* * *
The drive home is silent. I don’t even have music playing. All that occupies my thoughts is where things will go with Serena. And how I can convince her to stick by my side
Twenty-Four
Serena
The alarm on my phone jolts me awake. Add to that the hotel clock and there’s no going back to sleep. I don’t even know what city we’re in. The back to back flights have taken their toll on me.
I reach my hand over to turn both of the alarms off. It’s ridiculous I have to have so many alarms but I know myself. I’m also not relying on Hazel to wake up. Peering over at her bed, she’s clearly still asleep. I could wake her up now. Or…I can use the time to take advantage of the shower and having first dibs. That seems like a better option. Hazel has an issue with hogging all the hot water.
I tiptoe across the room to keep from disturbing my friend. The sentiment is almost fruitless because she did sleep through two alarms blaring. One day I aim to be like her. Or at least, go one night without weird dreams. I never had this problem before I started dating Bentley.
I turn the knob of the shower to hot and until steam fills the bathroom before adjusting the temperature. The dream from last night keeps mulling over in my mind. In it, I met a slew of girls who claimed to have been with Bentley before me. I remember breaking down into tears in the dream. But it seems as if the insecurities have followed me outside the subconscious. One day I won’t deal with these issues.
Stepping into the shower, I let the almost too hot water wash away the remains of the dream. I think a lot of it stems from not talking before bed last night. We’ve talked every night since we started dating. Or, at least, as close to bedtime as possible. Last night he must have forgotten. I reach for the shampoo, and squirt a dollop in my hand before lathering it in my hair. Or, he may have tried calling after I went to bed. I didn’t even think to check my phone when I woke up.
My eyes pop open at the realization and I’m seconds away from jumping out of the shower to check the phone in question. Except…shampoo drips into my eyes and they are on fucking fire. Shower revelations are always a pain in the ass. I rush to rinse the shampoo out of my hair and quickly wash my body. I should shave my legs since we typically wear skirts, but that’s not important right now. As soon as my body is suds free, I step out of the shower, grab a towel from the rack and wrap it around my body. My hair is dripping down my back, but I don’t care. I need to squash any fears I have about us.
He mentioned he was having dinner with his mom and sister. If they said anything, it could sway our relationship. Not that Bentley is someone who is easily swayed, but those two mean everything to him. If anyone could sway our budding relationship, it’s them.
I march to the nightstand, ignore Hazel’s stirring body on her bed, and pick up my phone. I can’t keep denying that I don’t feel more for him, and this is that fear crawling out. I swipe the screen open and see a red bubble over the phone icon. It’s from Bentley. He didn’t leave a message, so I close the app and open the text messages.
My heart soars at the sight of his name. He must be waiting for me to call him back. I press his name, and the phone rings until the voicemail picks up. I hang up instead of leaving a message. Glancing at the time, I calculate the time difference. I’m on the east coast, so he’s probably at practice right now. I know they start pretty early. I’ll text him back instead.
* * *
Serena: Sorry, I fell asleep last night. I get on a flight in a little over two hours. I’ll call you after I land if I don’t hear from you before. Have a great day, Hot Stuff.
* * *
Oh my gosh. I slide my hand down my face. Did I seriously just write that? This is a time that message recall would be great. Who the hell calls someone that? He’s going to laugh so hard when he sees it. My insecurities are calmed down. For now. It’s amazing what seeing him reach out does for me.
“Why are you half naked?” Hazel grumbles from beneath her pillow. I think? “You better not have been sexting, or doing anything dirty, while you’re literally next to me. That would be a whole new level of weird for you.”
I grab a pillow from my bed and chuck it at her. “Don’t be disgusting. There’s no way in hell I’d be able to do that with you in the same room.”
“You’d be surprised what people do when they think others are asleep.” She pokes her head out enough to waggle her eyebrows at me.
A part of me wants to ask her what she’s seen, or heard. But nope. I don’t want to go down that rabbit hole, or hear all the sordid details. I'm sure she’ll have zero issues doling out. “Hush and get your ass in gear.” I grab the corner of her blanket on her bed, and begin pulling it off. “We have to head to the airport soon, and it takes you a long time to get ready.”
“You’re bossy,” she pouts. Relenting she gets out of bed and slowly makes her way to the bedroom. I mean, moving inch by inch as if she has all the time in the world.
I get ready while she’s in the shower. My vision keeps drifting to my phone. Willing a text from Bentley to come through. This long-distance thing is starting to wear on me. Looking into the travel agent business is going to be a top priority on my next day off. Something has to give.
Of course, we’re running late. That’s what happens when you let Hazel get ready last. She takes her sweet ass time and then we’re left scrambling to get our shit out of the hotel. I swear I could pummel her right now. I have no idea what the hell takes her so long. She doesn’t even look like she’s wearing makeup. I swear if we are dinged for being late, I’m going to start making her take showers at night. Or better yet…stay in my own room instead of trying to save the airline money.
It doesn’t matter now, though. We’re rushing through the airport. Bags bouncing along behind us, and almost falling while we run to the gate we were supposed to be at twenty minutes ago. Something catches my eye as we pass the bookstore. They are in every airport across the world, but it’s a magazine I see, and my eyes widen.
I stop in my tracks and Hazel keeps hurrying forward. It takes her a few minutes to realize that I’m no longer with her. “Hey, what are you doing? We have somewhere to be right now.” She leaves her suitcase where she was standing, because sometimes she lacks common sense, and marches over to where I’m frozen. “What is going—?” Her questions die as she sees what I’m staring at.
People push around us, trying to get to their gates. Searching for food, or just killing time before their flight. But my eyes are glued to the picture on the front of one of the trash gossip magazines. It’s me. Well, I know it’s me I’m sure nobody else does. It’s from the game Bentley played in Missouri. The game I went to, and he pulled me out of the stands afterward. You can’t see my face which is a bonus. But it doesn’t stop the shock that rolls through me at the fact that I’m on the fucking cover of a tabloid. My name isn’t mentioned anywhere on the cover. There’s a question in bold, capital letters: WHO IS THE MYSTERY WOMAN?
I didn’t realize that athletes ended up in these sort of publications, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. That’s not what alarms me, though. Beneath that is: Will she be another in the long line of broken hearts? Pictures of Bentley with other women surround the one featuring me. It’s like a punch to the gut after my dreams last night.
These are pictures I’ve seen before. They popped up when I first started looking into who he was as a person. But seeing them altogether, and how different they are from me. I’m plain in comparison. Boring, and not who most athletes fall for. I’ll never live up to those standards. I may be well traveled, but inside…I’m still that girl from the country trying to find her place in the world.
Hazel steps between me and the rack of magazines, successfully breaking my line of sight. “This is trash. You know that, right? They do it to rile people up.” She wraps her arm around my shoulder and pulls me toward the gate we’re supposed to be at. Passengers won’t be boarding for a bit, but we need to get things ready. “Don’t pay any attention to it. We need to go, though.”
