalls,andgenericblackand
whitecityscapeshavereplacedthem.

MyheadspinslikeReganintheExorcist,butlessfun.
WewillbedoingtheshowfromMiamiduringYankeesspringtrainingandweare

wideningtheformattoappealtoawiderdemographicacrossthenation.Notafocuson
justtheYankees,butteamsacrossthecountry.Andnotjustbaseballeither.Markwill
stillbeanimportantpartoftheshowgoingforward,butduetohisbusyschedule,
since,youknow,he'llhavetoactuallybeabaseballplayer,hewillpre-recordsomesets
andwewillhaveguestsfillinforhimtherestofthetime.

Truthis,Markreallydoesn’tneedthisgiganymore.Ithinkheonlysignedthe

contracttodomeafavor.Ihaveneverhadanyonedosomethinglikethatforme
beforeandit’stoughtogetmyheadaroundit.WhenItrytobringitup,hejustdoes
thatshouldershrugofhis.“It’snothing.”

ButIknowhe'sdownplayingit.Iknowthisismydream,nothis,andhe'sbending

overbackwardstohelpmereachit.Ijusthopeintheend,afterallthecountryandthe
sellingout,thatit'sworthit.

BythetimeIgethomeFridaynight,Ihavejustabouthaditwithspreadsheetsand

demographicsandfocusgroupsandcorporatespeak.IcollapseonMark’scouchand
toeoffmybootswithsuchlazinessthatoneremainshalfonmyfoot.Ican’teven
mustertheenergytokickitoff.

Markslidesitoffwithasmile.“IgotsomepastafromthatItalianplacedelivered.

AndIrememberedyoudon’tlikepeasinthecarbonara.”Hesitsdownnexttomeand
pullsmybodytohis,rubbingmyshoulders.Wow,hishandsareamazing.Tensionand
stressmeltoffmeandIstarttorelaxandunwind...

“Tootiredtodoafashionshowforme?”
Turningtofacehim,Ismile.“What’sgoingon?”
Hesqueezesmehardandthenslidesoffthecouchtopickupseveralbagsfromthe

diningroomtableandbringthemtome.

Ipeekinsideone.“Whatisthis?”
Hewiggleshiseyebrowsatme.“Abikini.Several,actually.”
Ilaugh.“Andyouwantmetomodelthemforyou?”
“Yes,please.”
Itakeabikinioutofthebag.It’spinkandconservativelycut.Damnnearmatronly.

Seriously?

Buthiseyeslightup.“Thatonefirst.”
“OK.”Irisefromthecouchwiththebikiniinmyhand.Heslapsmybottom.
“Gettoit.”

Wow.Thisthingissomethingmygrandmawould'veworninthefifties.Iadmire
myselfinthemirroranyway.Mynips—totallyhardalready,justatthethoughtofwhat
Markmighthaveplannedforlater—arecamouflagedbythethickmaterial.Myassand
bikinilinearecompletelycovered.Ifnunsworeabikini,thiswouldbetheone.

Maybehe’ssuperintoquaint,conservativelysexylibrarianwearorsomething?

Nah.Themanappreciatesashortskirtandhobblingheels.Iguesshe’soneofthose

guyswhodoesn’twanthisgirlfriendshowingoffhergoodsonthebeach.Idigthat.
Besides,withmyhigherprofilenow,I’mnotsureIwantmyhotstuffoutonthe
interneteither.

Ipulltheponytailoutofmyhairandgivemyheadashake.Fromtheshoulders

downIcanbevirginal,butatleastIcanstillhavesexyhair.

Istepoutofthebathroom.
“Wow.Nice."Hiseyespracticallydevourme.Andheisn’tlying.Thebulgeinhis

jeansishuge.

“Youlikethis?Really?’
Hegivesmeanenthusiasticnod.“Let’stryitout.”
“Tryitout?”
“Withwater.”
“Youwantmetowearthisintheshower…”
Heshakeshishead.“Nope.Thehottub.”
“Hottub?”

IhaveneverbeenonMark’spatio,anddidn’tevenknowhehadone.It'sFebruary
afterall.NotexactlyBBQweather.Thecountryviewisspectacular,withlightsnow
falling,buticywindwhipsallaroundmeandmyskinscreamsiniceburnsandprickles
ingooseflesh.

“Hopinbeforeyoucatchyourdeath,”helaughs.
OnceI’msafelywarminthebubblywaterandrisingsteam,Iseehehaschampagne

chillingonicenexttothetub.Hepoursaglass.“Don’tworry.It’safancyplasticfluteso
wedon’tdiefromamillioncutsifitshattersinthetub.”

“Hmm.Chilledchampagneandawarmhottub.Somethingtellsmeyouplanned

this.”

“Yep.”Markdropstrouandshowshehasonbluetrunks.QuitetheBoyScout,this

one.Heclimbsinandgrabsaglassofchampagne.“Here’stoMiami,”hesaysaswe
clink.“Here’stothefuture.”

AfterItakeasip,hewiggleshiseyebrows.“So,let’sseehowthatbikinilookswet.”
“Areyoukidding?It’sfreezingoutofthewater.”
Pouting,heblinkshiseyesatmeinasillyimitationofapuppydog.“Aw,pretty

pleasewithsugarontop?”

“HowcanIresistsuchpoetry…”Slowly,Iriseoutifthewater,aVenusemerging

fromfoam.Hiseyesfalloneverypartofmyshiveringbodyandhemoans.

“Fuckyes.”
“Thisgrandmabikinidoesitforyou,huh?”
Hewiggleshiseyebrowsagain.“Best.Bikini.Ever.”
“But…”Ilookdown.Exposuretowaterhasmadethisbikini100%see-through.Oh.

Coveringmyselfoninstinct,IcrouchbackdowninthewaterasMarklaughsharder
thanIhaveeverseenanyonelaugh.Myeyesdartaroundthetreestoseeifthereis
somepervertwithbinocularstrainedonus.

Markmovesclosertomeinthehottubandgrabsmearoundthewaist.“Hey,sexy,”

hewhispersinmyear.“Thisoneisjustforprivate.”

HepullsmeontohislapandIrelaxmybodyontohis.Hiscockishardagainstmy

thigh,hishandsrubbingmylegsashekissesmythroat.“Everdoneitinahottub
before?”

Itakemyhandoutofthewaterandwaveitaround,pointingoutthetrees.

“Someonecouldbewatching.Andit’sfreezing.”

“Nooneiswatchingouthere.Besides,we'llstayinthewater.”
Oneofhishandsleavesmythighsandhefumblesbehindmetoslidehiscockoutof

histrunks.Feelinghowharditis,Igetexcited.Damn.Heishardtoresist,especially
whenit'sclearhowbadhewantsme.Ileanbackintohim,andreacharoundtograb
hiscockformyself.Wow,heisharderthanever."Mm,maybeIcouldtryit..."

“Shh.You’regonnatakemeallthewayin.”Hisfingerstugatthecrotchofmysee-

throughbikiniandheliftsmyhips,urgingmetorise.Histhumbcirclesmyclit,his
indexfingertestingmyslit,findingmypussyhotfromthetubandwetfrommyown
excitement.Heslowlyslideshiscockintome,supergentle,untilIamconnectedwith
hislap.Icanfeeleveryinchofhim,andIclenchhardaroundhim,grinningashiscock
twitchesinsideme.Thankgodforkegels.

Ifthereisapervertlookingatus,theywouldjustseeawomansittingonherman’s

lapinahottub,strictlyPG-13stuff.Still.Wedobothhavestalkerfansnow.Ibitemy
lip.“Ifyoustartthrusting,”Isay.“Anyonelookingatuswillknow…”

“Nothrusting.Badideainwateranyway.Trustme.”
Withoutmovinghiships,hepullshisdickinsideme.
Oh,fuckyes.That’stheticket.Applyingthosekegelmovesagain,Idothesameand

feelarushofsensationthroughoutmybody.Thecoldair.Thehot,bubblingwater.The
pulsingofhisdick.Herocksmebackandforth,andhisdickgrindsagainstthefront
wallofmytightpussy,diggingintomyG-spotwitheveryslideofourbodiesagainstone
another.

PrettysoonI'mgasping,myvisiontunneling,nothoughtforbeingseen.Idon'tcare

ifsomeonenotices.Thisfeelsfuckingamazing.

Frictionlesssexrules.Whoknew?
Hisbreathisredhotinmyearandhisskinagainstmineisroughandhot.Asifhe

canreadmymind,asifhecanreadmybody,hekneadsandmassagesmybreastsand
kissesmyneckatjusttherightmoment.God,thisisgood.

“Ican’twaittoburymyselfinyourtits.”
Ifeelthemountingpressure.Thisorgasmisdifferent.Totallyinternal,allG-spot.It

feelstantric,butIcumjustashard.

AfterheslideshiscockoutofmeIstayonhislap,completelymeldedtohisbody,

mycheekrestingagainsthis.“WhenwegettoMiami,”hemurmurs,“Iamgoingtodo
somanyfilthythingstoyou,youwon’tbeabletowalkforaweek.”

WhenSaturdayrollsaround,I’mgratefulforthebreakandplantosleepinuntilIsmell
bacon.MarkandIareleavingforMiamitomorrow,soIhavetodosomelastminute
shoppingandthenIhavetopack.Atsomepoint,Ihavetodropoffrentchecks—plural
—forGeotocoverrentandbillswhileI’mgone.

ButIdon’tsmellbacon.Infact,Idon’thearMark’susualmorningroutineatall.The

houseiseerilysilent.

Iopenmyeyesandseehimsittingonthebedroomsofa,facingawayfromme.Odd.

Ithitsmethattherewasnodickexperimentallyproddingmyassthismorning,or
kissesonmyneck.Noneofhistypicalsexcome-ons.Maybehe'snotinthemood?

“Goodmorning,”Isay,buthedoesn’trespondorturnhishead.Maybehe’s

meditatingorsomething?

Thefiremusthavediedinthenightbecauseit’schillyinthehouse.Iwrapasheet

aroundmynakedbodyandwalktothesofa.“Mark?”

Istandinfrontofhim.He’sawake,buthisfaceholdsnoexpression.Hiseyesare

casttothesideandbloodshot,anditalmostlookslikehemayhavebeencrying.A
waveofsympathyanddreadwashesoverme.“IsitStanley?”Ireachouttotouchhis
arm,buthisbodyrecoilsfrommyhand.Idrawbackinshock."Talktome,Mark.
What'swrong?"

Heturnshisgazetome.Hiseyesarecoldandhisjawisclenchedsotighthistemple

ispopping.Hetakesaraggedbreathandturnshisheadaway.

“Youneedtogetthefuckout.”
“What?Why?”IclutchthesheetaroundmetighterbecausesuddenlyIfeelsocold.

Thiscan'tbehappening.

Heglaresatmeforafewstrangemomentsandthenslowlyrisesfromthesofa."The

carserviceisoutside.Go."

"Mark,tellmewhat'sgoingon,please."
Wordlessly,hewalkstothediningroomtableandpicksupabox.Ashepressesitto

mynakedchest,heglaresatme.“Getdressedandgetout,”hesays,barelymovinghis
mouth.“Ineverwanttoseeyouagain.”

ThewindisknockedoutofmeasIwatchhimwalktothebathroomandslamthe

door.

Numb.That’stheonlythingIfeel.Lastnightwasbubblesandhottubsex.Afterwe
driedoff,wetalkedofthefutureaswefellasleepineachother'sarms.Thelastthinghe
saidtomewas“Iamsohappy.”Icanstillfeelhiswhiskerburnsonmyskinandsmell
thejacuzzichlorineinmyhair.

Whythesuddenchange?Itmakesnosense.Whatcouldhavehappenedduringthe

night?

Paranoiadancesin.Maybe,Ithink,maybethisromancewasallsomelongcon,

somerusehe’sbeenplanningforyears.He’shatedmesincehighschoolandwhenhe
sawmeagainhecameupwitharevengeplan.HedidsayIhurthiminhighschool.
Wasthisallpayback?Heplannedtomakemefallinlovewithhim,sohecouldbreak
myheart.Itthatit?Couldhepossiblybethatconniving?

No.Impossible.NotMark.
Imagesflashinmybraininquicksuccession,ofMarkkissingme.Makingloveto

me.Cookingbreakfastforme.Baringhissoultome.Tellingmehelovesme.

No.Thereisnowaythatcouldhavebeenfake.Iknowitinmyheart.It’ssomething

else,butwhat?Ihavenoclue.

Istoodoutsidetheclosedbathroomdoorandbeggedhimtotalktomeforalmost

anhour,buthewouldn’tcomeoutofthebathroomandhewouldn’tsayaword.

Myfacemustbeamess,becausemyUberdriverasksmeifIamOKthreetimes

beforewehitthe17.“Yeah,”Imutter.“Fine."

Notfine.Heartbroken.Freakedout.Lost.
Tohavesomethingtodowithmyhands,Ipulloutmyphone.Ineedsomethingelse

tothinkof.Likecurrentevents.Ortheweatherorsomething.

TaylorSwifthasanewboyfriend.
WearebombingsomeplaceIhaveneverheardof
And,onthetabwhereIhavesavedasearchofmynameandMark'stogether,

becauseIalwayslikedseeingthepicsthedie-hardssnapofus...

Oh.My.God.
No.

BythetimeIgethome,Ihaveplayedtheaudioclipathousandtimes.AfterIletmyself
intomyapartment,it'spitch-dark.“Geo?”Icall,butthereisnoanswer.

Isitonthecouchandplaytheaudioclipagain,thistimepatchingitintothewifi

speakersystem.WhynottorturemyselffurtherbyhearingitinBose’soptimum
qualityrichsound?

Myvoice,mydrunkenslur,fillseverycorneroftheapartmentandfuckswiththe

beatsofmyheart.

“MarkCarrington.”IcroakhisnamelikeI’msomeancienthag.“MarkCarringtonis

fromthesticksinwestNewJersey.Youhavenoidea.Wearetalkinggnarly
neighborhood,grossashelllevelsticks.SomuchworsethanJerseyShore."

"Buthisfamilywasokay,right?"amalevoiceprompts.Thevoiceiskind,thetone

sugary.

"Godno."Ilaugh.Ifuckinglaugh."HisfathercommittedsuicideinRahwayprison

whenMarkwaslikefive.Hewasinforarmedrobbery.Andhismotherisevenworse.”

“Inwhatway?”Whothefuckisthat?WhoamItalkingto?
“Ugh.Hisfuckingmother.Drugaddict.Thiefand,getthis,ahookertoboot.Real

fuckingwinner.Momoftheyear.”

“Wow,”themansays.
Yep.That’sme.Thememoryisfoggy,butitstartstocomebacktomenow.Thisclip

isfromtheeventthatannouncedMark’sdebutonW-ALT.Idranklikeafish.

Tommy.Shit.TommyPizza,that'shisvoice,Irecognizeitnow.Heaskedmethose

questionsandIansweredthemlikeanidiot.

ThatnightIfeltthestingofhighschoolhumiliationandMark’sapparentdismissive

attitude—hepretendedtonotknowmeandIlashedoutindrunkenbutt-hurtness.But
Iamnotstupid.IshouldhaveknownbetterthantotellTommyallthatshit.

IdonefuckedupandIfuckeduproyally.
Mystomachfeelslikeit’sturninginsideout.
Thenthere’sthepicture.ThefuckingpicturethatIfindafewminuteslater,

searchingthefalloutresultsonline.SomehowTommyPizzasnappedaselfiewhenhe
forcedthatgrosskissonme.Afrozensecondofanattack,butthat’snotwhatitlooks

like.Itlookslikewearefully,consensuallymakingout.

Fuck.ItlookslikeIplannedthiswholethingwithTommyonpurpose.Somekindof

twistedrevenge.

Andthecommentaryontheinternetisawful.Basically,thegeneralconsensusis

thatIfuckedoverMark,andnotjustthat,butIplannedtofuckoverMarkwith
Tommy.Iamabackstabber.Iscrewedhimover.

NoarticleIfinddatestheclipornamesTommyPizzaasthe‘mysteriousgoodfriend

ofMarkCarrington,'butIamsureMarkatleastwillrecognizehimfromthepicture.
EvenifTommy'sfaceismostlyblockedbymineinthatstupidkissshot.

Asfarasanyoneknows,therecordingandthatpictureweretakenyesterday.

Tommygetsoutofthisscotfree.MycrucifixionisbeingcalledforfromtheBronxto
EastLA.DListedsaysIfakedanaffairwithMarktofurthermycareerandstartedthe
onewith"thisnewguy"tofurtheritstill.SomeoneelsespeculatesthatIwasdatingthis
guyallalong,andusedMarkasaleg-up.

Wow.
AndfromwhatIcanseeonline,theBadBoyatBatisnowthesubjectofsympathy

andsupport.Thehunkwiththebrokenheart,whereasIamevilpersonified.

Oh,god.
SomeonehasstartedawebsitecalledRoseTaylorisaBitch.com.Andwow,the

hashtags.

#Backstabbing
#donttrustnowoman
#hoisho
Awesome.
Well,IguessI’vefoundonewayoutofmycontractwithHalcyon.ThereisnowayI

won'tgetfiredoverthis.Nowaywhatsoever.AtthispointIfeelliketheywouldfire
me,thenrehiremeimmediatelyjusttofiremeagain.Iamthatfired.

AndIdon’tevencare,becausethat’stheleastofmyproblemsrightnow.
AsIpacemyapartment,IleaveMarktheworld’slongestvoicemailthatmostlyhas

thephraseI’msorryamilliontimes.Itrytoexplain.Iwasdrunk.Upset.Itwasbefore
westartedtalkingagain.Beforewesaidawordtoeachother.Thenightyoupretended
nottoknowmeandIwashurtandafuckingidiotandhey,rememberthat
conversationwehadaboutself-esteem?

ThatwasfrombeforeIgottoknowyou.Therealyou.
ThevoicemailcutsoffbeforeIcantellhimIlovehim,though.BecauseIdo,I

realize.That’swhyI’mpanickingsohardrightnow,that’swhyIfeeltornintwoover
losinghim.ButIrealizeit’stoolate.

Toolittle,toolate.

MARK

Roselefttwohoursago,orratherIthrewherassouttwohoursago.Shebeggedand
pleadedandbargainedoutsidemybathroomdoorforanhourafterIshutmyselfin
theretogetawayfromher.Ionlylistenedtoaboutfiveminutesofherwhining.ThenI
putmyearphonesonandIblastedspeedmetaltodrownheroutanddidcruncheson
mybathroomfloor.BythetimeIfinallyfinishedcountingfrom100to0fourtimes
over,shewasgone.

Ican’tbelievewhatanidiotIam.ButRose,shemustreallythinkIamdumb.Idon't

buyforasecondthatshechangedhermindaboutmesincehighschool.Shestillthinks
shecantalkherwayoutofthis.Sheandhergiantbrainandevenbiggerego.

Shekeepsringingmylandlineoverandoverandfillingupmyvoicemailwith

enoughmessagestoknockVerizonoffline.Ihavezerointerestinlisteningtothem.I
deletethemallwithoutlistening.Idon’twanttohearhervoiceeveragain.

AtleastIknowhowshereallyfeelsaboutmenow.
AndshebangedTommyPizza,too.Thatpictureofthemsuckingfaceisalloverthe

place.Ofallthefuckingpeopletofuckmeoverwith,shehadtopickhim?

Ishouldhaveknown.InhighschoolshereallydidthinkIwasbeneathherinclass

andsmarts.Andthen,yearslater,IrunintoheragainwhenI’mrichandfamousand
suddenlyshethinksI’mawesome.Shespreadherlegsondemandandsuckedmydick
whenasked.Itfelttoogoodtobetruebecauseduh,ofcourseitfuckingwas.

WhowouldhavethoughtMissAboveItAllRoseTaylorwasnobetterthana

BaseballAnnie?

Itwasonethingforhertotalkshitaboutme,butdidshehavetodragmymother

intoit?Sheblewupmywholepastinonedrunkeninstant.Stanleyworkedhisassoff
tokeepmymom’spastoutofthepressforyears,andhernumerousmugshotsoffthe
internet.Notsurewhathedidexactly,buthealwayshintedthatwasaherculeantask,
nowalkinthepark.Hecalledintonsoffavorsonmybehalf.AndRose’smouthgoes
andblowsitinasnap.Mom’sarrestrecordsareallovertheinternet.

Howthefuckisthatgoingtohelpherrecovery?
Chump.Fool.Sap.
Mychesthurts,rightaroundtheheart.Forawhile,IworryI’mgoingtohavea

heartattacklikeStanley,butthenthepainturnstoheatandgushesthrougheveryinch
ofmybody.It’slikemyskinisonfire.Theangerfeelslikeit’sstuckinmythroat,

stranglingme,notlettingmebreathe.

Thephone,stillinmyhand,mustdie.
Ismashthephoneonthefloorandfeelinstantgratification,followedbyan

immediatestabofregret.

No.Thosedaysareover.Nomorebreakingshit.
100,99,98...Grabcontrolofthebreath.
90,89...Steadyyourhands
Igotomypantryandpulloutanewphone.Ikeepseveralintherebecauseduring

mytempertantrums,myphoneisusuallythefirstthingtogetdestroyed.ButIneed
myphone.WhatifBevcallsaboutStan?Whatifmymomcalls?

WhatifIneedapizza?
IplugthenewphoneinandcallthenumberIneedtocallrightnow.
“Hello,Mark.Howisthatdeliciouscockofyours?”
“Hi,Deborah.”
“So,Iheardthenewsand…"
“Whohasn’t….”
“Wantmetocomeoverandcomfortyou?”
IthinkofDeborah.She’salittleolder,about30.She’sbeenareliablefuckbuddyfor

acoupleofyears,andadie-hardforthelastone.ShewilldoanythingandImean
anythinginthesack.Shewouldgethersweetassoverhereandoffermeanyhole,no
questionsasked.AllIhavetodoisopenthedoorandremembertopronounceher
nameDeborahandnotDeb-rah.Iwouldn’tevenneedtotalktoheroutsideofthat.AllI
havetodoispointatmydick.

But...Ijustdon’twanttofuckher.I’mnotsurewhy.Thethoughtofitmakesmy

stomachacheevenworse.

WhydidIevenbothertocall?
“I’msorry,thiswasamistake.Goodbye,Deb.”
Ihangup.OK.Twostrikesout.IambackatbatandIgottahitthisoneoutofthe

park.IknowwhatIhavetodo,preciselybecauseIdon’tknowwhattodo.

Toddanswersinthreerings.Idon’tgivehimtimetosayhello.
“Hey,it’sMark.Thinkyoucanfitmeinforanemergencysession?”Ipauseandtake

abreath.“Please.”

AfewmomentspassandToddsaysnothing.Isqueezethephoneandnoticemy

handandfaceareslickwithsweat.“OK,”hefinallysays.“Givemeaboutanhourtoget
outthere.”

“Thanks,man.”
AfterIhangup,Irealizehowlonganhouris—forever.Ilookdownatthearmof

mysofaandseeonesolitaryhair.Rose’s.Diditshedfromherwhensheshookherhair
outlastnight,dressedinthatbikini?DiditgettrappedinmyfingersasIwasrunning
themthroughherhair?OrlandtherewhenIcarriedherinfromthehottubtolayher
downonthecouchandkisshersenseless?

Fuck.
Ipluckthehoneycoloredstrandfromtheupholsteryandwrapitaroundmyfinger

tight.Howmuchofherisleftinthisplace?WhatelsewillIfindofherinthenextfew
weeks,fewmonths?Astraybobbypinonthenightstand.Flecksofmakeuponthe

vanity.Afingerprintontheslidingglassdoor.

Iflexmyfingerandthestrandsnaps.Somethinginsidemesnapstoo.Angerfrom

deepinsiderushestothesurfacelikeavolcano.Mybonesrattleinrage,myheart
poundsandmyfleshiscooking.

MyeyesdarttotheTVandIthinkhowgreatitwilllookwiththephonethrown

throughit.IlookatthenewcoffeetablebeforemeandwonderifIcansplititinhalf
withonekick.Thatwalltenfeetfrommecouldstandsomeholespunchedinit.

No.No.No.
AfterItakeenoughdeepbreathstomakemyselfdamnnearlightheaded,Irisefrom

thecouchandwalktomypiano.Icrackmyknucklesandbangoutmypainand
despair.

Toddclickshispenoverhisnotepadafewtimesandstaresatme.Helookstired.He
lookslikehejustthrewonrandomclothestogethereasfastashecould.Iappreciate
theeffortandtoshowhimhowthankfulIam,I’mgoingtodomybestinthis911
session.Heclearshisthroat.

“Whatareyoufeelingrightnow?”
“Nauseous,”Iblurtout.
Hekeepshiseyesonmeandnods.“That’saphysicalresponsetoemotion.Ineed

youtotellme,specifically,theemotionsyouareexperiencingrightnow.”

Icrackmyknuckles.Icandothis.Icanlistwords.
ButthenIfindIcan’t.Ijustnodmyheadandlookaway,embarrassedIhavetaken

thismanawayfromhisnewbornkidandwifeonaSaturdayafternoonjusttoget
nowhere.Fuck.

Hesighs.“Weneedtheemotionsheet,don’twe?”
Ifeellikeakindergartenerashepullsapieceofpaperoutofhisbriefcaseandhands

ittome.Onitisalistofendlesswords.“Whichemotionsareyoufeeling?”

“Allofthem,”Isayandthrustthepaperbacktohim.
Hewavesmeoff.“No,tellmewhich.”
Ilookatthepaperagain.Somanywords.Allthewordsinthedictionary.Allthe

wordsintheworld.Allthewordsthateverexisted.Itrytowrapmytonguearound
oneandfindIcan’tspeak.Somefroghasjumpedinmythroatandthere’ssomething
inmyeye.Glancingatthepaper,Ispotawordthatstrikesandpointtoit.

“Hurt,”Toddsays.“Continue.”
Ifindanother.
“Humiliated.”
Itapthesheetseveralmoretimes.
“Sad.Angry.Confused.Betrayed.”
LookingoverthesheetItakeabigbreathandslowlyletitout.“And,”Isay,clearing

thefrogaway.“Andscrewedover.Andstupid.AndwonderingwhyIfellforthat,whyI
thoughtsheactuallycared…”Itakeanotherbreath.“Andalone.”Ileanbackonmy
sofaandletmybodygolimp.Whowouldhavethoughtthatthesimpleactofpointing
outwordsonapagewouldbesoexhausting.

“Good,”hesayswithanod.“Let’sunpackthosefeelings."

ROSE

WhenIwakeuponthecouch,myphoneisclenchedinmyhandandthesameIrma
ThomassongloopsontheBose,aperfectsongtodescribemydread.Yes,Irma,itis
rainingsohard.Shuttingmyeyestight,Irollaroundwiththeintentionofstayingon
thecouchforeverinamind-numbingsleep.

Jarredawakebyfingerspokingmyshoulder,IopenmyeyestoGeostandingover

mewithherhandsonherhips.

“Wherehaveyoubeen?”Iask.Myvoicesoundscrackedandweak.Sayingnothing,

shemarchestothekitchenwithheavystompsofherboots.Shedidn’ttakeoffherDoc
Martens.Thenoshoesinthehouserulesisherthing,notmine.Why?Whatnow?

Achingandsore,Irolloffthecouch,turnoffIrmaandhobbletothekitchen.

“Wherehaveyou…”

Cuttingmeoffwithahotglare,shearcheshereyebrow.“Don’tyourememberwhat

lastnightwas?”

IscourmybrainfortherightanswerandlooktoseewhatT-shirtsheiswearingfor

aclue.Ifsheattendsaprotest,hershirtscreamsthecause.Butit’sTheBangles,sothat
doesn’thelp.I’mtakingtoolongtoputittogetherandIcanseeherfrustration
growing,untilherfaceistwistedindisgustandshe’ssnortinglikeabull.

“Youdon’tremember,doyou.”It’sanaccusation,notaquestion.
Ishakemyhead.“I'msorry,Geo,Idon’t.”
Sheshakesthecoffeepotatme.“TheFrightenedRabbitinterview.”
“Thatwastonight,”Iprotest.
Rollinghereyes,sheturnsherbackonmeandfillsthecoffeepotwithwater."And

whatdayisit,Rose?"

“I,uh…”HowlongdidIsleep?DidIchecktheremindersonmycellwhenIleft

Mark'splaceyesterday?

Wasthatonlyyesterday?
ItwasSaturday,Iknowthatmuch,becausewe'dhadawholedayoflounging

aroundhiscabinplanned,completewithmorepizzadeliveryandsomuchmore
sex...mystomachroilsjustthinkingaboutit.Abouthim.AbouthowbadlyIfuckedup.

ThenIsquintatmyphoneandmystomachclencheseventighter.Shit.
It'sMonday.IsleptrightthroughSunday,thewholeday.Andthewholenight.

Sundaynight,whenthebandwasabletosqueezeinabriefinterviewwithusaftertheir

gig.

Idon’tknowwhattosay.Shepesteredmeforweekstosetupthatinterview.I

finallygotoffmyassanddid,andGeowassoexcited.ThepreciousfewtimesIhave
beenhome,I’vewalkedintoanapartmentfilledwiththesoundsofFrightenedRabbit
andprintoutsofthequestionsweshouldask.

HowcouldIforgetsomethingsoimportanttoourpodcast?Toher?
Bangingthecoffeetinandasinglecoffeecuponthecounter,Geoavoidslookingat

me.

“I’msosorry,”Itryagain.
SheholdsupherhandtosilencemeandforabriefsecondIthinkshemighthitme.

Thensheslamstheopencoffeecanisteronthecounteranditrainsfair-tradegrounds
inourkitchen.“Youbrokethenumberoneruleofourfriendship.Wealwayssaidwe
wouldneverletadudecomebetweenus.NextthingIknowyouarefuckingMr.Bat
Boyandwhatdoyouknow!It’slikeIdon’texist.Likeallofourplansmeannothingto
you.”

“I…”
“I!Yes,exactly!Let'stalkabouthowmuchyouloveyourselfrightnow.Always

Googlingyourself,staringatpicturesofyourself.Youhavebecomeacomplete
narcissist!Andeverytimeyou'rehereItrytotalktoyou,dragdetailsofyourdayout
ofyou,trytomakeplansforourpodcast,butallyoueverwanttodoisrunrightback
tohisplace.Ifyoudidn'twanttodothepodcastanymore,youshouldhavetoldme."

MyeyesdroptothesideandIcowerinshame.
Sheslamsherhandonthecounter.“Iammovingout,Rose."Shestompsofftoher

room,throwsthedooropensitandslamsitagain.Shuddering,Iwaittohearwhather
soundtrackofangerwillbe.SexPistolsorL7?

ShesurprisesmebymakingthewallsvibratewithMegadeth.Geoisnotthemetal

type.Sheisseriouslypissed.

AfterIcleanthecoffeegroundsoutofthekitchentiles,Itakealonghotshower.As

thewatercleansesmybody,afeelingofsadnessoverwhelmsme.Ilookatthedrain.
It’slikeIamwashingMarkfrommybody.Hiskisses.Histouches.It’sallpoolinginthis
tub,rollingdownthatdrain,away.Islidedownandcryasthewaterrainsdownonme.
Isitthereuntilmyfingershaveprunesfromthewater.WhenIexittheshower,Ihear
thatGeohasswitchedoffMegadeth,butherdoorisstillclosed.Iwouldn’tbesurprised
ifshebolstereditwithachairundertheknob.

She’smovingout.
Ican’tbelieveshe’sleavingme.It’sanotherlayerofshitinmylife.
She’sbeenmyroomiesincecollege.Ihaveneverhadanotherroommate.Inever

wantedone.Wehavebeenthroughsomuchtogether.Thosefinanciallyinsecurefirst
dayswhenwewouldcomehometonoelectricity.Thatdisastrousfirstgrownup
dinnerpartywhenweburnedourfancydinnertoacrispandsomeonefromthe
buildingcalledthefiredepartment.

Flirtingwiththosehotfirefighterswhocametocheckuponourmistake.
Paintingthelivingroomthatweirdpurplecolorandlovingit.Thecouchwefound

outsidethatwehadtodragbackoutwhenwefoundmicelivinginit.Herfirstjob,my
firstjob.Herfirstheartbreak,myfirstheartache.Irememberholdingherallnight

whenhermomdiedandshecriedherselftosleep.Shedidthesameformewhenmy
grandied.

Andnowshecan'tevenlookatmewithoutangeranddisappointment.Ihavereally

letherdown.Ihaven’tbeenthereforheratall.Iwassupposedtopartnerwithheron
thepodcast,putinanequalamountofwork,helpherfindbandhookups.Itwasour
baby.Ourcreativeventurethatwewerebothexcitedtolaunch.ButIdroppedit.I
droppedeverything.Thepodcastwasgoingtobeawaytohelphergetoutofthat
bartendingjobshehates,butIdidn’tevengiveitoneounceofattentiononceMarkand
thenewradiogigcamealong.

AndwhenIwashurting,whenthatpictureofMarkandAmbercameout,shewas

thereforme.Sheferriedmetoworkeverydayanddefendedmeagainsttheangrydie-
hards.

Ihavebeenawfultoher.Ihavebeenaterriblefriendtheselastfewweeks.
Iliedownonmybedandstarttocryagain.ForhurtingMark.ForhurtingGeo.I

suck.Butoneofthese,atleast,Icanmend.

Isitupinmybed.IfindapieceofpaperandapenandwriteGeo,mylovelyGeo,a

note.WhenIfinishIslideitunderherdoorandgotobedtocrymyselftosleep.

Ismells'mores.

No,Imustbedreaming.Canyoudreamsmells?Closingmyeyes,Idrawabig

lungfulofairthroughmynose.Maybeit’sascentedcandle.That’sit.Right?SurelyGeo
istoowickedpissedatmetomakemyfavoritecomfortfood.

Cautiously,IopenmydoorandpeekouttoseeGeoputteringaroundthekitchen.

Yes,mynosewascorrect.Ahalfemptybagofmarshmallowsslumpsonthecounter.
Somegrahamcrackersarestackedonaplate.IseeGeo’sbarefeetonthelinoleumand
herDocMartensontheshoeshelfbythedoor.

“Geo…”Isquintather.
Lookingup,shepointsaspatulatoakitchenchair.“Sit,”shebarks.“Wehavesome

shittotalkabout.”

Obedientandbrimmingwithremorse,Isitdownwhereinstructed,foldmyhands

onthetableandwait.Geoscoopsasteaming,meltings’moreonaplateandslidesitto
me.Ismile,butitdropswhenIseeherfaceremainsstonyandcold.

Shesitsdowninthechairacrossfrommewithherovenmittsstillonandaspatula

inherhand.“Ireadyourletter."Herfaceremainsexpressionless.“Soyoudon’twant
metoleave?"

"Ofcoursenot.Geo,I—"
Sheholdsupahandtosilenceme."Andyoudon’twantourfriendshiptobeover.”
“Never.Notatall.”
“Good.NeitherdoI.”Shedrawsalongbreath.“But,Rose,youcan'tkeepdoingthis.

Standingmeup,flakingonourprojects,withoutsomuchasasinglewordtoprepare
me.Andpleasestopshuttingmeout.IfeellikeIonlyseeyouwhenthingswithyou
andMarkaregoingsour.Whenthingsareokay,youaren'tevenhereandyouwon’t
evenanswermytexts.”Sheraisesaneyebrowpointedly."AmIright?"

Iwince."Yousawthenews?"

"Ididn'thaveto.You'rehere,somethingmusthavegonedownbetweenyoutwo.

AndIgetit,newrelationship,hotguy,superexciting—"

Iopenmymouthtostopher,butshetalksrightoverme.
"Andthat'sawesome.Butjustdon'tforgetyourfriendsalongtheway.Especially

whenitcomestoworkingtogether.Thispodcastmeanssomuchtome,Rose.It'slike
mynationalradioshow,youknow?"

Ibowmyhead."Iknow."
“So,Iwanttogiveyouanotherchance.ButIhavesomerules.”
“Anything.”Imeanit.Iwouldrobaliquorstoreforherrightnowifsheasked.

Anything.

“Number1.ThispodcastwillberecordednextSaturdayorIamout.”
“OK.”
“Number2.Beabetterfriend.Iamnotjustsomeonetopayattentiontowhenyour

currentguydoesn’tworkout.That’snothowfriendshipworks."

“Iknow.I'msorry.”
“Number3...youneedtonutup.”
Iblink."Huh?"
Peelingoffherglove,shetakesmynoteoutofmypocketandunfoldsit.“Iam

gettingfired.Iamsuretheywillcallmetomorrowtoletmeknow,sinceIdidn'tgointo
thestationtoday,”shereads.Thenshelooksatmewithraisedeyebrows.“Really?”

“Yeah,I'mguessingthey'llcallmewhen—”
Geoshakesherheadhardenoughtomakeherdreadsdance.“Yeah,they'regoingto

bepissedatyou,Rose.Maybeevenfireyou.Butthat’snotwhatImean.Youneedtogo
inthereandfacethemusicinperson.Don’tbeawuss.That’snottheRoseIknow.Got
it?”

IburstintotearsofreliefasIlookatGeo.Ihavenowords.Iseeherfacesoftenand

sheclimbsoutofherseatandwrapsherarmsaroundme.“Iamsosorry,”Isay,
slobberingintoherdreads.

Shepatsmyarm.“Ihaveonemorequestionforyou.”
Iblinkmytearyeyesather.“What?”Isniff.
“Whytheballsdidyoufeeltheneedtomakeyournoterhyme?”

ROSE

Geostopsthecarjustoutsidetheparkinglot.Die-hardsarestillmillinginfrontofthe
station,morethanwehadlastweek,andMarkisn’tevenheretoday.Heleftlastnight
forspringtraining.Thebeaches,thenightclubs,thewillingsupermodelsofMiami.His
newnationalshowstartsintwodays.

Withoutme.
Withoutus.
Geotouchesmyshoulder.“Readytonutup?”
Swallowingandnoddingatonce,Iforceasmile.It’safakeoneofcourse.My

stomachistwistedinknotsasIeyethedie-hardsandpaps.Thisisgoingtobetheworst
gauntletever,nottomentionthefirsttimeIamfacingitwithoutMark.

GeorollstheCorollaintotheparkinglot.ThecrowdpartsliketheRedSeaandstarts

shoutingmyname.Notwithadorationthistime,butanger.Blindedbyflashbulbsand
dizzyfromadrenaline,Ireallydon’tthinkIcandoit.Iclingtomyseat,paralyzed.

“Nutup,”Georepeats.Ifeelhertouchmyshoulderandhertonesoftens.“Yougot

this.Iamgoingtopulloverthereandwaitforyou.Onewayoranother.Justtextme
whenthisisdone.”

Iexitthecarintoaseaofoverwhelmingstimulation.There'ssomuchshoutingthat

myheadspins.Feelingapanicattackcomingon,Itrytofindthewilltomovemyfeet,
onestepatatime.Ieyethestation’sfrontdoor,longingforitlikesalvationitself.

“Lookatthebackstabber.”
“Bitch!”
"Whore!"
Itrytowalk,butthecrowdpressesinagainstme.SomewomanthrowsatornW-

ALTbannerinmyface,screamingaboutsellingout.Someoneelsespitsontheground
atmyfeet.Someoneshovesmefrombehind,andpanicmakesmeshutdown.My
bodystopsmovingthroughthecrowd.Idon'tknowifI’mstuckbecauseI’mtrappedby
thepeople,orifIamjustphysicallyparalyzed.Probablythelatter.Isuckindeep
breaths,butnooxygenreachesmylungs.

Shit.Shit.Shit.
Someonegrabsmyarmandgentlytugs.AtfirstIflinch,andtrytopullaway,but

thenmyeyesfocusonthesecurityguard,ahugewallofaman.Hesmiles.“Comeon,
hon.”

Icouldkisshimrightnow,butthere’snotimeforthat.Hepullsmetothefront

door,opensitandnudgesmeinsohardIbangintoChad,whoawkwardlycatchesme.
“Whoa,”hesays.“Kindatoughoutthere.Wesentsecuritytolookforyou.”

Chadisnottheonlyoneinthelobby.Kristyisthere,alongwiththenewgeneral

managerandacoupleofsuitsI’veneverseenbefore.HalcyonHRmaybe?Totalk
aboutmyfiring,nodoubt.

Ilookaroundatthemonebyone.Meetingmeuponarrivalinthelobby.IguessI’m

gettingfiredbeforeIcaneventakeoffmycoat.Isuckinadeepbreathtostarttalking,
butbeforeIcan,oneofthesuits—theoneinthebluetie—stepsforwardandthrustshis
handatme.

“Rose.GregTurnbull.”
Dumbly,Itakehishandandgetaproperhand-pumping.He’ssmilingashedoes

this.“Let’sgobacktotheconferenceroomandhaveachat.”

Well,thisisit.Timetogetmypinkslip.Itakeadeepbreathandfollowthemtothe

conferenceroom,tryingtorememberhowmuchIhaveinsavingsandif
unemploymentwillcoverbasichumanexistence.Maybemyrent.Probablynotfood
toliveoninbetweenrentchecks.

ThenChadopensthedoortotheconferenceroomandmybrainshiftsfrom

panickingaboutmoneytowonderingWTF.

Idon’trecognizewhatusedtothebetheemployeebreakroom.Before,therewas

anancientmicrowavethatwasprobablyleakingenoughradiationtoturnusallinto
superheroes,fluorescentlightsandatinyfridgethathummedlikeadragondying.The
wallswerefadedyellowandthetileswerelooseandcracked.

Now,asItakemyseatinthemiddleofthetable,mybuttiscushionedbyastateof

theartergonomicchair.Thetableundermyhandsisblacklacquer,reflectinglight
fromthemod-lookinglightfixtureaboveit.ThereisaplasmaTVboltedtothewalland
framedartyblackandwhitephotographyaroundtheroom.MostlyNYCshots.

Overall,itfeelslikeacorporatetombandIcan’thelpbutfeelelated.Asmilespreads

acrossmyfaceasIrealizethatasbadaseverythingis,atleastIamabouttobereleased
fromthiscorporateprison.IwillbeasfreeasNightVixenandBecksandChris.Maybe
theywillforgiveme,nowthattheyseeIhaven'tsoldoutafterall.

ThisroomsumsupHalcyonperfectly—boring,deadcorporatebullshit—andIam

nevergoingtohavetolookatitagain.

Iamgoingtobeokay.Iwillfindanotherjob.Iwillmoveon,andIwon’thaveto

fakemydeathandmovetoCostaRicatodoit.This,today,isjustonebadday.Itdoesn’t
definemylife.

Istraightenmyspineandtossbackmyhair.NoticingIfeelhot,Ipeeloffmycoat

andleanonthetable.IeyeballChad.IeyeballGreg.Ieyeballthatothernamelesssuit.

“Wellthisisdifferent,”IsayinmybestScarJovoicetodate.“Lookslikethecover

photoforaFightClubposterrightbeforeBradPitttearsintoit.”

Chadchuckles.“Youaren’twrong.”
Yes.Thewallsarebeige.Chadisbeige.Halcyonisbeige.ButIamnot.
Iambrightblueandpoppinggreenwithtingesofpurpleandfieryred.Fuckthese

people.Iwigglemybuttontheseatandflashabigsmile.“So,guys,let’sdothis.Ihave
anailappointmentinthirtyminutes.”

ChadopensuphislaptopandGregmirrorshimliketheyarecorporatetwins.The

otherdudejustsitstherestaringatmewithasmallsmileonhisthinlips.“Rose.I'm
ScottThorson,VPofPRhereatHalcyon.”

OfcoursehisnameisScott.“Nicetomeetyou.”
Hetugsonhistieandchuckles.“I'mhappytomeetyou.”Herestshiselbowsonthe

tableandleansin.“Hugefan.Ihaveneveroncemissedashow.Iloveeverythingabout
yourshow.Eventhemusic.”

Irollmyeyes.Ugh.Whatabullshitcorporatewaytofiresomeone.Acompliment

beforetheylowertheboom.“Let'scutthebullshit,"Isay."Whatkindofseverance
packagearewetalking?BecauseIhavearequirednoticeperiodinmycontractwith
Doc,andI’mprettysureyouhavetohonorthoseterms.”

LaughscirclethetablelikeI’mLouisCK.
Chadraisesaneyebrowatme.“Didyouthinkweweregoingtovoidyour

employmentwithHalcyonthismorning?”

Voidmyemployment?Mytongueloosens.“No,”Idrone.“Ithoughtyouweregoing

tostraight-upfireme.”

Againlaughterflowsaroundthetable.Iamtrulyonfirethismorning.Toobadthey

don'tpaymeforcomedyshows.

“No,Rose,”Scottsays.“Nothinglikethat.”Hedrumsthetablewithhisfingers.“You

areavaluableassettothiscompany.”

“Asset?”Icrossmyarms.“TheMorningZooalreadyreleasedaparodysongabout

me.JimmyFallontweetedjokesaboutmelastnight.I'velosttrackofthenumberof
angryhashtagsandTumblrposts.Peoplehateme.HowcouldIpossiblybeanasset?”

Scottwagshisfingerintheair.“Precisely.Peoplelovetohateyou.”
Mymouthfallsopen.IknewHalcyonwascorporateashell,butreally?
“YouhavealwayshadastrongQrating,”Scottcontinues.“Andwethinkthatwillgo

throughtheroofwhenwegetyoubackontheair.Especiallywithallthistension
cracklingbetweenyouandyourcohost.”

Igaspsoloudthemenwince.Theymustbejoking.Thismustbesomecorporate

fratboyjoke,asickwaytogivesomeonetheshove.“Backontheair?With...?”Ican't
evensayhisname.

Scottgivesmeanenthusiasticnodandahugesmile.“We'resendingyoutoMiami

tocovertheYankees'firstpreseasongame.”

Backinthecar,GeoissilentasItellherwhatwentdownatW-ALT—orshouldIsay,
Halcyon's—latestmeeting.Keepinghereyesontheroad,shenodswhenItakeabreath
toenergizemyrant,butotherwisedoesn'tinterrupt.

“And,”Ishout.ScarJoisgone,LouisCKtoo.NowI'mchannelingLouisBlack.“They

saidrefusingtodothiswouldbeinviolationofmycontract.SoifIdon'tgodown,they
canfuckingsueme.”

Geosmiles.“Theysaidfuck?”
“Well,no.Theysummarizeditmorepolitely.”Itakeabreath.“Butit'sprettyclear.I

dothis,ormycareerinradioisover.Dead.Kaput."Geosaysnothing,andIfeelthe
urgetofillherCorollawithmorewhinging.“MaybeIcanjustleavethecountryor

something.Imean,Ihavenothing.Whatcantheysuemefor?Myoldbusteddown
Mustang?Mycollectionofnewwave45s?MaybeIcanjustmovetoCostaRicaand
changemynameandworkinsomebeachbarwithtourists.”Icollapseagainstmyseat
andcatchmybreath.

It’sagraywinterdayandGeo’sheaterisnotgreat,soit’scoldinthecar,yetIam

sweating.Myreleaseofhotairoutofmyangry,panickedmouthfogsherwindshield.
Geoswitchesonthedefoggerandstayssilent.

“Geo,”Iwhine."Saysomething."
Sheshrugshershoulders.“GotoMiami.”
“What?Noway.”
Sheshootsmealook.“GoingtoMiamiisthebestthingtodo.Forone,itjustmight

giveyoutheopportunitytoapologizetoMark.Ihappentothinkthere’sachancefor
you—foryouboth.Youguysfoundeachotherandforgaveoneanotherforallofyour
highschoolcrap.You'reoldernow.Smarter,bothofyou.Ireallybelieveyouguyscan
overcomewhathappened.”

“But—”
“Andhonestly,beingbackontheairisthebestthingforyourcareer.It'syour

dream,Rose.Evenifthingsdon'tworkoutwithMark,thiswillopenupsomanydoors
foryou.”

“How?Soallthedie-hardscanhatemeliveontheair?SoIcanbecomeapariah

nationwide?”

Sheshakesherdreads.“Haveeverthoughtthatmaybegoingdowntheremightbe

justtherightwaytorehabyourimage?Whenyou'reontheair,youcantalktothese
hatersdirectly.Youcancontrolthespinofthestory.Youcantellyourside,apologize,
andmakethisright."

AsIwatchParamusshootbyme,IthinkofthedisasterthatawaitsmeinMiami,ifI

dogo.Justhowbadisitgoingtobe?CanItakeit?

Snowiscomingdownnowinbig,fatflakes.Tonightwouldbeagreatnighttocurl

upwithabottleofwineonMark'scouch,claspeachotherandwatchlamemovies.Or
ventureoutintohishottubandwatchtheflakesfallfirsthand,whilewegetallwarm
andtoastyandprobablynaked...

Rightnow,ImissMarkmorethaneverbefore.Shit.Ithurts,howmuchImisshim.
“Hey,”Geosays.Thereisasmileonherlips.
“Yeah?”Istareoutthewindow.
“IguessIneedtomakeyoumores’mores,huh?”
Myeyeswellup.“Thanks.ButIdon'tknowifthatwillhelp.”

ROSE

WhenIstepoutsidebaggageclaimtocatchacab,it’slikeIjumpedintoawarm
bathtub.Miamiishotterthanhellandashumidasasauna.Jesus.Threeseconds
outsideandI’msweatinglikeI’vejustrunamarathon.Theairistoughtobreath,it’sso
heavyandwet.It’slikeJerseyinthedogdaysofAugust,butworse.

Afterballingupmygoosedownjacketandsecuringittomywheeliebag,Ihailacab

andpopin,gratefulthedriverhastheAConArcticblast.

“Whereto,Miss?”heasksinanaccentIcan’tplace.
“TheHiltononMiamiBeach.”
Henodsandthecablurchesforward.Wedrivebyaworldcompletelydifferent

fromNewJerseyandNewYork.Everythinghereiscleanandbrightandbrandnewlike
ashinypenny.Ihaveleftbehindacold,graywinterforendlesswarmthandsummer.
Palmtreesandstucco.Convertiblesandhalf-nakedgorgeouspeople.Eyeingthe
beaches,Iamlostinthebeauty,forgettingeverythinginthedizzymomentanew
environmentcangiveyou.ForamomentIforgetwhyI'mhere.Iforgetthepitof
dreadpoolinginmystomach,whereit'sbeenseethingforthewholetripdown.

ThenIseeitinthedistance.Anenormousbillboard,plasteredacrossthehighway.

“GAMENIGHTWITHYOURSTRULY.”Andoh,look.Mark’sface.Fiftyfeetwidewithhis
violetblueeyesgazingthroughme.

Myhandssqueezeintofistsandsodoesmyheart.Iambackinaswirlofanxiety

andsadness.IhearGeo'swordsinmyheadasshefedmethebests'moressheever
made.“Yougotthis,Rose.”

Closingmyeyes,Itakeseveraldeepbreathsofthecabdriver’sspicyincense.Yeah.I

gotthis.IamaRose,whichmeansI'vegotthorns.

MyHalcyonproducershereinMiamiareadapperlittlefellownamedCodyandatall
sinewyblondenamedJessica.WemeetinarentedroomattheHiltonforaplanning
sesh.Codyischeeryanddresseddowninjeansanda21PilotsT-shirt.IthinkImay
havefoundanallyinthiscorporatecrazy,sinceitturnsouthestartedoutasthe
programdirectoratanalternativerockstationinDetroit.“IalwayslovedW-ALT,”he
sayswithasmile.“Reallycoolsetlists.”

“Thanks,”Isay.“Howdidyouendupworkingcorporate?”

Heshrugs.“WhatcanIsay?Ihaveawifeandtwokidsandthemovingaroundand

thealtrocksalarywasn’tcuttingitanymore.”

IpressmylipstogetherandlookdownattheequipmentHalcyonhasprovided.

Stateoftheart.“IguessI'macompanygalnowtoo.”

“Ifeelya,”Jessicasays.SherollsuphersleevetorevealaGratefulDeadtattonher

forearm.Assherollsitbackdown,shesmilesatme.“Weallhavetogrowup
sometime.”Thenshelooksatthetimeonherphone.“OK,let’sroll.We’regoingto
interviewacoupleplayersbeforethegame.”

Myheadnods,butinsideIfeelgooeyandsick.Jessicacatchesmyeyeandgivesme

agentlesmile.Sheknows.Shemustknow.Whodoesn’tatthispoint?Myfailed
romanceisallovertheWWW.“It’llbefine,”shesays.“CodyandIgotyourback.”

Codynods.“Afterwecheckinwiththesuits,we’llbetherewithyouinthelocker

room.”

“Thatmeansalot,"Isay.ThenIblink."Wait.Lockerroom?”

Thestadiumismostlyempty,justsomemediapeopleandotherproductionpeople.I
lookdownatthebasesonthefieldandrememberMarkandmeracingaroundthem.
Sigh.

Shakingitoff,IfollowCodyandJesstoHalcyon'sprivatesuite,perchedoverhome

plate.

ThesuiteispackedwithHalcyonexecutivesandtheirguests,everyoneslurping

cocktailsandchampagnefromtheopenbar.Oh,wow.Thisplaceischokedwith
celebrities.IspotatleastthreerappersandmorethanacoupleofHollywoodB-list
actors.AsI’mintroducedaroundtheroom,eyeslightupinrecognition.Mostpeople
trytosuppressachuckleordeliverapatronizinghello.

TaniaScullyisheresluggingchampagneassherollshereyesatasuitwhois

invadingherbodyspacebytouchingherarm.Ew.PoorTania.Ican'tsayI’mahuge
fan,butIcanadmitGeoandIhavewatchedallofherchickflicks.Shealwaysgetsthe
guyandshealwayslooksgreatdoingit.

“Harry’sfinance.Yankeesshortstop,”Jesswhispersinmyear.
Taniacatchesmyeyeandmustrecognizemesomehow,becauseshemakesa

beelinetome.Thenit’sallairhugsandairkisses.“RoseTaylor,”shecoos.“Greatto
meetyou.”

Ican’tbelievethestarofLostinKissesandTheBreakupCruiseknowsmyname.

Weird.

She'sshorterthanIexpected,andpretty,thoughwithalotofmakeupon.Butthat’s

notastupidthingtodo,Irealize.Camerasareconstantlyclickinginthisroom.

Shit,IhopeIlookok.Iair-kissherback."Iloveyourmovies,"Istutter,thenwince.

Wow.Smooth.

“Youwantsomechampagne?”Sheholdsouttheotherglassinherhandtome.A

sparklygemdominatesherringfinger.Jeez.ItlooksbiggerthantheHopeDiamond.
Theweightofitmustkillherwrist.

“Nothanks.Ineedtokeepaclearhead.Goingtodomoreinterviewsinafew.”
“That'sright.Iheard…”shelooksoverhershoulderandthenleansintome.“You'll

betalkingtoMark,right?”

Mystomachchurns.Imean,Jessdidn'texactlysayso,butIkindoffigured.Afterall,

Halcyonjustwantsmeheresotheycanmakebankoffourrelationshipdrama.
Fanfuckingtastic.InoddumblyatTania.

“He’sagreatguy.He’s…”Shepressesherlipstogether,thendownsthelastbitof

champagneinheronehandsoshecantakeafreshslugofftheother.“He’sbeenreally
down,”shewhispersaftersheswallows.“Harrytoldme.”

Harry.HerYankeesman.Gotit.Inod.“I’msurehe’sbeencomfortinghimselfwith

allsortsofmodels.”Itrytosoundnonchalant,butIfeellikeI’mdyinginside.

Sheshakesherhead.“Heonlycomesoutofhishotelroomfortraining.Noclubs.

Noparties.Nonothing.Harrytriedtotalktohim,invitehimout,but...”Sheshrugsher
daintyshoulders.“Markdoesn’ttalktoanyone.He’sbeinglivinglikeamonk.Avowof
silencetype,too.I'mreallygladyou'rehere.Wewereallgettingworried.”

Myheartjumps.IfeellikeImightbeinoneofhermovies.PrisonerofLove,maybe,

orTenWaystoHappiness.Assheispulledawayfrommyside,shegivesmealittle
wink.

Amonk.Like,asin,notfuckinganyoneelse?Isthattrue?
Iimaginedhimdrowninginvaginabynow,returningtohisoldplayboyhabits.

MovingonandputtinghisdickineveryactressandcocktailwaitressonSouthBeach.
Butifthisistrue,ifhe’sreallyholedupandmonkingout,whatdoesthatmean?

Idon’tgetmuchtimetorevelintheexplosionofconfusingfeelings,becauseJessis

tuggingatmyarm.“Showtime.”

Itakeadeepbreathandpasteafakesmileonmyface.Heregoesnothing.

ROSE

Hot,well-builtmenstandinvariousstatesofundressaroundme.

Sofar,IhaveinterviewedsixofMark’steammates,allofthemthankfullyfully

dressed.StandardstuffwiththeclichédquestionsthatScotthasassuredmeour18to
34maledemographiceatsupwithaspoon.Ifeellikearobot.Iguessthisismy
corporatelifenow.

Whiledoingtheinterviews,myeyesdartaroundforaglimpseofMark,butallIsee

arebarechestsandtheoccasionaldickdanglingby.Wow,theseguysarenotshy.I
guessthey'reusedtoreporterstraipsingaroundinherethough.Andit'snotlikethey
haveanythingtohide.

CodypushesHarryFortiertowardme,Tania’sYankeesman.Ahandsomeguy,he’s

lanky,withslumpedshouldersanddowncasteyes.

Icueupthetape.“So,howdoyoufeel?”Iask.
Heanswerswiththestandardfeelinggreat,readyforthisgame,can'twaittogetonto

thefieldthateveryplayerhasalreadysaid,buthe’sniceandgrinsashedoesit.Plushe
hasaniceCajunaccenttoboot.Hecallsmema’am,eventhoughhe’sgottabearound
myage.Aw,southernboys.

“ThanksHarry,”Isaywhenwefinish.
“Noproblem,ma’am.”
Thenhedoesthesamethinghisgirlfrienddid,quicklypeekingoverhisshoulder

beforehelockshiseyesbackonmeinaconspiratorialgaze.Helooksdownatthemic.
“Thatthingoff?”

Inod.
Heputshismouthtomyear.“Mark’sbadoff.Ifyoustillcareabouthim,please,try

torightthis.We'reallworried.”

BeforeIcanaskwhat“badoff”means,hemeltsawayintotheseaofnakedmen.
He’sbadoff.
Aboutus?Whenhesatonthatcouch,avoidingmyeyesashetoldmetogetout,I

hadneverseenhimlooksomiserable.Hehasn’treturnedanyofmyphonecalls.Asfar
asIcansee,he’swashedhishandsofme.Butsofartwoseparatehumanbeingshave
approachedmetoofferhope.Againstmybetterjudgment,atendrilofoptimism
snakesintomyheart.

MaybeIamoneofthepluckygalsTaniaplays.MaybeIcanstillgettheguy.

Jesstapsmeontheshoulderandpointsbehindme.Turning,IseeMark.Suddenly

it’slikehe’smovinginslowmotion.He’sinhisuniformfromthewaistdown,but
abovethehips,heisinhisglory.HischestismoretonedthanthelasttimeIsawhim
andhe’ssportingafullbeard.

Thenheseesmeandsmiles.Myheartaboutexplodesfrommychest.Maybehe

listenedtothosevoicemailsafterall.Maybehewillforgiveme.

AshewalkstowardmeIhearathousandclicksofcamerasandfeelthehotlightsof

TVcamerastrainedonme.Shit.ThisisgoingtobeinHD.Thisinteractionisinfrontof
theentireworld.Ican’tbreakdown.

Isteelmyselfasheapproaches.Thisisjustastandardinterview,Itellmyself.A

standardinterviewwithmyheartandallmyemotionsontheline.

“Hi,Rose.”Damn.Washisvoicealwaysthissexy?Mykneeswanttobucklealready.

Hepecksmycheek,andhisbeardtickles.“Howhaveyoubeen?”He’srubbingmyarm
andgivingmesuchawarmlookIcan'thelpbutsmileupathim,hopeful.

“Fine.Good.I,uh...”Imissedyou,Ithink,butIamawareofthecamerasonevery

sideofus.

Helooksdownatmyequipment.“Thatthingon?Shallwe?”
Iclearmythroatandliftthemic.“RoseTaylorhere,livefromtheYankeeslocker

roomspeakingtoSportyTalk'sownMarkCarrington,theBadBoyatBatforthe
Yankees,”Irecite.“Markwhatareyourthoughtsontheupcomingseason?”

Itakeabreathandoxygenlightsupmybrain.OMG.Iamsohappyrightnow,so

relieved.Hisgorgeousblueeyesareonmeandhe’ssmilingandflirty.Thereishope
anditisspringingeternal.

“Well,Rose.WhatcanIsay?ThelineupisstrongandIfeelthisisouryear.”
Thewordsareallstandard,buttheyaredeliveredwithatwinkleinhiseyeandhe’s

standingsoclosetomeashesaysthemthatIcanfeeltheheatradiatingfromhisskin.
Hesmellsamazing.ThebeardsuitshimandIalmostreachoutmyhandtostrokeit.
It'ssohardtocontroltheimpulse.Wetalkforafewmoreminutesaboutthegame,the
warmups,theseasoningeneral.Thewholetime,Iwantsobadlytotouchhischest.To
kisshim.Tothrowmyarmsaroundhisneckandneverletgo.

“Wedone?”heasksfinally,stillwithhisgorgeouseyesonme.
“Yes.”Ireachdownandswitchofftheequipment.WhenIlookbackup,hisfacehas

changed.Hisjawisclenchedandhiseyeshavegonecold.Heturnsandwalksaway
withoutaword.

Iamleftfeelingchilled.Empty.Alone.Iwantthelockerroomfloortoopenupand

swallowmewhole.

IfeelJessputherarmaroundmyshoulders.“AreyouOK?”
“CanItakefive?”MyhandsareshakingandIwanttoburstintotears.Thatwasonly

forthecameras.Everythinghejustdid.Thesmile,thetouching,theaffection.Fuck,I
amanidiot.Ofcoursehedoesn'tforgiveme.Howcouldhe?

“Sure.”Shepointstowardthemassageroom.“Goshutyourselfinthereforafew

minutes.Wehaveenoughhere.Nationalisonahardbreakanyway.”

Luggingtheequipment,Iquicklymovetothebackofthelockerroom,shutthe

doorandrunrightintoamassagetable.ExactlyliketheoneMarkhasinhisloft.
Exactlyliketheonehegavemeamassageon,beforehecarriedmeofftohisbed.

Great,reminderseverywhere.

Ijumpupandsitonit,danglingmylegs.ThatwasawfulandIcan'tblamehim.I

mean,howwashesupposedtoact?Ofcourse,hewasgoingtobewarmandfriendlyon
camera,infrontoftheworld.

WhatdidIexpect?Himtoforgivemejustlikethat?
Theequipmentisheavyonmylap,soImoveittotheside.That’swhentheideahits

me.Insteadofcrying,Ineedtodosomethingproactive.Ineedtofixthis.Somehow.I
pickupthephoneanddialadirectlinetoHalcyon'slatestacquisitionintheheartof
Paramus,NewJersey.“Chad?Ineedyoutopatchmethroughlive.”

ThereisapauseandIswearIhearChadclosinghislaptop.“Forwhat,exactly?”
Itakedeepbreath.“Ihaveanidea.Andyouwillloveit.”

MARK

Theroomisquietandcool.I’msittinginoneofthemeetingroomsinthebackofthe
stadium,awayfromthepress,awayfrompeople.Iamlayingonthefloorface-up,
staringattheceiling.IwishIcouldturnoffthespeakerabovemepipinginMIAMI
SPORTTALKFM,butit'sautomated.Thepre-gamespeculationisannoying,butatleast
I’malone.

Beforeeverygame,Iliketotakeafewminutestomyselftojustbreatheandrelax.

ThisishowIhonemyfocus.ThisishowIhittheballoutofthepark.Closingmyeyes,I
trytofindthatspaceofease,ofbliss.Itrytopicturebeingonthemound,myeyes
trainedonthepitcher,theballhurlingmywayasfastasabullet.Itrytoheartheroar
ofthecrowdandsmelltheroastedpeanutsandpopcorn.Itrytofeelthestingofsweat
inmyeyesasIchokethebat.

Howdoesitfeelinmyhand?Howmuchdoesitweigh?Howdoesitfeeltotakea

practiceswing?

Breathein.Breatheout.
“AndwearethrowingitbacktoRoseTaylorinMiamiwithaspecial

announcement…”theradiodrones.

Fantastic.Ican'tevenavoidherinhere.Ishutmyeyesandtrytodrownouther

sultryvoicewiththoughtsofswingingbatsandroaringcrowds,butIcan’t.

"Ijustwantedtotellyou—andyouknowwhoyouare—thatI'msorry,"she'ssaying.
Yeah,sureyouare,Ithink.Sorryyougotcaught.
"AndIloveyou."
Thefloorfeelslikeit'sfallingoutfromunderme.
"Goodlucktonight,"sheadds,likeitwasn'talreadyobvioustoeveryonelistening

whoshejustsaidthatfor.Butsomehowitmakesmystupidmonkeybrainlikeitmore,
thatsheadmittedtothewholeworldhowshefeels.Sheknowsshecouldbehumiliated
now.Icouldusethatagainsther.Andstillshetoldme.Toldeveryone.

Fuck.
Everythingwasdecided.Everythingpackedaway.Iwasgoodtogobeforethat

speech.Iwasgoodtomoveon.Thelastseveralweeks,whenIwasn’tatpractice,Iwas
SkypingwithToddandironingoutthemessthatismypersonalshit.Ihavebeen
hittingthetherapyhard,processingtheemotionsfromyearsagoallthewayup
throughmekickingRoseoutofmylife.

It’sbeenarollercoasterthislastmonth.Facingallthisshithasbeendraining,but

alsofreeing.Atleast,IthoughtIwasfree.UntilIsawRosethismorning.Nowher
heartfeltwordsringinmyears.

Shelookedgoodtoday.Toogood.Shekeptstaringatmybeard.Butstandingso

closetoher,allthehurtcameback.AndnowIamtornintwobyherwords,bythat
confession.ThewordsIwantedtohearforsolong.Iloveyou.

No.Fuckthat.
I’veworkedtoohardtoslidebacknow.OneoftheissuesIexaminedwithToddwas

theconnectionbetweenmyromanticrelationshipsandmymother.PagingDr.Freud.
Grosstoexamine,forsure,butImadesomebreakthroughs.Icouldseethe
connection.ExceptforRose,Ialwayshadthisstand-offishthingwiththechicksinmy
life.

AndthenIopeneduptoherandlookwhathappened.
Fuckthatandfuckher.
Angerhitsmewithalltheoldsymptoms.Clammyskin,poundingheart,racing

thoughts.ButI’vebecomeanoldproatreelingthembackin.Inafewseconds,I’m
backonthemoundinmyhead.Soon,I’llhavetogobackintothelockerroomforthe
pre-gamepeptalk.Soon,I’llhavetogooutthereandperforminfrontofmillions.

ButIcan’tfocusrightnow.Ijustcan'tfuckingseethegame.
InsteadIseemyhottub,mybed.Rose,nakedbeneathme.Herfaceinmyhands.

Thewayshemoansmynamewhenshecomes,thewaysherollsoverinbedtosmile
upatmeinthemornings.

FuckHalcyonandfucktheYankeesforbringingherbackintomylife.
IamgoingtostrikeouttodayifIcan’tgetmyshittogether.
There’satapatthedoorandIcheckmywatch.Itain’ttimeyet.Whocouldthatbe?

“What!”Ishoutatthedoor.

Theknobjigglesandthedoorslowlyopens.“Hi,kid.”Stanleyenterstheroom.
Forasecond,I’mtooshockedtomove.Ijuststareathimfrommypositiononthe

floor.“Stanley.”Ibringmyselftoastandingpositionandstareathim,notbelievingmy
eyes.

Helooksgood,likereallygood.BygoodImeanhealthyasever.He’snotwearing

hisusualsuit,butkhakisandaHawaiianshirt.Ijustgape,nottrustingmymouthto
speak.HeopenshisarmstomeandIgointotothemlikealittlekidandrestmychin
onhishead.Hemustbefeelinggreat,becausehegivesmeabearhug,strongenough
tobruisemyribs.Gosh,thatfeelsgoodfromhim.

“Howyadoing,kid?”Heslapsmyback."TheytoldmeIcouldfindyoubackhere.

Beingantisocial."

Something'sinmyeye,soIturnaway.“I'mgood,”Isay.Stanleyobviouslyain't

buyingthatbullshit,‘causeIhearhimexhaleachuckle.

“That’snotwhatIhear.Ihearyougotabadcaseofheartache.”
Ishrug.“It'sbeentough,Iguess.ButI'llbeokay.Goodtoseeyou.”
Stanleycrosseshisarms.“Tellmeaboutit,kid.”
SoIdo.Imean,Ireallygiveittohimwithbothbarrels.AllthatworkwithToddhas

turnedmeintoamushy,emotivedude.Bytheendofourtalk,I’mamess,havinggone
overthewayIfeltabouthisheartattack,theshitwithmymom,theRosestuff.There's

nowaycanIwalkoutontothefieldandhitaballtonight.Hell,Idon’tthinkIcaneven
walk,period.

Stanleygrabsmyarmandeasesmedownintoachair.Hegrabsanotherchairand

sitsacrossfromme.JustasIamdetailingRose’sliveapology,ithitsme.Guiltbecomes
theonlyemotionIfeel.

WhatthefuckamIdoing?
Dudejusthadamajorheartattackandaquadruplebypassacoupleofweeksago

andhereIammakingeverythingintheworldaboutme,myshittylovelifeandmy
childhoodemotions.God,I'maprick.Istifleitandwipemyfacewithmyhands.“I'm
sorryfordumpingallthisshitonyou.Howareyoudoing?”

Stanleydrawsabreath,looksaroundtheroom,andthenbackatme.“Theselast

severalweekshavegivenmeanewperspectiveonthings.Auniqueone.Whenyou
almostdie…”heleansin.“Ialmostdied,kid.”

Pressingmylipstogether,Inod.Iknowthatanditkillsme.
“Anyway,mylifeisdividedintwonow.Thereisbefore,andthereisafter.”
Heissilentashelooksaroundtheroom,attheformicatable,theconcreteblocks,

untilhiseyesfinallysettleonmine.“YouknowwhatIlearned,kid?”

Ishakemyhead.“Tellme.”
“Lifeisshort.AndI’vegotthissecondchanceatit.WithBev.Toenjoythings.For

years,Iworkedlikeadoganddidn’tgivehertheattentionIshouldhave.Nevertook
timetostopandsmelltheroses.NowIam.

"Bill’shandlingmorethings,soBevandIcandolittlegetawaysandcatchsome

theaterinthecity.Havedinner.”Hiseyescrinkleinasmile.“I’vebeenhavinglunch
withhereveryday.”Hepointstohischest.“That’smyjourney.That’smypath.”He
pointstome.“Youneedtofigureoutwhatyouwanttodo.WiththisRosesituation
especially.Youhavetofindyourpath.”

Myeyesdarttotheside.“Shesaidallthoseawfulthings…”
Stanleynods.“Shittythings.Thatweretrue,bytheby.Anditsucked,butyou’rea

bigboynow,andyouhavetodealwithit.Butweallmakemistakes.Likehowyouhit
TommyPizza.Thatwasamistake,right?”

Inod.“But…”
“Butnothing.”Heshiftsinhisseatandpunchesmyarm.Wow.Therewassome

strengthbehindthatjabanditmakesmesmilehe’sgotthatkindaheatinhim.“She
ain'tthefirstpersontosaydrunkregrettablethings,youknow.Besides,shehadno
ideashewasbeingrecorded.Shehadzeroexperienceinyourworldatthatpoint.That
worldofgreedy,dishonestfame-chasersandsabotagingrivalswhowilldoanythingfor
abuck.”

StanleyrisesandpicksmyYankeescapoffthetableandperchesitawkwardlyon

myhead.“Thinkitover,kid.Lifeistooshort.”

“Tooshorttobetreatedlikecrapbysomechick.Iain’tadoormat.”
“Well,”hesays,withhishandonthedoor.“Ifthat’syourpath,sobeit.Butright

now,focusonthebat.I’llseeyouafterthegame.”

HeleavesmetomythoughtsandIgetbackonthefloor.There’sagameoutthereto

playandIhavetogetmyheadbackintoit.

ROSE

Ihaveneverbeentoabaseballgamebefore.Ifmyheartwasn’tsoheavyandIweren’t
contractuallyobligatedtosithere,Imightfeelspoiled.TheseHalcyonseatsarenear
homeplateabovethedugoutandIamsoclosetotheaction,Icanseetheeveryspeck
ofdirtscatterintheairastheumpiredustsoffhomeplate.Perfectpositiontocatch
Mark’scoldlookwheneverhecomesoutofthedugout.Awesome.

“Batterup!”theumpireshoutsashestepsbackfromthenewlysweptplate.
Sittingprettyontheseat,Itakeahitoffawaterbottleandtrytolookbusy.Mixed

messages.OnonesideIhaveTaniaandHarrytryingtotellmethatMarkneedsme.On
theotherIhaveMarkturningcoldasicethesecondIturnedthemicoff.Sowhat’sthe
deal?

Sighing,ItextGeototakemymindoffthings.
What’sthelatest?
Sherepliesfast.Wejustgotour1000thdownload.
Wow.Silverlining.JustbeforeIleftforMiami,welaunchedourfirstepisodeofthe

podcast.Alreadyit'sbeenonthereceivingendofsomegreatlistenerreviews.Also,we
gotsomebloggeractionthatseemstobepiquingmainstreammediainterest.It’snot
thekindofsuccesswhereyouquityourdayjob,butit’sthekindofsuccessthatmakes
youputupwithyourdayjobfornow,becausethere'sbetteronthehorizon.

Fantastic.
IdropmyphoneinmybagandthendigitbackoutwhenIhearsomeonesnicker

behindme.“Look,”amalevoicesays.“It’sthatbitchRoseTaylor.”

“She’schubbierthanIwouldhaveguessed.”
Oh,that’sjustgreat.Ifeellikealleyesareonmeandeverylaughandtitterisabout

yourstruly.Ugh.Isinklowerinmyseat.Iamalone,surroundedbythousandsof
snickeringstrangerswhohateme.

“BattingfortheYankees,MarkCarrington!”
Thecrowdgoesnutsastheyplayhisentrancesong,thesameoneweplayedashis

intromusicfortheshow.Withabatinhand,herunsoutontothefield.Theroaris
deafening,butheshowsnosignhehearsit.Hestepsuptotheplateandthepitcher
windsup…Ileanforwardinmyseat,fistsclenched.Morethananything,Iwanthimto
nailthishit.Iwanthisgametogowell.Iwanteverythingtogowellforhim.

Boom.

Hehitsitbeyondtherafters,rightoutofthepark.Ileaptomyfeetwiththe

screamingcrowdashejogsaroundthebases,grinningandwaving.Myheartthrobs
withjoyforhim,butalsowithpainthatIcan'tbetheretocelebratewithhim.Totell
himhowhappyIamforhim.Howproud.

Andthenhedoesittwicemorethatnight.Apparentlyonemorewouldbean

openingpre-gamerecord,anumberofhomerunsinthefirstgameoftheseasonthat
hasn'tbeenstruckinyears.I’montheedgeofmyseatandthecrowdisburstingwith
energyandexcitement.

Whenhestepsoutfromthedugoutforthefourthtime,thereisacollectivegaspand

theenergyinthestadiumshifts.Everyoneisnervousforhim.Everyonehopehe
makesit.Iambitingmynailsdowntothequick.

Ipullmyhandawayfrommyfaceandsitonit.
Mark’sfaceissternandIcanseehisjawislockedinplace.Ashecrackshisknuckles

andgrabsabat,thecrowdstartstochant.

ONEMORE
ONEMORE
ONEMORE
Ijointin,shoutingatthetopofmylungs.
Thepitcheronthemoundissweatingandlookskindapale.Hejustmightfallover.

TheMetscoachcallsatimeoutandeveryonearoundmestartscursing.

“Fuckwhatnow!”
“Quityourstalling!”
Thetired,sweatypitcherispulledfromthemoundandayounger,fresherpitcheris

putinhisplace.

Andoh,fuck.It’sTommyPizza.
“Dirtytrick,”themanbehindmesnarls.
“Youdidn’tthinktheMetsweregoingtoletCarringtonjustwalkawayfromthat,did

you?”

Ican’tseeMark’sfacefromwhereI’msitting,butifTommyPizza’sfaceisany

indication,itmustbeintimidating.TommysquintsatMark,andthen,whilekeepinghis
eyesonMark,heturnsandspits.

Whatatotalasshole.
Markisfrozenathomeplate,batraised,feetapart.Icanseethemusclesinhisback

andlegsaretenseandreadytospringintoaction.

Tommytossestheball.Markstepsbackasitnearlyhitshim.Weallgasp,thewhole

stadiumatonce.

“Dirtytrick!”someoneboos.
“Nah.PizzaBoyisgoingtowalkhiminsteadoflettinghimgettherecord.”
Iturntofacetheguybehindme.“Thatcan’tbetrue,”Iblurt.“Isthatallowed?”
“Happensallthetime.”
Icurse.“That’sdirtyashell.”
“Yeah,itis.”
MarkperchesthebatoverthemoundandTommyhurlsanotherathim,again

almosthittingMark,makinghimquicklyjumpback.

Tommycracksuplaughingastheumpireshouts,“Balltwo!”withhisfingersinthe

air.

Thecrowdaroundmecurses.Idon’tunderstandhowthisisnotcheating.Atthe

veryleast,it’sbadsportsmanship.Isgoodsportsmanshipevenathinganymore?

Markgetsintopositionagain.Ifhe’smad,nothinginhisdemeanorshowsit.His

faceappearsonthejumbotronandIcanseehe’sonemotionallockdown.Hisjawisset,
hiseyestrainedonthemound.DidIjustseeasparkleinthoseblueeyes?

TommythrowsandIdon’tknow,itallhappenssofast.Thesecondtheballleaves

Tommy’shand,Markjumpsbackabouttwofeetfromhomeplateandswingssofastit’s
ablur.

Thecrackofthebatsoundslikeathunderclapandtheballsailsintothestands.The

crowdcollectivelylosestheirshitandIstandandshoutwitheveryone.Intherushof
victory,IforgeteverythingbutMarkrunninghisfinallaparoundthebases,screaming
forjoy.

Thegameendsinvictory,Mark’sfinalhomerunclinchingthewinfortheYanks.

ThereisamadrushofplayersontothefieldandMarkisfirstdousedwithchampagne
andthenliftedupontheshouldersofhisteammates.

He’sonthejumbotronandhelookssohappythatI’mburstingwithhappinessfor

him.Ashetakeshisvictorylap,Isitbackdowntocollectmythings,droppingmy
phoneandemptywaterbottleintomybag.

ThenIhearthecrowd’smoodshiftfromacheeringroartoboosandhisses.
Whathappened?Ilookdowntothefieldtoseewhat’sgoingon.Maybetheumpire

hasdeclaredthehomeruninvalid?MaybeMarkispunchingtheshitoutofTommy
Pizza?

Butno.
PeoplearepointingatthejumbotronandIfollowtheirfingerstoseemyownimage

upthere,completewithmygapingmouthandwide-eyedlookofshock.

Theroarofdisapprovalisdeafening.Okay,maybeit’snotthatloud,butit’stheonly

thingIcanhear.ShakingandfeelinglikeIamgoingtopuke,Iputmypurseonmy
shoulderandrisefrommyseat.

Shit,Ihavesomanystairstoclimbtogetoutofhere.Ihearthecrowdroarandlook

overmyshoulder.Markisbackonthescreenbeinginterviewed;Icanhearhisvoice
echointhestadium.Thankgod.Adistraction.MaybeIcangetoutofthestadium
withouthavinghalf-eatenpretzelsthrownatmeandbackwashbeerrainingdownon
myhead.

Ihavetoclimbmaybeahundredstairs.Okay.Icandothis,eventhoughmylegs

arewobblyasfuck.I’lltakeitoneatatime.Iwillclimbthestairs,exitthestadiumand
findmyHalcyonrideoutside.Igotthis.

100,99,98...
“Rose!”
Ihearmynameandfreeze.AmIdreamingorwasthatMark’svoice?
“Rose!”
It’shimandheisholdingthestadiummicstill,buthe'sdroppedtheinterview.He’s

notthatfarawayfromme,standingbyhomeplate,andoureyesconnect.Forthe
briefestofmoments,Ifeellikewe’retheonlyonesinthestadium.

Hisfacebreaksintoasmileandherunstowardme.

Canthisbehappening?
Hetriestojumpthedugout,butit'sreallyhigh.ThentwoYankeesgivehimaboost

andhegetstotheroof.Me,I'mrunningtheotherway,downthosestepstothefence,
whichbuttsupagainstthedugoutroof.Ileanoverit,andhecupshishandsaroundmy
face.“Rose.Comehere.”Thoseblueeyesaresettingmywholebodyonfire.

IclimbovertherailingandintoMark’swaitingarms.
We’reonthejumbotronagainashefoldsmeintothosearmsandkissesmedeeply.

Hestrokesmyfaceandgazesintomyeyes.Iopenmymouthtoapologize,toexplain,
buthepresseshisfingertomymouth.“It’sOK,”hewhispers.“You’vedonethat
enough.”

Myeyeswellup.Itakehisfaceinmyhandsandletmygazelingerbeforespeaking.

“Ihavetotellyouthis.Iamsorry,Mark.Inevershouldhavesaidallofthat.Itwas
beforeIsawtherealyou.BeforeIwokeupandrealizedhowmuchIadmireyou.”I
takeabreath.“AndIloveyou.”

Marksmilesandkissesmeagain,slowlyanddeeply,asthecrowdburstsintoa

roaringcheer.“Iloveyoutoo,”hewhispersagainstmycheek.

EPILOGUE

MARK

ThewateraroundmeiscoolandIwanttoseehowlongIcanholdmybreathtostay
under.Adifferentworldbelowthewaves,Ifeeltheslightpullofthecurrentandgaze
peacefullyatthecoralandthelittlefishthatseemtohavenofearofme.Nakedin
nature,that’sthewaytogo.

AllthestressoftheWorldSeriesismeltingoffme.Sure,I’mgladwewon,butdamn

thatwasapressurecooker.Itwasn’toveruntilitwasover,anailbiteruntilthelastbat.
Sevengames.Seven!

ButwediditandnowI’maWorldSerieschamp.Itoldthemthiswouldbeour

season.Ouryear.Andithasbeen,inmorewaysthanone.

Thingsaregood.Momiskeepingsobersofar,andforthatIamthankful.Likeher,

I’mtakingitonedayatatimeaswerepairourrelationship.Iwouldlovetoseeherfor
Christmas,butthat’stoomanydaysawaytoconsider.Sheissobertoday,shewassober
yesterday,andthat’sokay.Withprayersandhardwork,shewillbesobertomorrow
too.

IhaveknockeddownmyToddtimetobiweeklysessions.Stillachallenge,buteach

timewithhimIfeelI’vegonealittlefurtherthanthesessionbefore.Theangeris
controllableandInolongerhavetobattlemyemotionsatthedropofahat,butIstill
haveawaystogo.That’scool.Romewasn’tbuiltinaday.

Ialmostwanttostayfloatinginthiscalmforever,butmylungsareburstingforair

andbetterthingsthanthispeacewaitformeonthebeach.Iwigglemyeyebrowstoa
starfishandpushofftheocean’sfloor.

Gettingtothesurface,Ipullclean,saltyairintomylungs.Thesunhassetbehind

thebungalow,leavingthisworld,ourworld,bathedinthesharpcolorsoftwilight.

Theresheis.MyRose.Iswimtowardtheshoreinanticipationoftouchingher.

Pullingthatlithelittlebodyofherstomine.

Stanleyisthebest.Hedelivered,eventhoughIwasvaguewithmyvacationideas.

“Somewherehot,”Isaid.“Anicebeach.Butprivate.Reallyprivate.Privateisthebig
thing.”Iwasalreadythinkingofsee-throughbikinisandNakedSaturdays,mostly.

“Ah,Iknowjusttheplace,”hesaid.“AndyoucangetawayfromtheTommystorm

too.”

Taniawasgreatonthestand,astarwitness,andhercelebritystatusencouraged

moreladiestocomeforwardaboutthatcreepfest.Roseincluded,blessherbravelittle

heart.Tommygothisdue.IhopeherotsinRikers.

Amessengerdeliveredtheticketsanddetailstomydoorwithinanhourofmycall

toStanley,alongwithanotefromhim.

BevandIlovethisplace.Haveagreattime!
Love,Stan
AlittleislandeastofKeyWest.Gorgeous,thesandcleanandwhiteandthewater

crystalblue.Everydaysincewegotherehasbeenbeautifulweather.Foodfromthe
mainlandgetsdeliveredtwiceadayandallwehavetodoisindulgeandsoakupthe
sun.Bungalowonaprivatebeach.Ourlittlesliceofheaven.

Privateheaven.NakedSaturdayhasbeenstretchedintoNakedWeek.
IpulltowardtheshoreuntilIcanwadeinandstand.MydickgetsharderwhenIsee

Rose’sglisteningnakedbodyonthebeachchair,soakinguptheafternoonrays.Istand
overhertopickupherpinacoladaandletthesweatfromtheglassandwaterfrommy
bodydripontohertits.

“Mark.”Shegiggles.“Givemethat.”Ihandittoherandwatchherpressthosehot

poutylipstotheglassandtakealong,slowsip.

“DoIneedtooilyouupagain?”Istrokeherinnerthigh.
“Mm,maybe.”Sheliftshersunglassesandgrinsatme.“Geosaidtheequipment

arrivedatourstudiothismorning.ChrisandNightVixenareinstallingeverything
now.”

Ishakemyheadandstrokeherotherleg.“Gladmyoldbarnisgettingsomeuse.

YouwantedtokeepthestudioinNewJersey,huh?”

Shedropsthesunglassesbackdownandshrugs.“IguessI’mstillaJerseygirlat

heart.Canyoudealwiththat?”

Igrabherankles.“LetmeshowyouexactlyhowIdealwiththat.”
Ispreadherlegsasshelaughs.Yesterday,Igaveheraniceshaveandherpussy

glistenswithsuntanoilandwetness.Isitonthebeachchairandsetherfeetonthe
ground.“Letmelickthatpussy.”Ispreadherlowerlipstorevealmymostfavoritespot
intheuniverse.“Fuckyes,”Igrowl.“Carringtongoesdown.”

Shelaughs,butitquicklyturnstomoansasIgetdowntobusiness.Iworkthatsexy

pussylikeit’smyjob.We’vebeentogetherformonthsnow,soI’vecommittedwhat
pleasedhertomemoryandreallyknowhowtogetonthatsweetlittleclit.

“There’snothingbetterthanthetasteofyourpussy.”
Asshemoansindelight,herbodyrollsinaspasm,andIgetharderthaneveratthe

sight.Ifuckinglovewatchingherlikethis,knowingI’mincontrolofherorgasm,thatI
cansendhertoheightsofuncontrollablepleasure.Igrabheraroundthewaistand
workthattongueintoheruntilshe’sabouttogetoff,rightatthepeak.Then,teasing,I
pullaway.Shegaspsinprotestatfirst,butonlyuntilsheseeshowhardIam.

Nowit’scocktime,whichisperfectbecauseitreallydoesn’tgetmuchharderthan

this.“Takeoffyoursunglasses,baby.Iwanttoseeyourface.”Shesmilesandher
Armanishadesdroptothesand.She’swatchingmycockwithpuredelightandhunger.

Keepingherpussylipsspreadwithmyfingers,IwatchherfaceasIslidemydick

insidehertightlittlebox.There’snothingquitelikethatfirstpenetrationfaceshe
makes.Oh,thatsweetnaughtysmile.Shemoansandwrapsherarmsaroundmyneck
asImoveinsideher.“Youlikethat,baby?”

Heranswerisadeliciousgasp.“Harder.”
Beforenow,Ihadneverfuckedonabeachchair.Ittookalittlepracticetogetused

tothericketything.Youhavetoknowhowtobalanceyourbody,wheretoputyour
feetsotheydon’tslipthroughthevinylblades.ButIgotthis.IknowwhatI’mdoing.I
positionmybodyontopofherandgrindasIkneadherbreastsandkisshermouth.

“Iloveyou,baby,”IgaspasIthrustinsideher.
Shetouchesmyface.“Iloveyoutoo.”
Wefinish,bothofusmoaningourorgasmsatthetopofourlungs,butwhocares

whenthere’snoonearoundformilestohearus.Icollapseinaworn-outheapontop
ofheraswefinish.Shewrapsherarmsandherlegsaroundmeandwejustbreathe
andholdeachother.

Nah,Iwaswrong,completelywrong.Thebeachisn’tparadise.Thisis.Fuckingher

isalltheparadiseIneed.

“Didyouknow,”shewhispersinmyear.She’sdancingherfingersacrossmyback

andIjustknowmydickisgoingtogrowhardagainsoon.“Thatwasoneofmy
fantasies?”

Iraisemyhead.“Whatdoyoumean?”
Shesighsandrunsherfingersthroughmyhair.“Mygo-tofantasywasalwayslying

onabeachnaked…”

Ismile.“Wegotthatcovered.”
“Andthenthishotfacelessguywouldemergefromthewavesandfuckmeright

thereonthebeach.”

Iremovesomeloosestrandsofhairfromhercheek.“Faceless?”Ipeerdownather.

IthinkmytonesoundsalittlehurtandIwonderifI’mpoutinglikeachump.Shespots
thisandtouchesmycheekwiththebackofherhandsoftly,thenkissesme.

“Turnsoutitwasyou,”shewhispers.“Itwasalwaysyou.”
“Funny,”Isay,wrappingmyarmsaroundhertight.“Ihadasimilarfantasy.Andit

wasalwaysyou,too.”

THEEND

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FRICTIONBYEMILYSNOW

CheckoutthefirstchapterofFrictionbyEmilySnow.

AvailableonAmazonnowand

freeonKU!

ChapterOne

"I'mplayingbingowithCynthiaandDeanthisafternoon.Didyou...doyouwantto
comewithus?Justsoyouwon'thavetobealone.Ihatethethoughtofyoubeing
alone,Lucy."

Mymother'svoice,risingoverTonyBennettandLadyGaga'sversionof"TheLadyis

aTramp"blastingfromthecounter-topCDplayer,sendsawaveofshamethroughme
asIstumbleintothekitchen.Earlymorningsaresupposedtobesimple.Pee,twoor
threecupsofcoffee,repeat.Instead,I'malreadybeingremindedthat,attwenty-seven,
IamA)livingwithmymotherandB)alone.

Crossingmyarmsovermychestsoshewon'tcomplainaboutmylackofabra,I

faceher.She'sprimlyseatedatthesameglasskitchentablemydadassembled—
cursingtheentiretime—duringThanksgivingbreakmyfreshmanyearofcollege.
Grippinghercoffeemuginonehand,sheleafsthroughthenewspaperwiththeother.
I'mnotsurprisedthat,despitetheabsenceofanactualsunrise,she’salreadyfully
dressedfortheday,herblackbobneatlycombedandhermake-upsubtle,immaculate.

Iyawnintomyupperarm."Goodmorningtoyou,too."
Shetakesinthesightofme,frommybarefeetandoversizedteeshirttomytangled

mopofjet-blackhair,andherbrowneyesnarrow.Ifrownrightback.

"So...bingo?"WhenIshakemyhead,shesagshershouldersandsighs.“I’mjust

lookingoutforyou.”

"Iknowyouare,andIappreciatethat."Turning,Iopenthecupboardandgrabthe

firstgiantmugIfind,theoneIboughtwhenwevisitedherfamilyinDaNangthe
summeraftermyfatherpassedaway.Itakethechairacrossfromheranddrawmy
kneesuptomychest,stretchingmyshirtovermylegs."ButIpromiseI’mfine.AndifI
don’tseemfine…well,that’sbecauseyoustartthemorningplayingTonyandGaga.”

WhileMomgoesonabouthowamazingGagaandTonyare,Ipretendtobe

interestedinmyphone,whichI’dleftonthekitchentableovernight.Oneglanceatmy
newmessages,though,andIregretchecking.Ihavethreenewtextsandthey’reall
fromTom.MybloodpressurespikesalittlemorewitheachwordIread.

11:19PM:Iwon’tsueifyoudropthestubbornact.YourcareermeansEVERYTHINGto

you,andweneedyouherewithus.

11:21PM:You'relivinginyourmother'shouselikeachild,andIknowyou.Thisisn't

yourideaoffun.

11:21PM:Luce,Iknowyou'regettingmymessages.
God,Iwanttopunchhiminhisperfectfaceforstartingmydaywiththissortof

bullshit.Ittakesanoutrageousamountofeffortnottoslamthephonedownonits
screen,butit’snew.AndIcan’taffordanother.Igentlyplaceitbesidemycoffeeand
forceasmileatmymother.

Shetakesthechangeinmyexpressionasasignofencouragement,becauseshe

leansintentativelyandsays,"Gettingoutmightbegoodforyou.”

Icanthinkofamillionandonethingsthatmightbegoodforme:
Acocktailwithadoubleshot,maybeevenatriple.
AtleastonenightwhereIsleepafulleighthoursbecauseI'mnotworriedabout

whathappensnextorstressedbecausemyformerbossisanassholewho’sscrewing
meover.

Sex.
Allthree,andnotinanyspecialorder.Atthispoint,I’mnotpicky.I’lltakewhatI

cangetwithoutmuchfuss.

"Iactuallyhaveotherplansthisafternoon,”IinformMomalittletoocheerfully,

tryingmydamnedestnottothinkaboutthemessagesI’veyettorespondto.Idon’t
evenknowifIcanrespond—notwithouttellingTomtogoscrewhimself.“Ihavean
interviewinBostonwithaplacecalledEXtremeEffects.I'mnotsurewhattimeI'llbe
back,andI’dhateforyoutohangaroundwaitingforme.”

I’vechantedthemagicword,interview,becauseshescootsherchairclosertomine.

Placingherelbowsonthetable,shecradlesherchininherhands."Didthat
employmentagencyfromlastweekmakeamatchalready?”

“No,Ifoundthemmyself—throughanadonCraigslist.”
Hergrinrapidlydiminishes,andIfeelheatcreepingintomycheeksasshetapsher

fingertipsagainsthertemplesandpinchesherlipsintoatightline.“Craigslist…okay."

Ishouldhaveknownthiswascoming,theblatantdisapproval.It'swhyIwasn't

goingtobringuptheinterview,especiallysinceIhaven’tbeenabletofindanything
aboutEXtremeEffectsotherthanthatthecompanyspecializesinweldingandother
metalworks—andIhadresearchedforhours.IhadalmostmessagedDaisy,the
womanwhocontactedmeviaemail,todeclinetheinterviewrequestbecausethelack
ofinformationimmediatelysoundedalarmsinmyhead.

Ofcourse,themomentIlookedatmybankbalance,Ireconsideredsendingthat

message.

Beggarscan’tbechoosersandsincethisentireconversationstartedbecausemy

mother’sinvitingmetoplaybingowithherfriends…

Stiffeningmyposture,Igiveherapointedlook."It'sajob,notasearchforacasual

encounter.Besides,didn’tthatthinginthelivingroomcomefromaCraigslistad?"I

pointatthe70-inchmonstrositymountedonthewalljustoutsidethekitchen.My
motherlovesherTVshowsjustasmuchasshehatespayingexorbitantprices,so
naturally,shesprungforausedflatscreen.

“That’sdifferent,”sheargues.“It’satelevisionset.Whatyou’retalkingaboutis

dangerous.”

“Firmsaren'tlininguptohireme,Mom.TheleastIcandoisgototheinterview;it

can'thurt."

Whatdoeshurtissayingthosewordsoutloud.
Despiteeverything,Imovedhomestillsureofmyself,surethateverythingwould

beokay,surethatIwouldsnaganewjobinrecordtime.Instead,I'veheardthesame
thingrepeatedly,meetingaftermeeting:

Overqualified.
MaybeIam,butIalsoknowtherealreasonIhaven'tbeenhiredyetandithas

nothingtodowithtoomanycredentials.Iwalkedoutonatwo-yearcontractwithmy
lastemployer.Andtheemployerinquestion—whosenewesttextmessageshave
alreadynudgedbeneathmyskinbeforeeightAM—isjob-blockingmeateveryturn.

Mom’schairscrapingagainstthetilefloordrawsmyfocusfromTomandback

acrossthetable.Sheworkstocoaxherfrownintoareassuringsmileasshestandsand
grabshermugfromtheplacemat."Ifthosefirmshaveanybrains,they'llcallyou,"she
says,walkingovertothedishwasher.

“I’mnotholdingmybreath.”
"Makesureyoutakeyourpepperspraytothatinterview.”WhenIstarttoargue,

sheholdsuponefinger,remindingmeoftheargumentswehadwhenIwasstilla
child.Nomatterwhat,SusieWilliamsisalwaysright."YoufoundthemonCraigslist,
Lucinda.Takethedamnpepperspray.”

Drawinginabreath,IpromiseherIwillandleavethetabletosearchmovingboxes

formyluckynudepumps.IworethemthedayIwaspromotedtoSeniorMarketing
DirectoratWLC—ayearbeforeIletTomtalkmeintoworkingforhimatJava-Org.
Today,IneedalltheluckIcangetbecausethebastard’srightaboutonething:

It'snotfunhavingmylifesofaroff-track.

It'sjustoveranhourdrivefromthebungalowIsharewithmymotherinWorcesterto
EXtremeEffectsinEastBoston,soIleavetwohoursearly.I’mstillflusteredbythetexts
Tomsent—andI’lllikelyspendtherestofthedayonedgebecausehearingfromhim
hassuchacrushingeffectonmypsyche—butIconcentrateonwhatIcancontrol.Like
ItoldMom,thefirmsI'veappliedatsofarhaven'tbeenbeatingdownmydoor,andI
needthisinterviewtogooffwithoutahitch.

Desperately.
TheGPSannouncesthatI'vearrivedatmydestination,andIpullmyJeepuptothe

curb,twistingaroundinmyseattogetabetterlookatthebuildingasIputmycarinto
park.Mylipsdragintoadeepfrown.ComparedtoWLC'sten-storybuildingin
downtownSanFranciscoorthechicSouthofMarketofficespaceTomandhisbusiness
partnerleasedforJava-Org,thetanstructurebeforemelooksmorelikeanoversized

garage.Knowingmyluck,thepersoninterviewingmewillprobablyhaveadip-
chewingobsessionandcoverallsthathaven’tbeenchangedinthelastweek.

Themomentthatthoughtcrossesmymind,myscalpprickleswithshame.Ibury

myfaceinmyhandsandgroanintomypalmsbeforeshovingmyhairawayfrom
warmcheeks.“Don’tbeanelitistbitch,”Itellmyselfharshly.“Don’tyoudarebethat
way.”

AsIapproachthebuildingwithmypurseandportfolioinhand,thefirstwavesof

nauseaslamintothepitofmystomach.I'mgoodatwhatIdo,butI'vealwaysstruggled
withgettingmyfootinthedoor.Ihadstressedaboutmycollegeadmissioninterviews
somuchmyeasy-goingfatherconfiscatedmylaptopandcopyofSellingYourSkillSet
forDummiesjusttoforcemetorelax.Dad’sadvicebeforemyappointmentatBrown,
andevenwhenIcalledhimfreakingoutovertheWLCpositiontheyearbeforehedied,
isstillfreshinmymind.

Kicksomeass,LucindaJane.
Clutchingmypepperspraykeychaininonehand,IstepoutoftheearlyJanuary

chillandintothewarmconfinesofthecompanyIfoundonCraigslist.TheoneIknow
absolutelynothingaboutbecausetheyhavezerowebpresence,andIonlyappliedto
becausethesixtythousanddollarsayearsalarywasmusictomybrokeears.

ThepartofthebuildingI'mstandinginissmall—atenbytenspacewithfiling

cabinetsliningonesideofthewallandafewchairsagainsttheother.Aleggybrunette
sitsintheseatclosesttothebluesteeldooronthefarsideoftheroom,flippingthrough
herownportfolioandoccasionallysneakingglancesattheintricatelydesignedmetal
clockonthereceptionist'sdesk.

Iconfidentlyapproachthedesk,andtheheavilytattooedwomanbehinditliftsa

pairofstartlinglightgreeneyesfromthescreenofhertablet."Letmeguess,Client."
Sherollsherchairbackwardafewinches,andItrynottostareathert-shirtthatsays
FuckingClassy.Afterafewseconds,Iopenmymouthtocorrecther,butthenshe
shakesherheadandmuses,"Ahh,interview."

God,IhopeIwasn'toglinghershirttoohard.
"Yes,I'mLucyWilliams-Duncan.IwascontactedbyDaisyaboutcominginattwo

forthemarketingposition."

“I’mDaisy."Herlipsquirk,andshescratchesastylusthroughherplatinumpixie

cutassheskimshergazeovermygoldenyellowpeplumdress."Andyou,Sunshine,are
early."

"Abadhabit."
"OneIshouldprobablypickupbeforeMr.Ehasmesendingoutinvitestofillmy

ownjob.”Shepointstothetwoemptychairsnexttothebrunette."There’saone-thirty
beforeyou,soitmightbeawhile.”

BeforeIleaveherdesk,Itapmyfingertipagainstthefaceoftheclock,shiveringat

thehard,coldtexture."Thisisbeautiful."

Shebeams."Wemadethathere."
Slightlymoreatease,Idropmykeysintothesidepocketofmypursebefore

leaningdowntoexaminetheclockmoreclosely."Ahh,soyoudesignclocks?"I’m
alreadyimaginingalltheaspectsofsellingpieceslikethis,andI'maneighthoftheway
intoadetailedmarketingplanwhenDaisyclearsherthroat.Sheblinksupatme.

Severaltimes.
“Yeah…clocks.”Herlipspart,butthenshecrinkleshersmallnoseanddrumsher

stylusagainstthequotetattooedonthesideofherneck."Amongotherfunthings.Go
aheadandhaveaseat,I’llletyouknowwhenhe’sreadytospeakwithyou.”

WhileIwaittomeettheelusiveMr.E,Ireviewmydocuments.I'minthemiddleof

re-readingmyrecommendationletterfromtheinternshipIcompletedbeforeI
graduatedwithmyMBAfromStanford,whenDaisysingsoutmynameinaclearalto.I
peerupfrommyportfoliotofindhergrinningbroadly.

"Theotherchick'sinterviewendedearly,sohe'sreadytobrightenyourdaywithhis

…sunnyawesomeness."

Ican'ttellifshe'sbeingserious,soIsimplynod.Holdingmyleatherbindertomy

chest,Ibrushmyotherhanddownthefrontofmyyellowdress,smoothingthe
wrinklesoutofthewovenfabric."Thanks,shouldI—"

Shepointsoverhershoulder,tothebluedoorbehindherdesk."Gothroughthere

andtakealeft.He'sintheofficeattheendofthewalkway.Andwatchoutformetalon
thefloor.It'samessbackthere!"

Thankfully,themetaldisasterseemstobecontainedintheworkshopontheother

sideofthewalkway,wheretwomeninweldingmasksareworking,thesoundofThe
Weeknd’s“TheHills”boomingfromanoverheadsoundsystemassparksflyaround
them.IreachE’sdooranddrawinasharpbreathtocalmmynervesbeforeIknock
softly.Althoughit’salreadyhalf-open,Momgotonmycasesomanytimesabout
burstingintoroomsunannouncedwhenIwasachildthatknockingfirstisahabitnow.

"Comein,Ms.Duncan."
Mytoescurlinsideofmyluckypumps.Thatvoice,withitslongvowelsandclipped

consonants,isjustabitbreathtaking.I’vealwaysbeenabigfanofaccents.Igrewup
withaVietnamesemotherandafatherfromMississippi,andthevoiceontheother
sideofthatdoordeeplysatisfiesmyauditoryfixation.It'sAmericanized,that'sforsure,
butthere'saBritishundertonethere.

Iwonderifthefaceandbodyattachedtoavoicelikethatdoesitjustice.
“MissDuncan?”herepeats,soundingatouchirritated.“You’rewastingyourtime

andminejuststandingoutthere.”

Isquaremyshouldersandpressforward.
Andmyheartimmediatelyslamsintomythroat.
Themanbehindthemetaldeskislookingathislaptopscreen,hiseyesnarrowed

andhislipsworkedintoaconcentratedfrown.Icanonlyseehimfromthewaistup,
butIquicklyhatemybody'sreactiontotheblueflannelshirtshoveduptohiselbows
andtheunrulychocolatebrownhairandstubble.

"Givemejustasecond,I’mgoingto—"Liftingblueeyesfromthescreen,hisdeep

voicecatches.Hestaresatmeforanawkwardpause,stunned.Rubbinglongfingers
tattooedwithRomannumeralsoverhischin,heinclineshisheadtooneside.Ihold
mybreath,prayingandhopingandwishingforamiraclethat’sclearlynotgoingto
happenbecausehisscowltransformsintoagrin.

Heknowsme.
Heremembersme,andmyheartsinksfrommywindpipe,inchbyinch,asIrealize

anotherinterviewhasjustbitthedust.

Here’sthethingaboutmostoverachievers,eventhosewho’vefallenfromtheirhigh

perch:theyallhavethatoneperson.Theonewhomadetheirhighschoolexistencea
littlemorestressful.Thatonepersonwhowas,despitehisconstantasshole-isms,the
objectofhersecretfantasies.Thatonepersonwhowastheoppositeofeverythingshe
aspiredtobecomebecausehegavezeroshits.

IwastwelvethefirsttimeIlaideyesonmyperson.
It'ssadthatIrememberthemomentclearly,butinmydefense,hecametoour

classtowardtheendoftheschoolyear,andI'djustcelebratedmybirthdaythreedays
beforehislateMayarrival.Wehadthesamehomeroomteacher,Mr.Collinswho
taughtSocialScience,andastheytalkedatthefrontoftheclassroom,Iwasentranced
byhissoft,choppedaccentandthewayhecombedonehandthroughhisdarkhair.

He'sdoingthatnow,onlyhe’snotspeaking.
ThelasttimeIsawthemaninfrontofmewastenyearsago.Hehadcomplained

thatmysalutatorianspeechwas"toofuckinglong"andthathehadpartiestogettoand
vaginasthatneededhisundividedattention.Ihadrespondedboldly,tellinghimthatI'd
seehimatourreunion—ifhecouldputdownhisbongandwhoeverhewasbanging
longenoughtomakeit.

Andnow,I'mstandingsmackdabinfrontofJaceExley,askingforhimtogivemea

job.

Heatpulsesdownmyspineasheflickshissteelybluegazeoverme,rakinginall

fivefootsixinches—fivefootninewiththeheels.I'vefilledoutsincethelasttimewe
saweachother.Ihavehipsandbreastsandabuttnow,andInixedtheshortblackbob
thatmademelookolderthanmymotheryearsago.

Still,foramoment,Ifeelliketheflat-chestedgirlwhowantedtopunchhiminhis

stupidlyruggedfaceeverytimehesaid,"pullthestickoutofyourarse,Williams."

"LucyWilliams."Jacesteepleshisfingersoverhismouthandleansback,givingthe

impressionofamanusedtogettinghisway.Tobehonest,Ihavenodoubtthat’sjust
whatheis."NeverthoughtI'dseeyouagain,andIsureasfuckdidn'tthinkyou'dwalk
throughmydoor,butplease...sitdown.”

ReadFrictionnow!

SCREWMATESBYKATY IMCGEE

CheckoutthefirstchapterofScrewmatesbyKaytiMcGee!

Andsignupforher

newsletterheretofindoutfirstwhenitgoesonsale!

Prologue

IknewfromthefirsttimeIsawhimthatIwasscrewed.

Hecouldn’tbeashotasIthoughthewas,thatwasn’tpossible.I’mavisualartist.

Andthathadtobeanillusion.Nowaythosebrowncurlsandscruffyfacewerereal.
Twenty-eightyear-oldColinFarrelldidn’tliveinKansasCity.Someonewouldhave
mentionedit.Also,timetravel.

Ihadjusttakenoffmyglassestocleanthem.Fatalmistake.Iwasstillblinkinginthe

doorwayandtryingtomaneuverthehemofmyplaidbutton-downtorubonthe
lenseswhenAva,mistakingmefornervous,puttheflatofherhandonthesmallofmy
backandshoved.

SomyfirstrealimpressionofMarcKirbycameasItrippedandfelltomy

knees.Mychin,slightlypointed(Mom’sside,thanksfornothing)ledasitusuallydoes.
Pointfirst,Islammedheadlongandhardintohisdick.Andman…itwasabigdick.

Bestfirstimpressionever.
TypicalAva,crackingup,surveyedthescene(bothofusonthefloor:himin

pain,meinhumiliation).

“Madison’schin,mycousinMarc’scrotch,”shechokedoutbetweenhowlsof

laughter.“Meetyournewroommate,bothofyou.I’llleaveyoutoit!”Thedoor
slammedbehindher.

So.Completely.Screwed.
“I’llfindmyownroom,”Isaid,beforehehadachancetorecover.“Sorry

about—yourboyparts.”Myfinestmoment,obviously.

SweartoStanLee,I’venevermovedthatfastinmylife.Turningoneknob,then

anotherinrapidsequence:hisroom,closet,bathroom,finally(blessedly),mynew
room.

Forthehundredthtime,oratleastthehundredthtimethatday,Icursedmyformer

roomiesforchangingtheirmindsthedayweweresupposedtoturninourlease
renewalandleavingmeinthelurch.Youcouldarguethatanunplannedpregnancyon
Lizzie’spartandanervousbreakdownonScarlett’swereunexpected,butIwasinno
moodtobecharitable.

BecausehereIwasnow––anewroom,afreshstart.Abigdick.
Ididn’tmeanto,butthedoorslammedbehindmeaboutasloudlyasithadbehind

Ava.Butwhereasherswaspunctuation,minewasjust—Idon’tknow,carelessnessand
humiliationcombined,Iguess.

CouldhereallyhavebeenashotasIthoughthewas?
AndcouldIreallyhavejustchinnedhiminthejunk?AndthenIfled?Andslammed

thedoor?

Andcouldchinnedreallybeaverb?
Dying,seriously.
Ifloppedbackonthebed.ThankOdinthisplacecamefurnished.Icouldnoteven

handlegoingbackoutthererightnowtostarthaulingfurniturearound.Nowwasa
timeforcoweringandtryingtopretendthatdidn’thappen,evenasIcouldsmellthe
boy-scentsoftheapartmentandhearhimstilllettingouttheoccasionalgroan.

Okay.Noprob.Icouldhandlethis.
Theplanwastojusthangoutquietlyforawhile,lethim…recover.ThenI’dheadon

outcasuallylikenobigdeal,andapologizewhenneitherofuswereembarrassed
anymore.Easypeasy,we’dmaybeorderapizzaorsomething,hangout.Startfresh.
Flirtalittle.Justmeandthehotcurly-headedfaux-Irishguy.HotMarc.Eatinghot
pizza.Beingroomies.Asyoudo.Justdoingthething.

Iwokeupapproximatelyfivehourslater,tofulldarknessandapillowcoveredin

drool.Nopizza.Nohotroomie.

Andawholelotmorehumiliation.
BecausenowMarcprobablythoughtIwasscaredtofacehim.Iwasn’t,notatall.

Superbrave,thatwasme.Butyoucan’tsaythattosomeone,soyouhavetojust
swaggeraroundandhopetheygatherthegeneralidea.

WhichwaswhatIwasallreadytodothenextday,onlyheevidentlywasatschool

thewholetimeIwasathomedrawingandawaitinghim.

Notdrawinghim,perse.Ifyouhappentoputafamiliarfaceonabodywithacape

that’sjustartisticlicense.

Grabbingmynewkeyfromthecounter,Ifinallyheadedofftoworkformynight

shiftatthescreenprintshoparoundfive.Igothome,wounddown,wenttobedwhile
hewassleeping,andwokewhenhewasgoneagain.

Well,therewasstilltheweekendwhenschoolandworkwerebothnotinsession.

Weirdwaitingsolong,butIwouldn’tactlikeit,I’dbelike,“Oh,hey,neverseeyou,
how’sitgoing?”Supercasually.

Andhe’dbeall,“Man,ourschedulesarecrazy,right?Bourbon?”
“Bourbon,”I’dreply.Andthenwe’dgettoknoweachother.
ExceptIneversawhimSaturday.OrSunday.
ItextedAva,nonchalant,like.Yourcousinisaninvisibleroommatehaha.
Shewrotebackalmostimmediatelythathewasnotonlyinthemiddleofearning

hisdoctorate,butwenthometohelpouthismomonweekends.

Well,well.Hot,smart,andagoodson.Cool.Icouldworkwiththat.Andreally,I

don’tevenlikebourbon,so.

Butrightthen,Ihadtoactuallyworkwork,becauseComicConwasonlyafew

monthsawayandanaspiringcomicartistlikemyselfhustleslikeamotherfuckerat
thosethings.Sooneweekblendedintotwoprettyeasily,betweenmyday(night?)job
andmyart.Thenonemonthbecametwoandthenalotmoreandithonestlyshocked
mewhenonedayIsawastackofhisgraduationinvitationssittingonthekitchentable.

Tenmonthshadsomehowmeanderedbyinaparadeofframesandframes(bad

screening/artistjoke,sorry)withoutevergettingthechancetogettohangwithMarc.
Don’tgetmewrong––Isawhimallthetimeinpassing.Wejustneveroncefulfilledmy
pizzanightfantasy.

Fantasy?No,thatmadeitsoundtawdry.Myexpectation,thatwasbetter.Because

wholivedwithsomeonefornearlyayearandneverNetflix-edandchilled?

Wait.
ImeantactuallywatchedNetflixwhilechilling.Idid.Iswear.Because,literally,who

liveswithsomeonefornearlyayearandneverhasaboringcouchnight?

Soitwasweird,maybe,butitwaswhatwedidanditwasnobigdealandactuallyI

hadn’teventhoughtaboutourembarrassingfirstencounterinmonths.Really.

ExceptmaybeoccasionallywhenIhaddatenightwithmyvibrator.
Butitwasn’tlikeheeverknewthat’swhatIthoughtabout.

ChapterOne

“Madison?Hey.Madison.”

Isatupwithajolt,mysketchbookfallingtothefloor.
“Myboobs!DidIpass?”IwashavingThatDream.TheonewhereIshowupat

schoolafrazzledmesswithpencilsstickingoutofthemessybrownbunontopofmy
head,myglassesoncrooked,andinkstainsallovermyhandsandarmsthatwhisper
rudethingsatpassers-bywhothinkit’sme.Theonewheretheself-portraitIspentall
weekworkingonhassomehowmorphedintoapictureofthedogIhadwhenIwasin
elementaryschoolonlywithmymom’sheadontop,andI’mnowentirelycertainI’m
goingtogetanF.

AndthatMomwillnotbepleased.DidImentionI’malsonudeinthedream?
Ihatethatdream.
AsolidfouryearssinceI’dgraduatedfromtheKansasCityArtInstitute,andIwas

stillhavingthatrecurringnightmare.Apsychologistmighthavesaidthatwasa
reflectiononhowunpreparedIfeltineverydaylife.

ButImajoredinart,notpsych,sothatpsychologistcansuckit.Iprefertoswallow

myfeelings,preferablywithCheetos,andletthemturnintolow-levelanxietiesand
weirdinspirationforcanvasandpaperandT-shirtdesigns,likeanormalperson.

“I’mnotsureifyoupassed,”Marcsaid,pickingupthesketchbookandtryinghis

hardestnottolookatmyboobs.“Butyouralarmisgoingoff.”

Sureenough,aloudblaringwassoundingfrommyroom.Shakingthefuzziesfrom

myhead,Irantoturnitoff.Thiswasn’tthefirsttimeI’dfallenasleeponthecouch
whileworkingonaproject.Italsowasn’tthefirsttimeMarchadbeentheonetowake
me.MaybeeventuallyI’dlearnmylessonandworkinmybed.Ormovemyalarmto
thelivingroom.AndmaybewearmorepresentablePJ’s.

Thesesweatsprobablydatetotheyearofmybirth.
“OrphanBlack?”MarcaskedwhenIreturned,referringtotheimageI’dbeen

workingon.Don’tcorrecthim,don’tcorrecthim,Ithought.Don’t--

Itookthespiralbookfromhishands.“It’sJessicaJones.”
Hesnappedhisfingers.“Soclose.”
No.Notcloseatall.Ibitbackalaugh.ThoughmyroommateandIwerenear

strangers,I’dlearnedenoughabouthimtoknowhewasnotaspopculturedashe
couldbe.Notthatanyoneexpectedahistoryprofessortoknowthedifferencebetween
OrphanBlackandJessicaJones.

Correction––soontobehistoryprofessor.AccordingtoAva,he’dbeenfinishingup

hismastersthispastyearwiththeintenttoteachattheuniversitylevel.Hewastoo
busylearningthedifferencebetweentheHundredYearsWarandtheEightyYearsWar
tobecool.

Isincerelydoubthe’severheardoftheMarvelSecretWars.Lame.Althoughtobe

fair,onlyhardcorecomicnerdsknewthatone,soyourdefinitionofcoolneededtobe
fluid.

But,really.Whenamanlookedlikethat––sofirmandsculptedthatitshowedeven

underhissuit––hedidn’thavetobecool.Or..Okay,I’mmorenerdythancool.Allhe
hadtobewasthesubjectofafewofmylate-night,um,drawingsessions.Yeah,
drawing.

Andspeakingofhisattire…
Ipushedmyglassesuponmynoseandgavehimaonce-over.Becool,Madison.Be

cool.Buthemademenervous.“Youcleanupprettywell.What’stheoccasion?”And
theunderstatementawardgoesto…me!ButIwastotallycool,so.

Really,though,hedidcleanupwell.AsfarasIcouldtellfrommyfewencounters

withtheman,Marchadtwotypesofoutfits––businesscasualandworkout.(Workout
wasmyfavorite,incaseanyonewondered.Post-workout,specifically--theshirtwas
frequentlymissingbythatpoint.)Today’slookwasdecidedlymoreupscale.

“Ihadtodefendmythesisthisafternoon,”hesaid,looseninghistie.Iwasprepared

toloosenmyshirtaswell,withashotastheroomwasrapidlybecoming.Actually,it
wasjusthim.Ha!Ha!

“Thesis!Man,that’sbig.”Iknewalmostnothingaboutthethesisprocess,butIdid

knowitwasabigdeal.

Infact...crap.ShouldIhavegonetosupporthim?Hadanyonebeenthereforhim?

Wasthatsomethingpeopledidforathesisdefense?Wasthatathingthatroommates
didforeachother?

Welp.Toolatetowondernow.
“Howdiditgo?”Iaskedinstead,tryingnottostare––okay,drool––ashetossedhistie

onthearmofthecouchandbeganunbuttoninghiscollar.Iwasgoingtohavetohave
a“drawing”sessionimmediatelyfollowingthisconversation.

“Prettygood.I’dbeenofferedateachingpositionfornextyearbeforeI’dpresented

myargumentandnoonerescindeditafterwards,soIthink,allinall,itwasasuccess.”

“Awesome!Congrats!Woot!Yay!”BeCOOL,Madison!“Onboththethesisandthe

job.Ihopeyouhavebigplanstocelebrate.”

Actually,Icouldn’timaginehiminacelebrationsituation,lowkeyashewas,butit

wasFridayandhe’dhadquitetheday.Surelyhehadabuddytogooutanddrinkwith.
Oragirlfriend.Iwasfairlycertainhehadoneofthose.Shefrequentlyleftherwine
coolersinourfridgeandonceIsawabottleofherstrawberry-basilbubblebathwhen
I’dhelpedMarcunloadhisgroceries.

OfcourseHotMarc’sgirlfriendsmellslikesummerallthetime.Lesigh.
“Celebrate?”Thespotabovehisnosecrinkledinconfusion.Itmadehimseem

youngersomehow.Lessserious.Morefun.Ibethisstudentslovethatcrinkle.IwishI
washisstudent.“Oh,yes,that’sright.Ido.Lotsofcelebrationtobehad.You’reoffto
worknow?”

“Yeah,assoonasIcleanup.Maybe,um,drawforahotminute.”Itwistedmylipsto

onesideofmymouththantheother,ahabitIhadwhenIdidn’tknowwhatelsetosay.
Imean,whatelsecouldIsay?Itwasn’tlikeIcouldinvitemyselftohisparty,evenifI
didn’thaveajobandresponsibilities.EventhoughIwasawfullytempted,purelyfor
curiosity’ssake.“IguessIbettergoanddothatnow.”

“Okay.AndI’mgoingtochangetoo.Havetogetreadyto,uh,celebrateandall.”He

grabbedthetieoffthecouchandsmiledawkwardlybeforeheadingdownthehall.

“Rightthen.Bye.”
Islippedintomybedroomandshutthedoorbehindmebeforelettingoutasighof

relief.Allinall,ithadbeenaprettydecentencounter.We’dexchangedaboutasmany
wordsasweeverhadatatime,andnodickswereinjuredintheprocess.Maybethere
washopeforusasroommatesafterall.

SoIworkedfull-timeforSplatScreen,butIdidn’tconsideritmyrealjob.Theindieshop
specializedincustomT-shirtsandscreenprints.Thoughwedidhaveasmallstorefront
wherepeoplecouldwalkinandbuyprintsorshirts,mostofourjobscameinoverthe
internet,everythingfromlabelsforcraftbreweriestoshirtsannouncinglocalsports
championships.

I’dstartedatthecounterbutwasquicklymovedtothebackwhereIcouldoperate

thescreenprintingmachines.EverynightIcameinatfive,anhourbeforethestore
closedtothepublic,thenIspenttherestoftheeveningpumpingoutorders.Iwas
usuallydonebytenorso.

IfIgotdoneatareasonabletime,Igottoplaywithmyowndesigns,oftenstaying

anothertwoorthreehourstoknockoutsomenewpieces.Ilikedtoconsiderthatmy
“real”job,butitwasmorelikemygoaljob.TheSplatScreenworkitselfwaseasy
(boring)andpaidthebills(barely)butthetwomainreasonsIkeptitwasforthefree
useofequipmentandthehealthinsurance.

ThosewerethingsmyEtsystoreandoccasionalconventionboothwouldnever

provide,nomatterhowsuccessfultheybecame.Evenwitharoommateandacarolder
thanmy(mom’s)highschooldiploma,healthinsurancewouldbeimpossibletopayfor
onmyown,andIcouldn’tevenimaginebeingabletoaffordmyownstudio.Just
keepingasinglepressinmyroomwouldbealost-depositwaitingtohappen.

Icouldn’tevenbegintoimagineexplaininganinkexplosiontoMarc.Thehorror!
Anyways,ittookeveryextradimejusttokeepmestockedinsupplies.Itisthe

eternalstruggleofmanyanartist,andI’mnotsayingmystrugglewasanymore
difficult,justthatit’sreal.Thestruggleisreal.Hashtag,fullstop.

Andso,forthatsadbutreasonablereason,Iputawaythecommissionedpieceof

JessicaJonesthatMarchadmistakenforOrphanBlack,threwonapairofjeansandthe
newStrangerThingsgraphicteeI’dmadeafewnightsbefore(#FreeBarb)andheaded
outtowork.

TheClosedsignwasshowingonthefrontdoorofSplatScreenasIpulledmycarin

frontofthestore,butsometimesitaccidentallyflippedaspeoplewerewalkingthrough
soIthoughtnothingofit.Thelightswereoninside,andIcouldseeJD,myboss,talking
toamandressedinjeansandabluebutton-down.Obviouslywewereopen.

Except,whenIpulledonthehandleoftheglassdoor,Ifounditlocked.
Withmybrowfurrowed,Iusedmykeyandwalkedintofindtheretailspace’s

carpetwassquishyanddamp.Beyondnasty.Beyond.Andthesmell?Bee.Yond.Iwas
unpleasantlysurprised,tosaytheleast.

“Surprise!”Jacksaidpleasantly.“Apipeburstnextdoor.Takethenightoff.”
Ilookedaroundtonoticethewetfloorextendedthroughmostofthestore.“Ican’t

leaveyoutodealwiththisalone.”Ihadperfectattendanceatwork,thankyouvery
much,andyes,IwasbitterIdidn’tgetalittleribbonforitlikeIdidinelementary
school.“Icouldstillgointhebackandknockoutsomescreeningjobs,couldn’tI?You
don’twanttogetbehind.”

“There’stoomuchwaterbacktheretorunthemachinessafely.Theplumberhereis

workingonthepipe.Everything’salreadyoffthefloor,andIhaveacompanycoming
intotakecareofsoakingeverythingup.You’llonlybeinthewayifyoustickaround.
Plus,itsmellslikedeadass.”

Thatwasanextremelyaccuratedescriptionofthesmell.Perfectattendanceornot,

hedidn’thavetotellmeagain.Iwasoutoftherelikelastyear.Awholeentirenightto
myselfonaFriday?Thatwasathree-dayweekend.Anotherthingyoudon’tgetnearly
sooftenoutsideofschool.

Butwait.Iturnedaround.Andopenedmymouth.“You’restillgettingpaid,”Jack

yelledover.Closedmymouthandcarriedon.Score.

Thesituationdefinitelycalledforsomecelebrationofmyown.
ItextedAva,Lizzie,andScarlet.Dranksonme.BecauseIamnothingifnot

chivalrous.Onebyonetherefusalscamein.

Ava:bangingthenewguyrnsuggestyoufindone2
Iknow,sister.Iknow.Butwhohastimetolook?Notme.Seethewholetwojob

thing.Also,theanxiety.Howdoyouevenmeetpeoplewhenyou’reoutofschooland
workingalonemostdays?Iftheansweristheinternet,nothankyou.

Lizzie:Nositter,sorry!*sadfaceemoji*

Always.
Scarlet:Can’tdrinkonmypills.WanttocometoBiblegroup?
OnaFriday?HecknoIdidn’t.OrdidI?
Me:CanIbringmyownBible?
Scarlet:ThegraphicnovelcollectionthatisSandmanisNOTTHEBIBLE

YOUHEATHEN.

Clearlynottrueatall,soIchosenottorespond.Notthebible?Itwasmybible,

andIfeltduty-boundtospreadthegospel.Excuseme,butdoyouhaveamomenttotalk
aboutourlordandsaviorNeilGaiman?Itwasextremelyapparentthatshewas
discriminatingagainstme.ShewasalwayscasuallyleavingherKingJamesedition
around,IsawnoreasonIcouldn’thandoutmyNeilGaimanedition.

ApparentlyI’dmentioneditoftenenoughthatshewaswisetomytricks.
LiquorstoreandRedboxitwas,then,becauseIwasnotgoingtowastethisnightnot

drinkingandwatchingstupidmovies.

AfewmomentsofwanderingthroughthefirstfineestablishmentIcouldfind,

cleverlynamedBOOZE4LESSbysomeclassygentleman,toldmethatIhadnotbeen
drinkingenough.

Whendidsomanygloriousnewflavorsofvodkabecomeavailable?

Bubblegum?CakeBatter?Skittle?Itwasanalcoholictwelveyear-old’sdreaminthere.

ForasociallyawkwardADDgraphicartist?Eek.
See,whenIgetoverwhelmedbytoomanychoices,Itendtomakeapanic

decisionandchoosesomethingthatwasneveractuallyonmyradar.That’stotallyhow
Iendedupwiththebourbon.Idon’tevenlikebourbon.

Andthen,loandbehold,whenIdroveintothedrivewayIcouldseeMarcthrough

thewindow,loungingonthecouchwhereIhadmentallystakedmyclaim.Dang.I
didn’thaveaTVinmyroom,sowherewasIgoingtowatchthenewest-ishsuperhero
movieonmyfreenight?

Anyway,wasn’thesupposedtobeoutpartyingituponhisown?Somuchfor

assumingthathehadamoreactivesociallifethanIdid.Or,atleast,less-lamefriends.
Apparentlyhisfriendscalleditquitsbeforedinner,even,soIguessedhewonthatnot-
prize.Gosh,IreallyknewnexttonothingabouttheguyI’dlivedwithforalmostayear.

Thiswasbad.Iwasnotgoingtodrinkaloneinmyroom.Iwantedtodrinkalonein

thelivingroom!Wait.Thatsoundedbad.

Actually,thisdidn’thavetobebad.Marcwastotallyabourbonguy.Bourbonwasa

manlydrink.Marcwasamanlyman.Maybehe’dbeimpressedwithmychoice.Maybe
wecouldfinallyliveoutCouchNight,thefantasyI’dcarriedforthepasttenmonths.

TenwholemonthssincethefirsttimeItouchedhispeen.Withmychin.
NotthatIthoughtaboutthat.Much.InIwent,bourbonattheready.

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ALSOBYLULUWRIGHT

TheHardSell

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thankyouto:

Myroommates
SocialButterflyPR
CarolSeymour
JaxDylanHawkins
SophieBroughton
PennyWylder
JackieHernandez-Narvaez
PeggyLee
TonyF
RoseH:
MaggieRiley
RhondaJames
AndallofthosewhohelpedthesuccessofTheHardSell.

ABOUTTHEAUTHOR

LuluWrightisasushieatingloverofBroadwayshows,longwalksonthebeach,andsexybookboyfriends.After
workinginretailforages,she'sproudtoputherhilariousexperiencestopaperinherfirstromancenovel,The
HardSell.

LuluWrightAuthor

luluwrightwrites@gmail.com

Document Outline

Copyright
Also by Lulu Wright
1. Rose
2. Mark
3. Rose
4. Mark
5. Rose
6. Mark
7. Rose
8. Mark
9. Rose
10. Rose
11. Mark
12. Rose
13. Mark
14. Rose
15. Mark
16. Rose
17. Rose
18. Mark
19. Rose
20. Mark
21. Rose
22. Mark
23. Rose
24. Mark
25. Rose
26. Rose
27. Rose
28. Rose
29. Mark
30. Rose
Epilogue
Friction by Emily Snow
Screwmates by Katyi McGee
Also by Lulu Wright
Acknowledgments
About the Author

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