“Lennon?” I ask, unable to hide the judgment in my tone.What the hell kind of name is that?
2
Lennon
Sunshine is the first thing I see when my eyes blink open, and instantly, I know I’m screwed. It shouldn’t be sunny yet. I don’t wake up with the sun.
Shit.
I toss the covers aside and sit up with a start, wildly scanning my surroundings before glancing at the clock. “Damn it!” I cry, jumping out of bed. Clothes are scattered across the floor, and I don’t have time to sort through them to find which are mine. I throw on the first T-shirt I can find and a pair of jeans that when I slide them over my ass, I say a silent prayer that they’re mine.
A low grumble comes from the bed, and it further grates my frazzled nerves. “Mason,” I grunt, finger combing my hair in the mirror and wiping away the smudges of leftover mascara under my eyes. “Did you turn my alarm off?”
“I dunno.” Mason yawns, and I’m this close to yanking every single blanket off the bed and tossing them off the balcony.
I snort and snatch my phone off the nightstand, quickly sending a text to my boss that I’ll be there in ten. It’s the first day of the semester, and I’m already running late. Fantastic.
“Where are you going?”
“To work.”Something you know nothing about. I bite my tongue.
He simply rolls over and lets out a heavy sigh. “Have fun,” he mumbles into his pillow, and within seconds, his breathing evens out. His black hair flops over his eyes, shielding them from the morning rays, and for a moment, jealousy courses through me so strongly it makes me sway. I’d love nothing more than to crawl back into bed beneath the sheets to sleep away the morning without a care in the world.
But my parents aren’t funding my life like Mason’s are. I scoop up my backpack and shrug it on before calling over my shoulder, “Don’t you have practice this morning?” as I open the door.
Mason doesn’t stir, and I debate waking him up again, but it’s not my problem. If he misses his first hockey practice, that’s on him. I take one last glimpse of him, bare-chested hugging his pillow, snoring softly, and shake my head.
My frustration may be directed at Mason right now, but it’s myself I’m angry with. This year, I was going to stop sleeping over at Mason’s.
No more sleepovers.
None of his roommates are awake, and the apartment is silent as I rush out the door. Fortunately for me, Mason lives only two blocks from campus, so I make it to the library’s coffeehouse in less than ten minutes.
Despite it being the first day of classes, it’s still early, and the shop is relatively quiet.
Apologies are already pouring out of my mouth as I briskly make my way through the tables and chairs to the counter.“I’m so sorry! My alarm was set, I don’t know what happened.” No use in throwing Mason under the bus. “I promise it won’t happen again?—”
My manager, Krista, holds her hands up, silencing me. “Look at me,” she says, and I meet her eyes. She then closes them and breathes in deeply, her shoulders rising with the movement. She holds it, before slowly exhaling. Despite the hectic start to my morning, I smile and mirror her actions. After a few deep breaths, we both open our eyes. “Better?”
I huff out a small laugh and toss my backpack behind the counter. “Better.”
Krista wipes her hands across her apron with a triumphant smile. “Good. Now, I don’t want to hear any more apologies.”
Making a grab for my own apron, I tie it around my waist and can’t resist one more. “I know, but truly, I am sorry. It won’t happen again.”
She brushes me off. “You’ve never missed a shift before, and I didn’t think today would be the day you’d start that. Don’t worry about it.”
There is a silver lining to always being the employee that’s on time, ready to work, and willing to cover for others when they’re too hungover to come in. I squeeze her arm gratefully as I jump in, refilling the beans and making sure the syrups all have pumps in and ready to go.
“Is no one else working this morning?” I ask nervously. Krista and I have both been working here since we were sophomores, so we can handle a rush, but only having two people to handle the inevitable crowd is not the ideal way to kick off the semester.
“Logan is. He’s over at the dining hall trying to mooch some whole milk from them. For some reason, we only have three gallons and that’s not going to get us very far today.”
“Not it will not,” I agree. We make small talk as we get the shop ready to go, catching up on our summers and what the semester looks like ahead. She’s an Education Major, hoping to teach elementary school students once she graduates. More power to her.
“Are you excited for your season to start?” she asks. “Last one, ready for it to be over?”
The thought sends a rock sinking in my stomach. “No,” I groan. “I can’t even think about it.” Knowing that this is the last season I’ll get to play the sport I love is a truth I don’t want to accept.
