Overtime Play by Kasey Moone Page A

a mean bitch for once in her life. “Thanks for one last fuck, Mr. Rain.”
    Two things happened simultaneously. There was the look of surprise in his eyes and a hiss from his lips. She gasped when he placed a foot between her legs.
    “Are those your parting words?”
    Squaring her shoulders, she soldiered on. “What don’t you understand, Mr. Rain? I quit. We’re through. Kapeesh.”
    “If you would—”
    “You’ve made my life a living hell since the moment I laid eyes on you at The Dollar Place.” She hesitated for a moment, but continued on, fueled by her pain. “First, you get me fired from my job, a job I desperately needed. Then, you make me follow you around this hotel to do your bidding like I’m supposed to be thankful for your generosity. Am I supposed to praise you for your goodwill? I’ve had enough.”
    “I thought you enjoyed the work,” he said, tight-lipped.
    “You thought wrong. I’m tired of putting up with your bullshit. Making your coffee. Finding your folders. Scheduling your meetings. This has been the longest week of my damn life. The sooner it’s over, the better.” She hurried up the stairs in search for the safety of her room, where she could fall apart alone.
    “If you want to go back to the station, that’s fine.”
    “No. I want to be done with you and that station—for good.”
    “Fine,” he spat, coming up behind her. “If you want to spend the rest of your life working at lousy dollar-hole joints, go ahead, they suit you.”
    She whirled around and slapped him hard, the bite of the contact smarting her hand. In all of her years, she had never hit someone. Immediately, she felt sick with shame.
    Eyes narrowed, he rubbed at what would become a bruise.
    She opened her mouth to apologize, to say anything that would make it all better, but he spoke first. “I’ll send your last check in the mail. Bonus pay and all.”
    The mention of the bonus money made her feel dizzy with sadness. Remembering the phone message, she fumbled up the few remaining stairs.
    “Keep the money,” she whispered. “Keep it all.”
    Exiting the stairwell, she hurried down the hall to her room, telling herself that whatever it took she’d find a way to move on. Come rain or sunshine, she’d forget Jeremy Rain if it was the last thing she did.
    ****
    The following week, snuggled up on her couch, Mira watched another action movie. In the midst of a sword fighting scene, a woman told her best friend of twenty years that she loved him. Mira grabbed the remote control and switched the channel.
    “Girl, it’s not worth it! Men are scum!” She viciously clicked the remote control then ate another scoop of her ice cream. Despite herself, for the hundredth time, she thought about Jeremy, who hadn’t contacted her in an entire week. Although she’d basically written him off in Daytona, her heart pinched at the realization that he’d managed to forget her so easily. A bitter laugh escaped her. He hadn’t even blinked when she’d gone to the station to pick up her belongings and apologize for the slap. He’d just walked on by as if she were a ghost. Whatever spark they’d managed to maintain in Daytona was dead. It was officially over.
    She raised her fingers to her temple, knowing she looked like a sea monster in her baggy jogging pants and T-shirt, but refusing to give into the urge to change.
    Around noon she smiled when Kelly stopped by. Her friend was decked out with the essentials: a sad R&B CD, chocolate fudge ice cream, and candy.
    “Damn, girl. You look a mess.”
    “Kelly, don’t start,” she mumbled, stuffing her face with another scoop of double fudge ice cream. Of course her friend had to look gorgeous in a peach-colored jacket, cream beige pants, and matching sandals.
    “Do you want me to go over there and kick his butt?”
    Mira grunted, knowing full well her best friend would actually do it. “No, girl. I’ll be fine.”
    “Maybe you misheard the message.”
    Mira laughed