I hate myself for avoiding him, but I can’t help it.

I can’t stand to see him right now. I don’t know why. As I drive back to the office, I keep flitting between anger at him and desire for him, and it’s confusing the hell out of me.

He spread a shitty rumor. He laughed at that janitor catching us. Sean can be a total asshole sometimes.

But he can also be incredible. He can make me laugh. He can get me off. I’ve never wanted someone the way that I want him.

And it’s not fair. I wish it were anyone but fucking Sean.

Unfortunately here I am, stuck in this weird situation with a guy that I hate but also really, really want.

I sigh and park in my usual spot. I head inside, stomping up the steps to my little cubicle toward the back. It’s in the corner of the office, in a damp and dark spot under a flickering fluorescent bulb.

I drop my bag and fall into my squeaky office chair. I sigh, leaning back, and pick up a copy of today’s paper from my desk.

I don’t know why I wrote that article. As I page through it and find my copy toward the back, I don’t even understand my motivations. I was so pissed when I left the facility last night, but when I got home, I just…

Wanted to say something nice.

I couldn’t bring myself to write an ugly article again. And so with the deadline looming, I knocked out five hundred words, painting him in the best light possible while still leaving room for future pieces.

I don’t know what I was thinking. I bet he’s just as confused. I couldn’t face him today, though. I couldn’t answer his questions.

If he’d asked me about the article, I’d tell him that I think he’s an asshole. That’s about as much of the truth as I understand at this point.

I put the paper down and sigh. I stretch my neck. I think I’m going to take a break from writing about Sean for a while. Felix gave me some nice quotes, and I have some ideas about his slot play that might make me an interesting editorial.

I turn to my computer, ready to start putting down words on the page, when I feel someone loom up behind me.

I turn in my chair. It’s my boss, Soren. He’s tall, pale, with bright blue eyes and light blond hair. He looks like some kind of Nordic vampire, like that guy from True Blood, the really hot one.

He frowns at me. “We gotta talk,” he says.

I cross my arms. “What about?”

“Come with me.” He turns and leaves. I sigh and get up, following him back to his office.

He shuts the door behind me. “Take a seat.”

I sit down. “Is this serious, boss?”

He sits behind his desk and sighs. He looks like a cliché newsman, tired and worn at the edges, but still hard as steel at his core.

“Not exactly,” he says. “It might even be good.”

“The suspense is killing me.”

“I’ve been getting good feedback about your Sean articles,” he says. “And I want you to write more.”

I frown. “Good feedback?”

“Emails,” he says, glancing at his computer. “Fifty of them so far.”

“Fifty?” I laugh a little. “I didn’t know we had fifty subscribers.”

He gives me a look. “How are you getting him to talk?”

I shrug. “Wit and whimsy, mostly.”

“Cut the shit, Brynn.”

“He likes me. I don’t know why.”

Soren sighs. “Fine, whatever. Just keep writing them. I want copy on my desk by five tonight. No more late night deadline beaters, you hear me?”

I hesitate. I really, really don’t want to write about Sean. It’s hard to ignore this, though.

“I had something about Felix lined up,” I say. “I want to talk about him playing slot, and he actually gave me some good quotes earlier, and—”

“Stick to the quarterback,” Sean interrupts me. “Fifty emails, Brynn. You never get fifty emails.”

I glare at him. “Doesn’t mean my stuff isn’t great.”

“Your stuff is fine. It’s why I keep you around. But for some reason, you’ve hit a nerve. Keep hitting it.”

I bite my lip. “I don’t want to.”

He frowns, surprised. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t want to write about Sean.”

He doesn’t move for a second, studying me. He slowly leans back in his chair and crosses his arms.

“Have I ever given you a choice before?” he asks.

I shake my head and don’t respond.

“Why do you think you have a choice now?”

“I don’t,” I admit. “But I’m appealing to your human side.”

“I have no human side.” He says it with a flat affect.

“I know,” I say, sighing.

“How are you getting him to talk, Brynn? Tell me and I’ll assign someone else.”

“I can’t,” I say. “I mean, I don’t know.”

“He just likes you.” Soren shakes his head. “What are you doing for him?”

I blink. The question seems almost innocent at first glance, but the implication washes over me.

“Doing for him?” I parrot.

“Pro players are like that,” Soren says. “They want things, especially from female reporters. You think you’re the first young, pretty reporter to do something stupid for some info?”

I stare at him, eyes wide. “You think I’m fucking him for interviews?”

“I don’t give a shit what you’re doing, to be totally honest. If that’s it, fine, whatever. Keep doing it, and keep writing about him. If it’s something else, tell me, so I can assign someone else. We all win that way, apparently.”

I sit there, totally taken aback. I didn’t think he’d actually come out and say it like this, even though I know everyone thinks it.

“Fuck you, Soren,” I say.

He barely reacts. “Write the article, Brynn.”

“Fuck you,” I repeat, standing up. “You sexist piece of shit.”

He shrugs, doesn’t answer.

“Asshole.” I turn and storm out of his office.

I’m buzzing with rage. I want to scream at all the dickheads that glance at me as I storm past. I’m so angry right now I can barely breathe.

I know this place is sexist. I know they all think I’m a slut just because I have tits. But I always thought Soren would at least pretend like he wasn’t a total piece of shit.

I guess we’re done pretending.

I sit down at my desk and grip the arms of my chair to keep from screaming. I’m so angry I can barely control myself.

And then I decide not to control myself. I decide I want to do something stupid, something reckless.

I decide I want to do something that feels good, even if it’s wrong. Even if it’s playing into my god damn boss’s hands.

Because he’s right. Soren’s right. I am fucking Sean, aren’t I? I mean, more or less. I’m not doing it for information, but I am doing it.

Fuck. Fuck Soren. Fuck Sean.

I pick up the phone. I call Sean’s number.

He picks up. “Brynn?”

“I want to see you.”

He’s silent for a second. “Okay. When?”

“Tonight. Ten. Your place.”

He clears his throat. “Sounds like a booty call.”

“It is. Is that a problem?”

He laughs softly. “Not at all, sweetheart. I’ll text you the address.”

“See you then.”

I hang up the phone. I’m still angry. I still hate myself. I still hate Soren.

But I can’t help it. I want Sean and I want him bad. I might as well get something that feels good if these guys are just going to treat me like a slut anyway.

I might as well play my own damn game.