Tumble (Dogwood Lane #1)(28)

“Noon. You’re more than welcome to stay here, but I need to head to the café in about twenty.”

“No,” I say, coughing as the words get tangled in my throat. “I’m supposed to go to Aerial’s today, and I don’t want to be a pain in the butt.” I throw the blankets off me and notice I’m in the same clothes as last night. “Do you mind if I ask how I got here? And maybe what happened last night? Because I don’t think I’ve ever woken up in someone else’s bed before. Except this one night in Boston, but that’s a long story.”

She laughs and sits on the edge of the bed. “We had fun at Mucker’s. You sang some karaoke with Matt.”

“I did?” I groan. “I apologize.”

“You were terrible,” she agrees. “But it was fun.”

“What else?”

“Just normal Friday-night stuff. Penn found some sidewalk chalk and decorated the patio. Mr. Mucker isn’t going to be thrilled when he sees that this morning.”

“I bet not.” I laugh.

“We ordered pizza and told stories and Patrick ended up coming by to see Brittney, and Matt . . .” She blows out a breath. “Let’s just say Patrick will be avoiding Matt for a while.”

I sit up. The pounding in my temples eases a bit as I prop myself up on some pillows. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened. It was what Matt threatened to make happen if Patrick didn’t back off Britt. He’s such an ass—Patrick, not Matt.” She pats my leg. “Bet you missed the drama of Dogwood Lane, huh?”

“Right.” I slide my legs off the bed and stretch my arms over my head. My joints crack as I work some life into them. “You should see the drama in the city. There are wars over parking spots and sidewalk space.”

“For real?”

I nod.

“I couldn’t live like that. No offense.” She gets to her feet. “I’ll be out of here, but if you want to stay, there’s a key under the aloe vera plant on the porch.”

I stand and my phone clatters from my pocket onto the floor. I retrieve it, no worse for the wear. “That’s the most obvious place in the world to hide a key, you know,” I say, giving my phone a final inspection.

She shrugs. “At least if they want to break in, they won’t bust my windows or something.”

“That’s such a terrible way to look at it.”

“It’s a warped outlook, I know. I blame it on my mother.” She heads to the doorway. “I’ll let you know before I leave.”

“I’ll be ready in a second. Just need to wake up and find . . . Where’s my car?”

“Mucker’s,” she tells me. “I can drop you off if you want.”

“Please?”

“No problem. Be ready in ten.”

Once she’s gone, I sit back on the bed. The mattress bends under my weight, and I would have absolutely no issues with lying back and going to sleep. That is, until the room is quiet long enough for me to feel the niggle in my chest. It’s a trigger that sends me right back to Dane.

Guilt sinks me deeper into the mattress. I shouldn’t have been so hateful last night, even if I did want to hurt his feelings. Retaliating isn’t my style, and the more I think about it, the worse I feel. I can’t hold on to this and keep fanning flames that should’ve died out years ago. It is pointless and makes me feel nasty.

“Ugh,” I groan, picking up my phone. Not in the mood for happy social media posts, I click the icon for email. Nestled in the middle of a shoe-sale notification and an alert for a new blog post on a sports website is an email from James Snow.

Dear Ms. Kimber,

Thank you for your application to Archon Sports. We were impressed with your résumé and body of work and would like to invite you to interview via telephone.

Please let me know a couple of dates and times that work for you, and I will send a confirmation email and instructions.

Looking forward to meeting you,

James Snow

Managing Editor, Archon Sports

Springing to my feet, I do a little dance in the middle of Claire’s guest room.

“Did I miss something?” Claire asks, coming into the room.

“I just got an interview.”

“Must be pretty special to elicit a dance this soon after waking up.”

“It’s okay,” I say, picking up my shoes. “I actually just left my job, so I’m happy to get anything while I figure out where I really want to land.”

Claire sits with me on the bed. She watches as I slip on my sneakers.

“Sometimes we all need a change of scenery,” she says. “Did you work there long?”

“A few years. They screwed me over on a promotion, and I decided to go elsewhere.” I bite my lip as I stand. “It wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done—just up and quitting my job. But I write stories telling little girls and grown women alike they can achieve anything they want. Not to let anyone knock them down. That they don’t have a ‘place’ in society. Staying at my job would’ve felt really hypocritical, you know?”

“Sounds like you made the right choice.” She gives me a quick hug. “Now I gotta get to the café, or I will be job hunting too.”