Opened to the sports section, the page flaunted a lurid headline: ‘Volynsky’s Dangerous Distraction?’, and a photo of her, from the back, as Alex pressed his glove to the glass. “Is this or is this not you?” “I was at the game.” &n...
Across from her, a man in his early twenties wearing the bedraggled clothes and baseball cap of someone about to embark on the walk of shame, his scruffy face sagging with exhaustion. “Shoo.” She waved him away from the table like a foul odor. “My date is here.” &nbs...
