On a Wednesday by Whitney G.

Courtney: Now

Present Day

Seattle, Washington

I can’t believe Kyle had the audacity to show up to my party …

I pressed the elevator button for my floor and stared at the ring on my finger. It was exactly like the one I’d pinned on a Pinterest board years ago, but it felt too heavy.

And far too soon …

Although I’d been friends with Graham for the past couple of years, we were still getting to know each other. Or so I thought.

Our schedules were so hectic, that our dates were mostly stolen moments in passing. My never-ending day shifts conflicted with his late nights; his international travels always came unannounced and in the middle of an important assignment, and our sex …

I downed the rest of my espresso at the thought of it. It was practically nonexistent.

Even though our kisses could last for what felt like hours, and there were nights when I never wanted them to end, he never took things any further.

He always led me close to the edge—until the anticipation raced through my veins, and then he always let me down.

“I want to wait until I know you’re mine one hundred percent,” he’d say.  So, I’d slip into the bathroom and use my vibrator to finish the job.

“You have now arrived,” The elevator’s system sounded, drawing me out of my thoughts. “The Fine Print Publishing. Floor seventy.”

I stepped onto the floor, grateful that no one else was here six hours early. I hadn’t slept all weekend, and whenever I tried to shut my eyes, memories of Kyle flooded my brain, and tears fell past my cheeks.

As much as I hated him for being the second element to that awful surprise party, I couldn’t deny that I still thought about him quite often. There were still nights when I fell asleep with my fingers pressed against my clit, drifting to sleep after fantasizing about him having his way with me again and again. Nights when I couldn’t help replaying the start of the friendship again and again.

Plopping into my chair, I turned off my phone and pulled out my notes on this season’s baseball predictions. I managed to make it through a few projects in peace before my colleagues started trickling into the office.

As I was making my personal list, someone tossed a ream of paper into the air. Then, someone else rang the giant iron bell at the front of the room.

The silly code for all hands-on deck.

Grey and black suits ran in and out of cubicles. Every phone on every desk was suddenly ringing.

I unplugged mine from the wall and continued working on baseball.

The last time there was this much hysteria in the office, LeBron James announced that he was returning to play basketball in Cleveland.

I’ll ask about it later.

“Thank you for coming into work early as always.” Mr. Bruce stepped into my cubicle. He picked up the bag of pretzels on my desk and treated himself to a handful. “I take it that you haven’t heard the news?”

“No.” I leaned back in my chair. “Is LeBron joining a new team again?”

“Ha! This is a way bigger story than that, Miss Johnson.” He crossed his arms. “Kyle Stanton just broke his typical media silence by announcing that he hates New England and he wants to be traded—two days before his team is set to start in the playoffs.”

WHAT?My jaw dropped to the floor.

“Why would he ever do something like that?” I could barely hear my voice. “That’s career suicide …”

“I know.” He shook his head. “Beats everyone. Every beat writer in this country is fighting to figure this shit out by the end of the night. And by every beat writer, that now includes you. You’ll work under Michael’s direction.”

Of course.

“Um, sir …” An intern cleared her throat from behind.

“I’m talking to Miss Johnson right now, Harriet.” He held up his hand. “My morning breakfast order can wait.”

“Kyle Stanton’s agent and personal assistant are in our lobby, sir.” The words rushed out of her mouth. “They say that he wants to arrange an exclusive interview with your best reporter.”

“Um, wow.” Mr. Bruce’s eyes widened, and he smoothed his tie. “Well, uh, of course, send them up to the boardroom, Miss. Johnson, set up the bar with coffee for the three of us and Michael Router, would you?”

Ugh.“Right away, sir.”

He left my cubicle, and I headed to the pantry to grab a basket of snacks. There was an open box of baking soda that I considered placing in Michael’s beloved sugar jar, but too many interns were eyeing my every move.

“Can you slip this to Mr. Stanton’s agent for me?” One of them slipped me something soft. “Tell him to give these directly to Kyle the next time he sees him.”

“What is it?”

“My panties,” she said. “I folded it just enough, so you’re not touching the wet spot.”

She walked away, and I tossed them into the trash.

When I made it to the board room, I stilled at the sight of Kyle standing near the window.

His eyes met mine as I set down the tray.

“Like I was saying—” Mr. Bruce looked more nervous than I’d ever seen him. “I’m confident that Mr. Router will paint your story in the best possible light. And given the circumstances and where we are in the season, we’re willing to fly out to wherever you need us to be, on whatever day you want. Does that sound good?”

“She’s not the interviewer?” Kyle gestured toward me.

“Miss Johnson? Oh, no.” Mr. Bruce let out a low laugh. “Miss Johnson here is an editor in training. She can assist Mr. Router with prep, but that’s about it.”

“So, she’s a goddamn intern?” Kyle asked.

“The senior lead of interns and an editor in training.”

Kyle stared at me in utter disbelief.

I looked away from him.

“Now, I’ll leave you with Mr. Router and Miss Johnson if you wish, so that you can get acquainted, and then I’ll return to set up a few things.” He shook Kyle’s hand and left the room.

Kyle’s agent and his assistant rushed out right behind him.

I was tempted to leave as well, but the look in Kyle’s eyes told me not to go.

I plopped down into a chair at the far end of the table.

“Well, now that we’re alone.” Michael opened his notebook. “I want to start by saying that I find it so insane how the fans are treating you over a comment when your record is beyond stellar on the field this year.”

Kyle continued staring at me, not saying a word.

“But unfortunately —” Michael continued. “That’s the world we live in right now. People take one line and just run with it. Isn’t that right, Courtney?”

I didn’t answer.

Michael clicked his pen. “Let’s start with the obvious, Mr. Stanton. Why are you requesting a trade, when your team is about to make a run for the Super Bowl?”

Kyle clenched his jaw. “Would you mind excusing me and Miss Johnson for a while, Mr. Router?”

“Um, sure. How long?”

“Forever,” he said. “But let’s go with the rest of the day for starters.”

“Um, well …” He looked between us. “Is this like some type of catch-up session since you have the same alma mater?”

“Something like that,” Kyle said. “I’ll let you know when I need you.”

“You can stay in the room, Michael.”

“You can fucking go, Michael.” Kyle’s deep voice followed mine.

Michael didn’t argue. He picked up his things and left the room.

The moment the door shut, Kyle walked toward me.

“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing,” I said. “But if it’s career suicide that you’re after, congratulations. I think you may have sealed the deal.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” he said, glancing at my left hand. “I’m getting an interview from my favorite reporter.”

“As long as you know that’s all you’re getting, then we’ll be fine.” I swallowed as he closed the gap between us, as my heart—once again, betrayed me by wildly dancing in my chest.

“Is there any reason why you’re still playing second fiddle to someone else?” he asked.

“I’m the reporter, Kyle,” I said. “I ask the questions.”

“Apparently you’re just an intern.” He narrowed his eyes. “You get the coffee.”

“Careful.” I felt a pang in my chest. “This conversation is starting to sound a bit like our last one …We know how that one turned out.”

Silence.

I cleared my throat. “If you’re here because of my engagement—” My sentence ended against his finger.

“I don’t give a fuck about your engagement,” he said. “But if you’re expecting me to wish you well and hope it lasts, then don’t hold your breath.”

“I think Michael Router is going to be your best bet for this.”

“We’ll meet for the next few Wednesdays in a row, starting after I play the first round in the playoffs on Sunday,” he said. “I’ll fly you to whatever city I’m in, and I’ll answer your questions via email.”

“Why bother flying to you, if you’re just going to answer everything via email?”

“Because I need to get some other things off my chest.”

“I know a great therapist you can see.”

A faint smile crossed his lips, but he didn’t let it stay.

For a moment, it almost felt like we were in college again—like at the start of our friendship, before things took a turn neither of us expected.

“I’ll see you next week, Courtney.” He stepped back.

“That’s all you have to say?”

“Don’t marry that guy,” he said, looking as if he wanted to say far more. “I’ll see you Wednesday.”