Page 10 of Big Stick Energy
“No idea.” I take a steadying breath. “Are you still at the dinner? What’s he doing? Anything strange? Is he gossiping?”
“Checking.” A beat of silence. “He just finished chatting with O’Connell about… something hockey. He mimed a slap shot. Now he’s carrying his dirty plate toward the bussing station, because he’s the kind of guy who doesn’t leave his dirty dishes for the staff to handle. And now…”
I hold my breath.
“He’s getting seconds at the buffet. Which I respect, honestly, because those empanadas were exceptional.”
My stomach growls. “I didn’t mean to miss dinner. Although I’m probably too embarrassed to chew. So I might choke, requiring someone to give me the hug of life, which would be the only way to make this day more humiliating.”
“Deep breaths,” Zoe says soothingly. “Hmm. Now he’s leaving the dining room with his plate. But without gossiping. Darcy, it’s going to be okay. Come down to the pool and have a drink with me and Chase. Everything is fine.”
“You don’t know that.” I shiver. “The look he gave me? It was intense. And even if I’m wrong, he’ll still see the message eventually. His publicist might flag it. I’m going to lose my job! And even if I don’t, I’ll probably have to quit.”
Zoe sighs. “Stop it.”
“This isbad,” I say with a shiver. “If I quit now, I won’t be able to afford my tuition this summer.”
“Nobody’s quitting,” Zoe insists. “Babe, you’re catastrophizing. Tomorrow this won’t seem like such a big deal.”
“Are you kidding? My dignity has already packed its bags and caught a cab to the airport.Pleasedon’t tell Chase about this.” Her boyfriend lives in the same building as Eric and DeLuca.
“I won’t. I swear.”
“This is worse than middle school.” I think about that for a second. “Okay, not quite. But it’sbad.”
“Darcy, should I come upstairs? Are you okay?”
I don’t want to ruin her evening, too. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”
Her voice grows wary. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll be outside by the pool if you change your mind.”
As if.
We hang up, and I lie here on the bed, under the pillow, wonderingif my boss would give me a decent recommendation. Probably not, though. I’m so screwed.
Then someone taps on the door, and I stop breathing. “Darcy?”
Oh God. It’shisvoice.
“Hey. Can you open the door?”
I shove the pillow off my face and croak, “Why?” And I mean it in an existential way.Why did I screw up so badly? Why am I like this?
“Because I just want to talk to you for a second. Why’d you skip dinner?”
Hmm. He hasn’t mentioned the message. But it could be a trick.
“I’m a little tired,” I try. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
A pause. “Darcy, open the damn door. Let’s talk this out.”
Everything inside me sags.
“Besides,” he says through the door. “If you won’t talk to me, it’ll bother me. And I can’t carry that kind of negative energy into game seven.”
Oh shit.Everything rides on tomorrow’s game. If even 1 percent of Eric’s game day performance could be laid at my feet, I do not want to be responsible for causing a problem.
Damn it all.
