I’m outside pacing the parking lot way before Jessa should be here. Maybe I’ll use this time to look up whether what I just saw is a crime. If it is a dead body, then yeah, it’s a crime. My brain is going into overdrive, and I can only hope Jessa comes soon.
But will she think I’m crazy? I’m already questioning my sanity as it is. I don’t need to bring others into it.
“Laney,” Jessa calls out. She’s hanging out of the window of her little car and gestures to the back seat.
I breathe a sigh of relief that she’s here. Why though? I’m outside the apartment. Maybe I was worried Chandie would come home before Jessa got here?
The guy I recognize as Jessa’s boyfriend from pictures she’s shown me is in the passenger seat, so I walk to the back door and pull the handle. It reveals a man who looks like Shaquille O’Neil trying to fit into a smart car.
“The other side is open,” Jessa says, leaning over so I can see her face.
“No problem,” I say, shutting the door and walking around. My movements are robotic and slow, but I finally make it to the other door. Maybe I should justgo back inside and go to bed instead of bringing others into my panic session.
But I’ll be honest, I don’t see myself sleeping in there anytime soon.
I’m a sideline reporter. I can roll with the unexpected. And I was in the school play for two years. Channeling those dusty acting skills can help me get through a few hours, right?
Once inside, Jessa turns to me and points first to the guy in the passenger seat and then the one sitting behind him. “Laney, this is my boyfriend, Clark, and his teammate, Burton.”
I raise my eyebrow. “Burton? Is that a nickname?”
At least I know my inquisitive side can take over despite how fast my brain is spinning scenarios about other things.
He scowls and shakes his head.
“I’ve never really asked,” Jessa says, staring at the large man in the back seat.
Clark lays a hand on her forearm and says, “It’s just easier to call him Burton.”
It’s a strange interaction, but maybe the guy is sensitive about his name. I’ve been mistaken for a guy named Lane more times than I can count.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, giving him a small smile. He nods, but the look on his face is pained.
“How long until we’re back at the house?” Burton asks. “My hipsare dying here.”
“Turn to the side, gomer,” Jessa says, putting the vehicle in reverse and pressing on the gas.
Burton shifts so his knees are angled toward me. The guy’s feet are almost double the length of mine.
“Are you a basketball player?” I ask. I’ve worked on one of their games but haven’t interacted with the entire team at this point. Maybe he’s one I don’t recognize. As a sports reporter, that’s a bad sign. But seeing as how I’ve only been in Utah for two weeks, I can give myself some grace. I’ll have to study up on the teams a little better when I get back tonight.
Back to what? The morgue that is my apartment?
He and Clark laugh until Clark is slapping his leg. Did I miss something?
I glance up at the rearview mirror, and Jessa catches my eye for a second and shakes her head. “Burton is Clark’s teammate.”
And then I feel like an idiot. “That’s right. You already said that. Sorry, I’m just a little airheaded right now.”
Not that I know a lot about lacrosse, but this guy must be at least six inches taller than Clark. He’d be an excellent hockey player for sure.
“How did Jessa wrangle you to come to this brainstorming session?” Burton asks, looking a little more comfortable now that he’s moved his legs. He’s only an inch or two from my own, and I try to scootover, giving him as much room as possible. Usually the backseat of a compact car is just right, but Burton makes it feel like a shoebox.
“She asked nicely,” I say, giving him a small grin. “And I’m glad she did. I think there’s something dead in my apartment.”
I did not mean to say that out loud. My filter is officially gone. Okay, I’m not good at lying, and obviously pushing this issue to the back of my mind only makes me focus on it more.
All eyes turn to me as we make it to the first stoplight.
