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Unknown number 2
Camden Long.
I know of Nico and Camden. They are both professional athletes, playing hockey and football, respectively. Their phone numbers were listed on the piece of paper Malcolm slipped me yesterday at the clinic, but I threw it away. Guess he knows me better than I thought since he sent these two after me. I place my elbows on my knees, watching the messages come in with growing impatience.
Unknown number 1
Nice game.
Unknown number 2
It always feels good to win the first game of the season.
Unknown number 1
Malcolm said you might be looking for somebody to show you around the city. We thought we could grab a beer together.
Unknown number 2
Tell you all the spots to check out.
Unknown number 2
Let us know when you’ve got a day off in your schedule.
No. I won’t be doing that, and I toss my phone into my bag without answering then march off to the showers. I rinse off and change into a pair of athletic shorts, stopped from putting on my T-shirt by my cell phone buzzing again. I grumble about assholes I don’t know as I pick it up, intent on blocking their numbers, but it’s not them. It’s another unknown number calling me, and normally, I wouldn’t answer, but I follow my instinct and hit the green button. “Hello?”
“Oh. Hello. Hi. This is Millie Sheehan, and I’m calling about the personal assistant position for Austin Ashwood.”
I pivot to face the lockers, lowering my head, hoping for a little bit of privacy. “It’s me, Millie. Austin.”
“Austin Ashwood?”
“Yes.”
“Am I speaking with Austin Ashwood right now?”
“Yes.”
She pauses for a long moment and then asks, “Why?”
“What do you mean, why?”
“Why are you answering? I thought you gave me a number to an office or something. Why would you give me your actual phone number?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
She huffs. “I don’t know. You’re the professional baseball player. Do you want random creeps calling you?”
“You’re not a random creep.”
“I could be. I could’ve given this number out to everyone I’ve passed on the street since yesterday.”
“Did you?”
I sit down on the bench, staring into my locker at nothing, sinking into the sound of her voice, laced with a smile as she answers my question. “No, but I could have. I find your behavior very strange and unpredictable.”
I can’t necessarily argue. Commentators, coaches, and fans might agree. I am strange and unpredictable, but I’ve never offered a woman a made-up job before.
