Page 10 of Game Plan

Using my fists, I banged on the door. “Let me out. Someone, help me. I’m locked in here. Can anyone hear me?”

I waited, trying to catch a sound, but in vain.

Seriously, this wasn’t funny. Unless it was some kind of prank, there was no reason for anyone to lock me in here. Anyway, it had already gone on too long. I’d changed my mind. I liked horror movies, but I wasn’t so sure I liked being spooked in real life.

I pounded on the door until I could feel my knuckles bruising. Tears welled up in my eyes, and something close to ice filled my veins.

Why was nobody going in and out of the break room or wanting to use the restroom?

Never before had I considered myself claustrophobic, but with every passing second, the room felt smaller. I wasn’t the type of girl who usually panicked in cramped spaces, but right now, I was suffocating, feeling lightheaded.

I wiped the hot tears running down my cheeks with my T-shirt sleeve.

I had to scream. Why didn’t I think of screaming first?

Pounding on the door, I screamed as loud as I could muster. “Somebody. Help. I’m locked inside. Please.”

I hit the panel harder and screamed louder before strangling the knob and pulling with all my might.

I rubbed my teary face on my shoulder. “For fuck’s sake. Let me out.”

I gave one final yank, and the door flew open, throwing me backward until my head smashed against the wall. I found my bearings, and on shaky legs, I stood in the doorway, scanning the hallway for any sign of movement. Nobody. It was empty. I tested the knob, then the lock. They weren’t stuck or anything. My skin crawled, hair standing on end.

The situation was so weird.

Had someone locked me in on purpose?

Keeping the door open with my foot, I washed my hands once again, wiped off the mascara streaks painting my cheeks with a paper towel, and fixed my hair. There, I almost looked decent. With a roll of my shoulders, I tried to infuse myself with some pep. I had no idea what had gone down in the last ten minutes, but my gut said it wasn’t an innocent mistake—or a malfunctioning door lock.

Hurrying back toward the bar, I talked myself down and tried to push aside my panic, clenching my jittery hands at my sides to steady them.

Barry, the barman, stopped me with an extended arm. “Mel? Are you all right? You look pale. Are you feeling okay?”

I nodded, emotions clogging my airways and making my throat too constricted for me to answer.

“You sure?”

I swallowed and nodded once more. “All good.” I couldn’t tell him out loud what had just gone down because it would sound crazy. For a beat, I even wondered if I had imagined the entire thing. Nah. I couldn’t have made this up. In one last attempt to look unaffected, I schooled my features, praying my uneasiness wasn’t written all over my face.

He watched me with a frown. “Come see me if you need anything.”

I straightened my apron with my still trembling fingers. “I will.”

Keeping my head down, I pushed the strands of my hair back with my fingers and returned to work, managing to keep my earlier breakdown on the back burner, for the time being.

For the rest of the night, I could feel the weight of Mason’s eyes on me.

No matter how much I tried to block him out, I failed. Deep down, I believed he could tell something was wrong with me.

His attention, even from feet away, swept all over me, like a burning iron leaving a trail of fire in its wake. I didn’t know how it made me feel, but I preferred that to being scared. After a while, my uneasiness faded away, and I almost forgot about the earlier restroom episode, giving the customers nearly one hundred percent of my energy and my attention for an hour or two. Until new doubts crippled my mind. Maybe the lock was really defective after all, and nobody had trapped me inside, and I was being paranoid for no reason. I should let George know, just in case. I didn’t want it to happen again—ever.

I neared the football players’ table with a firm back and refilled their water glasses before clearing the empty dishes and stacking them onto my tray. I’d tried to avoid serving them as much as possible all evening, but eventually I had to do my job without letting them intimidate me. “Anything else for you guys?”

“Another round of drinks,” a guy with sandy-blond hair said, gesturing for me to fill them all up. “And bring me three pulled-chicken nachos. I’m still hungry.”

“Man, you ate two burgers and a basket of wings already,” the guy on his left said.

“Let’s just say it will be my late-night snack. Otherwise, I’ll end up having a full meal once I go back to the dorm.”