I furiously search for the right emoji to send in response as I continue my conversation with Dena. Where is that damn middle finger emoji?
“Set it up, Dena.”
“Really?” she asks excitedly. “You’ll go on all three of the dates? They promised to work around your schedule and–”
I cut off her sales pitch.
“I’ll do it.”
I decide Troy’s ridiculous text warrants more than an angry emoji, so I hit send on my short and plain response. It describes exactly how I feel.
Me: Go. Kick. Rocks.
Sixteen
JETT
“This smoothie tastes like seawater.”
“And good morning to you too.”
I pour a little of it on the floor to see if Astro will eat it.
“You want some of this, boy?”
My big boy saunters over, takes a few whiffs and casually returns to his king sized bean bag without as much as a lick.
“See, even Astro won’t drink it.”
My mood stinks because I’m exhausted. I spent half the night having the craziest dreams, and the universe saw fit to allow me to remember a few. Adrienne was in each and every one of them. I know that it’s simply my subconscious fucking with me. I should have gotten her number. I should have gone in for the goodnight kiss. I know where she lives, but if I looked her up, there is no doubt that she would probably get a restraining order on my ass. I would definitely come off like some sort of creeper. So, I have to let it go, but regrets are the unwanted bedfellow of the unfulfilled mind. In other words, this shit is going to fuck with me for a minute.
“Make me another one.”
“Jett, I make the same smoothie for you every morning,” Brad says. “There’s nothing different in it.”
“Make me another one,please.”
My assistant sighs heavily.
“What’s your deal this morning?”
“The deal is my shoulder’s shattered, I can’t sleep, and I’m not playing football.”
“And that’s it?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“Fine, Jett, I’ll go make another smoothie, but you better drink it. You can’t take the pain meds on an empty stomach.”
Bryan is only three years younger than me but has the patience of a saint. He babysits me, walks and feeds Astro, maintains my schedule, and handles some administrative emails of the non-profit foundation I created in honor of my mother.
I know I’m a pain in the ass, but I’ve already warned him I feel like a caged animal and will probably be annoying until I can play again. I’m used to a day of training or playing ball until I’m completely exhausted, maybe having some sex, and then crashing until the morning. None of that is going on right now. I can’t play ball because of my shoulder, and I definitely can’t fuck someone properly when I keep having dreams about a woman I met in a bar over a week ago.
“By the way your pop called,” Bryan mentions.
“What did he want?”
“He said he just wanted to check in on you and your shoulder. See how you were feeling.”
