Page 12 of Glitched Play

I glance up to find Chase dropping onto the empty picnic bench beside me, one leg swinging over the seat like he belongs there. His dark sunglasses hide his eyes, but the corner of his mouth tips upward, which makes the accusation feel less like a question and more like proof he’s already convicted me.

"What thing?"

He rests his forearms on the table and angles his head toward me. "The staring-into-space-while-mentally-building-something thing."

"I'm not building something."

He says nothing. Just waits. It is deeply unfair how effective silence can be when used by someone attractive. "And we lost her," he says at last.

I blink. "Lost who?"

"You." His grin spreads. "You're talking in code again."

A laugh slips out before I can stop it, mostly because he’s not wrong and partially because he says it like being strange is interesting instead of inconvenient.

Especially then.

He leans a little closer, lowering his voice as if we’re discussing a secret play instead of whatever disaster is happening inside my brain. "What are you working on?"

I launch into an explanation before I can stop myself.

Five minutes later I'm using a ketchup bottle, three napkins, and a paper plate to explain player retention psychology.

Most people would've walked away after thirty seconds, but Chase nods like I'm discussing something fascinating. Because to him, apparently, I am.

"That's actually brilliant."

Heat creeps into my cheeks. "You're just saying that."

"No. I have absolutely no clue what half those words mean, but you lit up talking about it."

Something in my chest softens.

That's the thing about Chase. He doesn't need to understand everything. He just makes me feel understood.

My phone vibrates against the table. Unknown number. But it does have the location on the screen, Austin, TX. Not that it means anything. Plenty of scammers ghost phone numbers all the time.

I stare at it too long and the call drops. A few seconds later it rings again.

Chase glances down. "You gonna answer that?"

"Probably spam."

"I don’t think spammers call back immediately,” he says with a sly smile.

I sigh and stand before walking a few feet away from the crowd. "Hello?"

"Is this Maci Hart?"

My stomach tightens. "Yes."

"Hi, Maci. This is Dara calling from Synatrix Global Interactive."

Everything around me goes quiet. I no longer hear the laughter or the conversations happening around me. All of it fades.

"We received your application for the Creative Strategist position."

My pulse kicks harder.