So Over My Head by Jenny B Jones

Ashley. It’s all about the job, right?” I swing my legs, shrug, and study my nails.
    Luke reaches through the fence between us and captures a foot. “Want to tell me why you blew off her attempts to talk to Cherry Wednesday night?”
    “I don’t believe I like your surly tone. So no.” I jerk my foot back. “I don’t think I do.”
    “The Tribune is still my paper, and I’m still your editor.”
    “You know, I was going to get that tattooed on my butt, but you say it so many times, I’ve decided to go with something more original.”
    A muscle in his jaw ticks. “It’s one thing to disrespect me. But it’s another to get in the way of one of my staff member’s work.”
    “Disrespect you ?” I toss my head back and laugh. “If anyone’s been disrespected here, buddy, it’s me. That girl kisses you, you protest your innocence, but yet you’re with her all the time—as friends . Then you rip the carnival feature from me—something I was totally wrapped up in—only to hand over part of it to your new girlfriend!”
    He lifts his head. “I’m letting her do an interview on Cherry. Not a full-blown series on the Fritz Family Carnival.” Luke’s voice dips. “And Wednesday night you blocked every attempt Ashley made to speak to Cherry.”
    “It was the girl’s birthday. It wasn’t the time or the place to ask her twenty questions about her lonely life as a trapeze performer or how she felt about losing yet another person in her life.”
    “You know what I think?” He leans onto the chain link fence cage around me, his tan fingers curling around the wire. “I think you’re so eaten up with jealousy, you can’t even see straight.”
    “I think you’re beating a dead horse. A bloated, maggoty, dead horse. We are clearly so over. So if you want to date—”
    “Journalist Barbie.” He throws my words back at me with a slow grin.
    “If you want to date the stinking queen of England, I don’t care. Just don’t expect me to do her any favors. Ashley Timmons can figure out her own way to talk to Cherry.”
    “Number one, while the Queen’s orthopedic shoes are a huge turn-on, she travels too much to truly be there for me. And number two, I am telling you that you better figure out a way to cool it with Ashley.”
    “Or?”
    He lopes away, his dark jeans slung low over his hips. “Or I’ll cool it for you.”
    I catch the wicked gleam in his eye and go on alert. “Oh, no you don’t. You wouldn’t!”
    And with lightning speed, a smiling Luke Sullivan pivots and throws a fastball right toward the bull’s-eye.

    I stand shivering outside the trailers, cursing Luke Sullivan and thanking God for the millionth time I didn’t wear a white shirt today.
    Well, maybe my luck just changed. I spy one of Alfredo’s old roommates weave through the trailers, talking to Luigi, one of the ticket takers. It’s time to reclaim my flashlight—if it’s not too late already.
    “Hey, you’re Johnny right?” I call out.
    The small man just grunts, but he stops.
    “You were really great last night—balancing like you did on that horse. I’ve never seen anything like that.”
    His cheeks turn pink as a cherry limeade.
    “Hey, I got roped into dunk-tank duty and really came unprepared. I wondered if I could maybe borrow your hair dryer?” I twist my long hair into a rope and water drips onto the ground.
    “I guess my roomie has one you can use.” He steps toward his trailer when a voice stops us both.
    “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
    I turn around and find Stewart eyeing my wet form.
    No! It’s a great idea. I have got to get back into that trailer.
    Stewart runs a hand over his prickly goatee. “If you have to be in anyone’s sleeping quarters, I’d prefer it be a member of management’s.” He crooks a skinny finger. “Follow me. You can dry off in my trailer.”
    How in the world am I going to get that flashlight back? “Um . . . okay. But I think I’ll run and get