Page 82 of Bad Run

Is he … smiling? It’s as if my brain doesn’t want to admit what I already know. This is Lance’s room.

“B-but I thought I was sleeping in this room,” I stammer.

“You are.” He smirks.

“Then where are you sleeping?” I ask.

“In my room.”

I wave my hand in the air, gesturing around the room. “But this is your room.”

Lance chuckles. “Exactly.”

“Wait. Are we sharing a room?”

He clicks his tongue and grins at me. “I knew you’d catch on.”

We’re sharing a room? Me and Lance. In the same room. Same bed.

My stomach takes a nosedive. “But the deal was separate bedrooms.”

“I know, but this is all I’ve got.” Lance shrugs apologetically, but his tone is far from sorry. “You’re welcome to look at the other rooms and stay in one if you like, but you know …”

Not bothering to listen to the end of his sentence, I rush out of his bedroom.

With force, I push open the first door I see.

“What the hell?” Shock doesn’t even describe how I feel at seeing the completely empty spare bedroom. No bed. No furniture. Nothing.

Rooms Two and Three are exactly the same: empty.

Room Four is not a bedroom; it’s Lance’s office. A large oak desk sits facing the window, with a laptop on the tabletop, some paperwork, and a pair of glasses. Two of his jerseys—framed and signed—hang on the wall, as well as some other framed baseball paraphernalia. Flush against the back wall is a gorgeous matching oak display cabinet that holds a few plaques and one glittering, diamond-encrusted World Series Championship ring.

I turn around and walk smack dab into Lance.

“Watch it,” I bark. My anger burns the blood in my veins like torched gasoline as I shove past him and march out of the office.

“Gwen, wait,” Lance calls out.

Wait? Is he kidding me right now? I’m way too mad. Does he think this is a game or something?

“Nuh-uh.” Pissed as hell, I stomp back into Lance’s bedroom and head straight for the closet. I grip the handle of my suitcase and pull it behind me as I exit the walk-in closet.

Lance’s enormous frame blocks the exit. He lifts his hands into the air in surrender. “Please wait. Let me explain.”

I place my free hand on my hip and glare at him. “Fine, explain why you have three empty bedrooms. You clearly hired a decorator to do the rest of the house. Why not the bedrooms?”

He sighs. “I was going to have her finish, but then the season started and I kept putting it off.”

“For two years?” I ask.

“Didn’t see the point,” he grumbles.

I remember him telling me about the television he never replaced. “Like the TV?”

He nods. “Like the TV.”

I point toward the wall of windows. “What about the pool house?”