Page 19 of Hard to Lose

“You know this place?” I ask.

“I’ve been there a time or two. Mostly passing through. Cool town though.”

“I don’t know, I’ve yet to really leave the hotel room.”

“Chase,” he warns like an older brother. “You need to stop and smell the roses occasionally. You’re all business, all the time, and someone your age should have a little fun. Let loose.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say and roll my eyes even though he can’t see it.

“I can hear you tuning me out.” He chuckles. “But you’re having no luck finding him so far?”

I open my mouth and then close it, because I really haven’t looked yet. “I only got here yesterday. Brex told me that I needed to be low-key about it. That—”

“That they protect their own. She’s right. Besides, it shouldn’t be too hard to find him. I can call a few buddies of mine who deal in military personnel if need be, but I should be able to knock this out by next week.”

“Really?” I ask, more than grateful for his help.

“Really. Or maybe I’ll take my sweet time finding this Ryan guy so it forces you to figure out how to take some R&R and mosey around town for a while.”

“Mosey?” I snort and then start laughing.

“Yes, I said mosey,” he sighs, to cover what sounds like his own laugh. “Send over what you have on this Camden guy, and I’ll get back in touch with you when I have something.”

“Thanks, Kelly. You’re the best.”

I end the call and toss my cell down on top of the notepad directly in front of me. It’s a list. The list I made this morning when I woke up to keep me on task. It’s lengthy and detailed and so incredibly essential to my everyday life, so I made one. It’s a list of things I plan—no, need—to accomplish while I’m down here for however long I end up being here.

I was thinking two weeks, but I’m beginning to think that it might be a bit longer.

So I made a list. At the top of it and underlined twice is: “Find Ryan Camden.” Then research public relations companies. Do a deep dive into our competition to see what their social media presence looks like compared to ours. Then look into hiring a company to possibly analyze our social media to tell us where we are lacking or can improve. Research veteran sports and events of the past. And then I added all the stuff for my day-to-day job—review contracts, follow-up on endorsement deals, recruitment calls.

It’s a long list but lists make me happy. They make me feel organized seeing everything I have to do laid out and then accomplished when I get to draw a line through each task I complete. The next step is to map out an achievable daily planner to keep on track and meet my goals.

I even added “Sex with Gunner” to it, because even if it’s a ridiculous thing to add to a list, if my probable interlude isn’t on it, then that means it would be haphazard and unexpected. It would be on a romantic (bleh) whim. By it being there, it—Gunner—sex with him—will stay as it needs to be, compartmentalized so it doesn’t distract me from the task at hand.

Because let’s face it, I let last night get away from me. I was tired and easily flattered by a more-than-attractive man. A man I’m excited to meet up with later . . . but I cannot allow that momentary blip on my radar to distract me from what I came here to do.

As it is, I complicated things enough with my I’m a grad student writing her thesis bullshit.

The positive? I’ve made some headway on my list. It’s superficial at best, but at least I’ve gotten a start on it. Calls have been made, a plan set in action, and now that I’m organized, I feel like I can move forward.

That, and I know what and where Grandy’s is.

I get lost in my work after Kelly’s call. Contracts and researching what exactly social media analytics entails and tips on unhappy athletes I might be able to snag from another agent. It’s only when the alarm on my phone goes off the second time that I pay attention to the time.

From there, I’m a scrambled mess of what to wear and how to do my hair. Of shaving legs and putting on makeup. Of driving to where I’ve been directed to Grandy’s is, only to find that every available inch of parking space in Destiny Falls seems to be taken for one reason or another.

So I park where I can, and then walk the rest of the way to the old school ice cream shop a block from the town’s main boulevard. I’m surprised how many people are milling about on a Thursday evening. I assume there’s a high school sports game of some sort and, since sports are my life, am obviously interested in what sport.

Ryan Camden could be anywhere in this town. Hell, he could be the guy who just walked past me or he could have moved on and now lives elsewhere.

I turn around to give one more look at the crowd who just passed me, as if I even know what Ryan looks like beyond the grainy photos I found on the Internet.

Focus, Chase.

The irony in that thought is not lost on me. I’m here to find Ryan Camden but I’m telling myself to focus on my date with the bartender from last night.

And so I forget the notion that Ryan was in that crowd somewhere, and I head to Grandy’s.