“I don’t understand why you have to move because of—” Travis Hurley, my ex-friend-with-benefits, lowers his voice “—the incident.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Not again.

I remind myself breakup management, no matter how tedious, is part of being an adult. “When are you going to get it through your thick skull that this has nothing to do with you?”

Hurt shines in his brown eyes, like he’s a puppy I kicked. “Why are you being so caustic? Is this a defense mechanism?”

How did I get into this mess? Travis was supposed to be easy. Uncomplicated. When we started, I agreed to casual sex and to accompany him to required work events.

He was supposed to be a huge time-saver.

I was wrong.

I take a deep breath and hope this time he’ll see reason. “Travis, I told you if I got the job, I was leaving town and moving to Revival.”

He grips my wrist and tugs me across the marble floors of city hall, where we both work, to stand between Courtroom A and the women’s bathroom, right next to the unsmiling portrait of our founding fathers.

I want to resist, but I don’t want another scene.

Barbara from registration, the most notorious blabbermouth in town, swings out from behind the ladies’ room door, her big owl eyes widening in excitement as she takes us in.

Fantastic. Just what I need. More gossip.

I stare at Travis’s fingers. “Let go.”

“Have dinner with me tonight. Give me a chance to talk you off the commitment ledge.” He lingers entirely too long before releasing his hold.

I’d rather watch the extended version of the Lord of the Rings trilogy with commentary than go to dinner with Travis. That’s the level of torture I’d endure to escape him.

I glance longingly at the heavy wooden doors flinging open at regular intervals as people make their escape. Golden light shoots beams across the scales of justice embedded into the floor, illuminating the path to freedom before the room goes dim again.

I refocus on Travis. “I have nothing to say.”

“Jessica, we were sleeping together. That has to mean something.” As his voice grows low and intimate, he leans in close enough to smell what’s left of his cedar-scented aftershave.

“Only because it was easy and convenient. As I explained when we started casually seeing each other, I am not interested in commitment.” I feel a vein in my temple throb.

“You don’t mean that.” Travis conducts his personal life the same way he approaches his job as a litigator, with a slow, methodical dismantling of excuses. He believes the if you repeat it enough, it becomes fact philosophy.

“I did, though. Over and over again, I told you.” I can’t blame him. His tenacity wore me down after I’d suffered through a couple of bad dates. He’s playing odds he thinks are in his favor. Refusing to see that I never wavered on commitment.

I don’t want to be tied down. I’m not interested in taking care of some guy. And Travis isn’t going to be the one to change that.

“You said you weren’t seeing anyone else.”

“I also said I didn’t want anything serious. But that never counts, does it?”

How many times do I have to have this conversation? I blame the public sympathy he’s received. It’s made him bold. Made him believe he’s in the right, when he most certainly is not.

Not that anyone’s bothered to get my side of the story. Why would they? I fit so neatly into the role of monster that broke poor Travis’s fragile boy heart.

“You’re scared.” He cups my arm, rubbing up and down the length. “Because of your commitment issues.”

I want to scream my frustration, but it’s late on a Friday afternoon and the first warm day after a cold, gray spell. The dark, paneled halls of local government are full of people making a run for the light of the outdoors.

To freedom.

“Don’t throw us away.” Another stroke over my bare skin.

“There’s nothing to throw away. I’m not scared—I’m indifferent.” I will not slap him across the face and demand he snap out of his fixation.

My mom and sister told me that because I humiliated him in front of the entire town, I need to show compassion. So even though none of this is my fault, I’m required to show him empathy.

And I’m trying—really, I am—but he’s making it so, so difficult.

All I need to do is be compassionate for a few minutes longer.

“You’re reluctant to trust, but we can work through it together, Jessica.”

I used to deal with his excessive mansplaining by covering his mouth until he shut up, but that doesn’t seem appropriate any longer. However, I am done explaining myself. Again. “I’m sorry, Travis. It wasn’t my intention to hurt you.”

“I love you. We can work through this mess. I know we can.” Travis gives me his choirboy smile.

The compassion grows too much for me. I can’t stand it.

I am going to shred his ego with a knife and enjoy each and every cut. I part my lips to slay him, but then I spot the accounts payable group eavesdropping to our left.

Behind my back, they call me The Crusher.

Judy Klompski is excitedly clutching her best friend’s arm.

They are all waiting for me to take a wrecking ball to Travis.

But I refuse to give them the satisfaction. They don’t deserve it.

I glare intently into Travis’s eyes, hoping he’ll see the truth of my words in my expression. “You don’t love me. You don’t even know me.”

“How can you say that? We’ve been together for eight months.”

I will not punch him. I assume bashing him in the face won’t help matters. I search for the words, a new phrasing, something, anything that will break him from this fever dream. “We had casual, intermittent sex. We went to a few parties. That’s not love.”

He frowns like he’s never heard anything so disappointing. “You don’t mean that.”

“If I’d had any idea you were going to ask me to marry you at the opening baseball game, on the jumbotron, in front of the entire town, I would have set you straight.” At my screeching, several people look in our direction, ears perked in anticipation, like a pack of dogs.

This is what I get for being lazy.

What kills me is I’d planned on ending things after that stupid game.

But he’d decided to propose.

It had been the seventh-inning stretch.

I’d been busy stuffing my face with popcorn.

They’d just finished “Take Me out to the Ball Game.”

I’d finally noticed him standing next to me.

Then, to my shocked horror, he’d dropped to one knee.

My reaction had been…unfortunate.

Now, he’s the poster child for sympathetic nice boy, and I have a semi-viral video of myself set to the song “Cannibal” by Kesha.

“In retrospect, I should have remembered how much you hate surprises.” Travis squeezes my shoulder, a small smile on his lips.

If he touches me one more time, I’ll scream.

I jerk away. “You’re not listening. It’s over. Goodbye, Travis.”

I spin on my high heels and march out of the building.

Six days until I hightail it out of this hellhole and start my new life.

Until then, The Crusher is going to get herself a drink.

---

The Games We Play
Available June 23rd, 2026
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