“McKenna!” he yells one last time, but it’s too late. I’ve already reached the stairwell. There is no way I’m waiting for an elevator to get here.
I charge down the first flight of stairs, my thoughtstoo angry and hurt to make sense. By the second floor, I’m running out of oxygen and have to choose between breathing or huffing and puffing. Thank God the cafeteria is only another flight down. I take the last set of steps slower, giving myself time to think.
Obviously it’s not like Oliver and I are dating or even in a relationship. I have absolutely no reason to care who he’s sleeping withother than how it will affect publicity. But I do. The thought I left him in his bedroom and then he immediately went out and found someone to sleep with disgusts me. How can men do shit like that? Don’t they have morals? Aren’t they raised with some kind of standards?
Shouldn’t you at least buy a girl dinner before you stick your penis in her? I’m not letting someone in the happy hole unlesshe’s at least bought me a cheeseburger.
Really, it’s all stuff I already knew. This is nothing but more proof that athletes are dickheads. Selfish. Crazy. Sex crazed. He probably has a roster of girls he calls up whenever he needs to get some. I wouldn’t put it past anyone here. There’s a rumor going around the bobsledding team and some of the speed skaters had an orgy in someone’s room. Ofcourse nobody will confirm or deny it. Even us public relations people keep gossip from each other. Nobody trusts anyone.
The door to the floor I need comes into view and I pick up my pace for the last few steps. The whole place is crazy. And I am too for working here. I don’t know why I stuck around so long. It’s time for my crazy period to end. I don’t want to be here until the closing ceremoniesand I certainly don’t want another two-week debriefing period in New York. All I want… no all Ineedis to get home to California and be surrounded by my own belongings and friends and heat. Some damn sunshine. I never want to watch another athletic event ever again. I don’t even want to see an athlete give an interview.
The door to the cafeteria is propped open and I walk through, spottingthe person I need to see to end my misery right away. Perfect. He sits at a table to the side of the room, reading on a tablet.
Fuck this. I’m done.
I slide into an empty seat at his table, nobody else daring to sit here. Asbell doesn’t even look up.
“I quit,” I say banging my hand on the table.
