Blaire shrugs and flips her long black hair over her shoulder. She’s a pretty woman with milk chocolate eyes and a curvier figure than mine. She’s 5’5”, exactly my height, so we always joke about how we’re able to see eye-to-eye on so many things. As two of only a handful of women in TheAthlete’s Editdivision ofICON Magazine, we’ve learned to stick together.
Groaning, Blaire grumbles, “You’re so lucky you got that job. If I’d gotten it, I’d have made it a beach theme so I could spend all day rubbing that fine man down with tanning oil. You always get the hotties.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get the next one.”
She snorts and shakes her head. “Not likely. Juliet always gives you the good subjects because you’re her favorite.”
I let out a bark of laughter. “I am not Juliet’s favorite, you weirdo. Besides, the guy was nice and fun to shoot, but he spent half the time talking about his girlfriend. No chance of biting, or bagging, or rubbing there.”
Blaire pursues her red-stained lips together in a pout. “Damn… why are all the good ones taken?”
Sighing, I nod. “Yeah, I know. It just doesn’t seem fair.”
My mind immediately jumps to Miles and my heart aches. For a short time, I’d thought he was one of the good ones. Then, I came home to find him in our bed fucking some bimbo… and I realized just how stupid I’d been.
That was right before Grace and Jensen’s wedding.
Shaking my head, I push thoughts of that asshat away, refusing to let him impact my day. I’ve wasted enough time on him. Over a year, to be exact, of a bad relationship.
“You know, I’ve actually started talking to someone,” Blaire says, pulling me out of my head as she perches on the edge of my desk next to me. “I’ve been using this new dating app, Cloak, and it’s pretty exciting.”
I furrow my brow, intrigued, though I do my best not to show it. “Cloak? I’ve never heard of that. What is it?”
“It takes after ‘Love is Blind,’” she explains. “You match with someone, but you don’t know what they look like or their real name or anything. You have to chat with them and get to know them before you can actually set up a time to meet them. It’s supposed to help create deeper connections that aren’t biased based on looks.”
“That kind of sounds like a Dateline episode waiting to happen.”
Blaire chuckles. “I know, right? I was hesitant at first because of the anonymity thing, but the app has a heavy vetting process. Members are required to do background checks and input license numbers so their identity can be verified.”
“Huh.” That does sound… interesting. Still not loving the idea of not even knowing the name of someone I’m talking to, but I get the concept. “And you don’t get to see their picture?”
“For at least the first month,” she clarifies. “They’re pretty strict about it, too. If you break the rules, you get kicked off the app and permanently banned.”
“Yikes,” I whistle. “Seems kind of harsh.”
Blaire shrugs. “They have to maintain the integrity of the app’s goal. Anyway, I like it. It’s helped me find someone, and it feels like we’re really connecting. You should look into it. I think it’d help you get back out there after Miles.”
I flinch at the mention of his name but nod and force a smile. “I don’t know… doesn’t really sound like my thing.”
We’ve officially stepped into territory I don’t want to talk about, so when my phone suddenly rings, I nearly groan in relief. I see that it’s our boss, Juliet, calling, I immediately grab it.
“Yes?”
“Rylee, can you come to my office, please?”
“Sure thing.”
Hanging up, I hop out of my chair and give Blaire an apologetic shrug.
“Sorry, gotta go,” I say. “Juliet… ”
“Yes, yes, of course,” she grumbles, slipping away from my desk. “Go see what your next awesome assignment is. I’ll just go back to my desk and stew in my jealousy.”
Chuckling, I turn and make my way across the large open space of the news floor, weaving through the maze of standing and sitting desks of reporters, writers, and photographers to get to Juliet’s office. Her door is slightly open, but I still knock before I make my way inside.
The first thing I notice when I walk into Juliet’s office is how crazy organized it is. Glossy magazines are stacked in straight, neat towers on the floor, some flagged with neon Post-its, others splayed open to pages she’s marked up with a red pen, but it doesn’t feel messy. There’s a clear intention behind these piles and a system for how they’re sorted.
The walls are a mix of sports memorabilia and framed cover shoots—SEC quarterbacks grinning under stadium lights, country singers in cowboy boots with captions about “Southern grit,” and a black-and-white photo of a female boxer that reminds you to “keep swinging.” There’s a signed Titans jersey framed in a shadow box and a cracked softball bat displayed on a specially made shelf.
