by Elicia Hyder
Me: Safe and sound. I only allow myself one accident per trip.
A second later, my phone beeped again.
West: My lucky day. :) Of all the pickups in all the towns in all the world, she ran into mine.
A gleeful squeal slipped out before I could stop it, and I spun around in my office chair, disregarding the pain that swirled in my head.
There was a knock at the door, and my feet slammed onto the floor so fast I almost toppled over. Ow. I brushed the hair that had whipped across my face out of my eyes and saw Ava, my other boss, smiling in the doorway.
She walked in and sat down on the edge of the seat across from my desk. “I must know what that was all about.” She crossed her legs, resting her hands and the papers she was holding on her knee.
Ava was the carbon copy of Audrey, minus five years and all the wrinkles. She was softer and far less demanding, approachable but still firm. She was classy, but considering all the drama swirling around the office, she was also a bit of a rebel. I liked that.
However, she was still my boss, so I straightened in my seat and tried to look professional. It was no use. I couldn’t stop smiling. “I’m sorry,” I said, hiding my red cheeks behind my hand.
She waved her papers at me. “Don’t be sorry. Just spill the beans. You’re dying to tell somebody. I can see it all over your face. What’s his name?”
I laughed and dropped my hands into my lap. “West Adler.”
“Adler?” She turned her ear toward me like she wasn’t sure she’d heard me correctly. “As in Adler Construction?”
I rested my elbows on my desk, then immediately jerked back upright, sucking a sharp, pained breath in through my clenched teeth.
“Are you OK?” she asked.
I looked down at the bandage on my arm. “I fell and scraped the skin off my elbow this morning, but yeah, I’m OK. You’ve heard of Adler Construction?”
She chuckled, then motioned around the room. “They built your office, honey.”
I was confused.
She bent toward me. “The Summit Tower. They built it.”
My mouth fell open. “Shut up.”
“The Adlers are sort of like royalty in this town.” She held up her hand, rubbing her fingers together. “Lots of money in that family.”
Withering in my seat, I gripped my head in my hands. “Are you serious?”
“Girl, I never joke about men or money.” She leaned on the armrest of her chair. “How did you meet him?”
I slid my hands down the sides of my face, pulling my lips into a distorted frown. “I ran into him at a stop light on my way into work this morning.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean you ‘ran into him’?”
I made two fists, then crashed them together with sound effects.
“Like boom?” she asked.
“Like boom. I literally slammed into the back of his truck.”
She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. “Uh-oh.” She nodded toward my phone laying on the desk. “Well, he must not have been too mad about it if you’re in here spinning around in your chair.”
I bit down on the tip of my index fingernail. “He drove me to work, and now he’s quoting Casablanca.”
Obviously impressed, she slowly clapped her hands. “Congratulations. You must have left quite the impression.”
I nodded. “Yeah, on his bumper.”
We both burst out laughing.
Finally, she pointed at me. “Oh, Lucy. You and I are going to be great friends.”
My heart swelled. She knows my name.
“Did you need something from me, Ava?”
She turned in her chair and craned her neck to look down the hall. “No. I was looking for a place to hide when I heard you squeal.” She jerked her thumb toward the door. “Almost everyone else is in the conference room, and I’m afraid my ex is going to show up with his lawyer.”
I grimaced. “You can hide in here as long as you need to.”
“Thanks.” She laughed. “I promise, things are normally more professional around here than they have been since you came on board.”
I leaned back in my chair. “I believe that. You don’t get where you are in this business by pure luck.”
“Do you like it so far? The music business,” she asked.
Tilting my head from side to side, I gave a noncommittal shrug. “I’m still getting used to it. It’s a little surreal doing promos for people you hear on the radio all the time.”
She cut her eyes over at me with a cheeky smile. “Try sleeping with them.”
We laughed again.
My phone buzzed on the desk. I picked it up.
West: Have a great day, Lucy. Maybe we’ll “run into each other” again soon. :-) :-)
The Scott sisters were so lucky to have me. My productivity level was astounding. By lunchtime, I’d found West Adler’s Facebook page, his Instagram account, and every newspaper article written about him or his family since the birth of the internet. What else was a single girl to do in the digital age besides use the company Wi-Fi to cyberstalk the fourth-ranked most eligible bachelor in all of Music City according to The Nashville Scene?
West Adler was thirty-three.
Never married.
A graduate of Belmont with a master’s degree in business.
He was a philanthropist. A benefactor of not one, but two children’s hospitals, the performing arts, a rehab center for girls, the local women’s roller derby team…
A roller derby team?
When I read the words again, a black-and-white movie reel flickered on in my brain. Women in short shorts and knee-high socks skated around a wooden bowl the size of my apartment, shoving and knocking each other out of the way. They all had tattoos. They all had Bettie Paige bangs adorned with Rosie the Riveter bandanas.
I searched the internet for the Nashville roller derby.
Employee of the Year, right here.
Founded in 2008, the Music City Rollers is an all-female, non-profit, skater-governed roller derby league in Nashville, Tennessee. We are dedicated to training up strong, independent female athletes who value character over appearance and integrity over winning. We are an inclusive league comprised of women with diverse backgrounds and skill sets who are committed to excellence on and off the roller derby track. The final home game of the season is Saturday, August 22 at the Municipal Auditorium…
I looked at the calendar beside my phone. The twenty-second was tomorrow. When I turned back to the screen again, my eyes fell on the logo for Adler Construction. They were the first listed sponsor. Maybe it was a sign.
I nibbled on my fingernail, then picked up my phone and texted Olivia again.
Do you have plans tomorrow?
When she didn’t answer right away, I turned back to my screen and clicked the link for Adler Construction. The company website popped open in a new browser window, and vivid photos of high-rise buildings filled my screen. They were set against a stark white background, and the “heart and mission” of the company was described in a crisp sans font. God knows this love affair might have ended before it began had I stumbled onto animated GIFs and Comic Sans.
But there were zero pictures of West on the entire site. I checked. Every page.
My phone buzzed.
Olivia: I’m having a threesome with a bag of Cheetos, a carton of rocky road, and the final season of Sons of Anarchy.
Me: Did you know Nashville has a women’s roller derby team?
Olivia: Yeah. A girl I went to college with plays.
Me: I want to go.
Olivia: Have fun.
Me: Go with me!
Olivia: I’m busy.
Me: You just said you’re staying home to watch TV.
Olivia: That’s important business.
Me: :-(
Olivia: Don’t sad-emoticon me. It’s my only Saturday off this month.
Me: Please go with me.
Olivia: Fine. But you’re buying.
> Me: Deal.
Olivia: Why the sudden interest?
Me: It might be about a guy…
Olivia: Ugh. I changed my mind. I’m staying home.
Me: :-(
Olivia: You know it’s an all-girl sport, right? If you’re trying to get a date there, it’ll have to be with a woman.
Me: That’s your department…hey, maybe we can find YOU a date.
Olivia: Good point. I’m back in.
Me: I’ll see you tonight.
Olivia: I’m closing. I’ll see you in the morning.
I put my phone down and turned back toward the computer. It was time to put cute bachelors out of my mind and get back to work. But the Music City Rollers still lit up my screen. And they were almost as distracting as West Adler.
Two
On Saturday, I slept in till after eight, which was quite a feat for the girl who had inherited the Morning Person Gene from her former military father and was usually out of bed with the birds each day. Perhaps it was the Advil PM I’d downed at bedtime the night before to combat the pain and stiffness that had settled into my joints since the accident. My first conscious thought was: Don’t move. Because as soon as I did…
“Sweet, holy mother!”
Tears sprang to my eyes as I forced my legs toward the side of the bed. I groaned and prayed for death. For a moment, I considered pulling the comforter up over my head and hiding there all day, but my sore arms couldn’t bear the weight of the blanket. Ultimately, thoughts of roller skates and West Adler slipped past the suffocating clouds of agony and coaxed me from my fluffy cocoon.
My body almost audibly creaked as I wrenched myself out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom for a few more caplets of ibuprofen. I winced as I pulled the bandage off my bloody elbow. Then I poured hydrogen peroxide over the wound and swore as it bubbled on the raw flesh. I recovered it with a thick piece of gauze, a strip of plastic wrap, and enough athletic tape to bind the hull of the Titanic. The waterproofing was necessary because braving the shower was next.
And the shower was a mistake, no matter what Most Eligible Bachelor might have been looming in the future of my day. The hot water seared into scrapes and cuts too small for the naked eye to see. And if I thought washing and conditioning my hair was painful, it didn’t even compare to the pain of blow drying.
“The things we do for men,” I whined to my reflection in the mirror over the roar of the dryer.
Before finally leaving the bathroom, I gathered my dirty laundry from the basket and carried it to the washer in the hallway.
Olivia didn’t emerge from her bedroom until almost time for lunch. I was folding my load of whites on the couch when she stumbled out of her room like she’d awoken from the dead. Her wavy brown hair was matted across her face, and her eyes were bloodshot and swollen. I had honestly never seen her look worse, and considering we’d known each other longer than I could remember, that was saying something.
I dropped the pair of cotton shorts I was folding onto my lap. “Whoa. Rough night?”
She rubbed her nose, then shuffled behind me toward the kitchen. “Some days, I really think I mortgaged my soul to buy this restaurant, only to put myself into an early grave.”
“What happened this time?”
Olivia was the owner of a trendy hotspot in East Nashville called Lettuce Eat. Her restaurant specialized in farm-to-table cuisine and bad jokes. Each menu item was a silly pun rather than an appetizing description that actually made sense.
Case in point? Their newest side dish—Bitch, Peas—based on the current hottest song on the country charts.
Fortunately, the food was delicious and worthy of all the hype the names generated.
She pulled a mug from the cabinet and put it under the spout of the Keurig before pressing the start button. “I had a waitress poison her ex-boyfriend’s dinner last night.”
My mouth fell open. “No.”
“Yes.” She got my carton of milk out of the refrigerator. “The girl came in all red faced and snot nosed last week because, apparently, he cheated on her.”
I sighed. “You’re such a sympathetic boss.”
When the coffee maker hissed to a stop, Olivia poured in the milk and carried her mug to the opposite end of the sectional sofa. “You have no idea the crap I deal with. Anyway, he came in last night to talk to her and had dinner at the bar.” She propped her feet up on the coffee table. “Well, I guess he has a severe peanut allergy and she holds a bit of a grudge.”
I pinched my lips together.
She nodded. “The girl poured about a half a cup of our Thai peanut sauce all over his grilled Marco Pollo chicken before slamming it down in front of him. We got the whole thing on the security camera.”
“What happened to him?” I asked.
“Anaphylactic shock. Stopped breathing and everything. We had to call an ambulance.” She slurped as she drank. “The cops came and arrested her right before closing. I was at the police station until about four this morning.”
I cut my eyes over at her. “Are you sure you didn’t poison someone? That totally sounds like something you would do.”
She grinned. “I know, right? But it really wasn’t me.”
I laughed and shook my head.
“My job is never boring. What happened to you yesterday? Why were you getting into cars with strangers? Didn’t your daddy warn you about that shit?”
I balled a pair of ankle socks together and added them to the stack on the coffee table. “Yes. My dad would have a stroke if he knew. Don’t you dare tell him.”
“I won’t. What happened?”
“I got in a wreck.”
She frowned. “Who did you hit?”
My mouth fell open. “Hey! How do you know someone didn’t hit me?”
She raised an eyebrow. “You backed into the building manager’s golf cart the day you moved in, and you took out the security arm at the front gate of the complex just two weeks ago.”
“I didn’t know it came down between every car!”
“There’s a sign, Lucy.”
I opened my mouth for a rebuttal, but I didn’t have one.
“Nobody was hurt, right?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I’m really sore, but it’s nothing serious. My car, on the other hand…” My bottom lip poked out. “The guy at the body shop said to prepare for a total loss. The adjuster is supposed to be there on Monday.”
“That sucks.”
“I know. The truck I rear-ended barely had a scratch. It messed up his bumper,” I said.
She made a sour face. “I’d hate to see your insurance payments.” She nudged me with her socked foot. “I just had a position open up on my wait staff if you need some extra income.”
I laughed. “No thanks, but I appreciate the offer.”
“How did you get home from work yesterday if you don’t have a car?” she asked.
“Had to call an Uber,” I said. “On the upside—”
“There’s an upside to a traffic accident?”
“I met someone.”
“Who?”
“The guy I rear-ended.”
She snickered behind her cup like a twelve-year-old boy who’d heard his first dirty joke.
“Really mature, Olivia.”
“Is this guy the reason you want to go see roller derby today?”
I put the laundry basket on the floor and tucked my legs underneath me. “Yes. He’s a sponsor of the team.”
“What’s his name?”
“Have you heard of Adler Construction?”
She shrugged. “Sure. I’ve seen their signs.”
“His name is West Adler,” I said.
Her face scrunched up. “That’s not a guy’s name. It’s a street name.” She made the shape of a phone with her hand and pressed it to the side of her face. “Hey, Lucy. I’ll meet you this afternoon at the corner of Main and West Adler.”
I threw a couch cushion at her, then winced from the pain.
&nb
sp; Laughing, she shielded her coffee from my attack.
“If he asked you to come, why do I have to go?” she asked.
“Well, he didn’t ask me.”
She blinked with surprise. “So we’re stalking him.”
“No!” Yes, I was totally stalking him. “I’m just hoping to run into him again.”
She got up and walked toward the kitchen, glancing back over her shoulder as she went. “Not that I’m an expert on guys or anything, but I don’t think the way to a man’s heart is by crashing into his car multiple times.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad you’re getting out of the house to go somewhere other than work.” She opened the refrigerator door. “Have you done anything fun since you moved here?”
I folded a white camisole into a perfect square. “Does visiting you at work count?”
“No.”
My nose wrinkled. “Then no.” I tried to remember the last time I’d been out, period, even before I moved to Nashville. Nothing easily came to mind.
“And, of all things to do in this great city, you want to go watch roller derby,” she said.
“I spent a lot of time on their website yesterday. It looks like fun. Have you ever been?” I asked.
“No.” She returned a second later carrying one of the yogurts I’d bought. “But I’ve seen their flyers up all over East Nashville.”
I pointed at her. “Are you going to eat all my food?”
She spoke around the spoon in her mouth. “I’ll pay you back.”
I pushed myself off the couch, then bent gingerly to pick up my laundry basket. “What should I wear tonight?”
“Clothes.”
“I don’t know why I waste my breath talking to you,” I said, shaking my head as I crossed the room.
“Hey! What time are we leaving?” she called out as I walked down the hall.
“Doors open at six!”
The lobby of the Municipal Auditorium downtown was packed with an eclectic sampling of social diversity. In front of us in the ticket line was a young, suburban-type couple with a toddler. Behind us? A grown man in a teal tutu. There were nurses wearing scrubs and old people wearing clown wigs. A group of frat boys was chugging beers near the entrance, and I may have spotted a vampire in the corner.
