Page 15 of Breakaway Hearts

I meant somewhere else. Like the Commons. Angela says you hit it off there with someone ‘super sexy’.

Me

He plays hockey.

Jason

Want to try Words & Lattes?

Me

Stay with your friends. I’m almost home, and I need to find extracurriculars.

Jason

I heard there’s a yodeling club.

Me

Tempting. I’ll practice once you’re home for feedback.

Jason

Can’t wait.

Me

Have fun.

I ride the elevator to the third floor, which feels like a waste, but stairwells are scary, so I only take them when Jay is with me.

Once inside, I bring my laptop to the couch in the living room and reread the end of the email from my advisor.

“Candidates are expected to excel in academics, but also in social circles, with philanthropy…we appreciate well-rounded students. Every other Pruitt intern has either been an athlete, a musician, in student government, on the paper…given your lack of finances or connections, the internship is your best chance at a scholarship for law school. Mr. Pruitt himself has been known to sponsor students he believes have a future at his firm, which is what you told me you wanted, but he caters to the wealthy, who expect a certain…attitude. And pedigree.”

He’s saying I need to smile more and stop rolling my eyes or glaring at him, but it would be a lot easier if he wasn’t implying that my ability to defend clients and practice law is contingent upon being able to sip champagne in a fancy cocktail dress and play golf. Which, even if I could, wouldn’t matter, because female associates are never invited on the green. I checked.

Part of the reason I want the Pruitt internship is that while they represent the wealthiest assholes you could imagine, they use at least some of that money to fund pro bono cases, and a bunch of community outreach, like sports teams for lower income kids, reading to sick children in hospitals…and it’s not just about throwing money at the problems; partners and associates are expected to participate in or spearhead at least one of the initiatives. They’re the firm I want to work for, because unlike the smaller ones that only take on the kind of cases I would like to work on, they also have the money and the clout to win their pro bonos rather than get crushed by slimy lawyers who know their clients are guilty but make enough money that they don’t care.

I look up the last ten people who won the Pruitt internship, and my advisor is right; eight played a sport, one was on the debate team, and another was the editor of the school paper. Since I quit the only sport I was ever good at, I scour the campus website for other options.

Debate Club would be good, since it’s basically what I’ll spend my career doing, but when I pull up the current roster, I see a guy from my English class who’d seemed nice – they always do – until we all went out after finals and he…not that he did anything, but he wasn’t great at taking no for an answer the first five times I gave it. If Jason hadn’t shown up, I may or may not have been about to either knee him in the balls or lock myself in the women’s washroom.

I won’t let one asshole keep me from this internship, but there has to be a better option.

There are a few open positions on the school paper, but I immediately dismiss covering sports, because I don’t hate myself anymore. The photographer also seems to be attending sporting events and award ceremonies. No thank you.

Which leaves the crossword puzzle or writing articles, which isn’t really what I’m going for, but a few well thought-out and articulate pieces could look good on my internship application. I think it said Pruitt was on his school paper…

I start making a list of things I could potentially write a couple thousand words on, but my stomach growls so loudly I sound like Jason. We have a bunch of premade meals in the fridge, but I think I deserve a treat. I sat through an hour of discussing the worst night of my life and how much it messed me up, so this brainstorming session is going to happen in the Mexican restaurant across the street.

I lock the deadbolt as the elevator dings. It is such a Jason thing to do, coming home to make sure I’m okay instead of hanging out with his other friends.

But he would have texted to say he was leaving. And asked if I wanted cheese sticks or boneless chicken wings this time, because while I absolutely hate the hockey-themed sports bar, their food is amazing. (Honestly, Slapshots would be my favorite spot for a night out on campus if it weren’t for their affinity for sports)

I turn before my imagination runs too wild and find myself staring into the gorgeous emerald eyes of…Owen fucking Brooks.

My heart rate speeds up. With anger, I tell myself, but at first it might be betraying me a bit by being excited that he’s here. It quickly turns to panic when I remember I didn’t give him my last name. Even if I had, I’m not on the lease.