When I step into the bathroom, I smell my hands before stepping into the shower. It smells like her, and for a second, I feel like I won’t ever smell it again. I don’t think Cecily is going to continue this. I won’t be surprised if she shuns me out of her orbit. Hell, I would deserve it.
I scrub my dick and balls so much that I start to get hard. I stroke myself a few times, thinking about Cecily. The sound of her laugh, the kiss in my truck, and how she looks doing squats.
I release myself, knowing this isn’t going to be good. If I can’t control my thoughts without her around, then I’m fucked.
I turn the water cold and shut myself down. My balls shrivel, and I tilt my head back in triumph. A cold shower will heal it all.
When I step out, Westley is walking down the hallway. “We still going to Ce’s for those green shots?”
I shrug, drying my hair. “Yeah. I’ll text Rocky. Scott’s passed out on the couch.”
He continues down the hall to the kitchen as I walk into my bedroom and get ready for the day. I find my navy-blue Quiksilver shirt. It has palm trees and ocean waves with the logo. I pair it with surf shorts and sandals. I like the California vibe, almost like a skater. I always wanted to surf. The ocean has always intrigued me, but I was born on the ice, and in life, it’s important to lean into your strengths. I watched my mom lean into her weaknesses, struggling towards everything she ever did just for the challenge, but that shit made no sense to me. If you enjoy something, do that one thing and go all in. It’s what the successful people say. Outsource the shit you’re bad at, so whenever I do decide to surf, I’ll be hiring a pro to give me lessons.
I put on a hat and spray cologne generously over my body. I scrub the fuck out of my teeth and tongue. I gargle mouthwash and wonder if I just fucked up the one thing good in my life. Looks like I’ll figure it out this morning when I show up at her place.
“Ready?” I ask when Westley walks into the kitchen again. I chugged a half-gallon of water, waiting for him to walk back out.
“Yeah. You sure she’s not still going to be asleep?” he asks. “She doesn’t normally drink, right?”
“Nah, she’ll be awake. She has work and shit. Scott, are you coming? I think Rocky is out.”
Scott sits up. “Yep. I’m up.”
Westley nods, putting his shoes on. “Let’s go.”
16
Cecily
Dear God. How have I slept through two alarms this morning?
This is so unlike me, but I blame the alcohol. I blame the party. I blame Dylan Etta.
I cover my face, remembering everything from last night. I remember every word, every kiss, every touch. And it felt so natural that the only thing bothering me right now is my alarm clock on my dresser across the room going off for a second time.
Kissing Dylan felt normal. But this ringing alarm. This bullshit does not feel right.
I drag myself out of bed, feeling the pulse inside of my head. The whole thing is throbbing. I need twelve of my green shots right about now.
I turn off the damn alarm and grab workout clothes—a black sports bra with blue stripes down the side and matching bikershorts. When I glance up, I notice a Morning After pill box sitting in the center of my dresser.
Hope I got the right one.
It’s so stupid, it is, but it makes me smile. I take it to the bathroom with me while I get ready, wondering what the hell I’m going to post today on my socials. The thing about this influencing job is that it seems effortless, but it’s redundant and still a job. Yes, the free stuff is cool. Yes, the people I meet are amazing. But the reality is that it’s not an easy feat.
I read the instructions for taking this pill, and it seems easy enough. I hide it under my bathroom sink and take a selfie in the mirror, covering half my face but flexing my six pack. In the Story, I added my to-do list for today. Easy content. Boom! Keep me accountable, Instagram.
I apply my minimal vegan makeup and put on my favorite-smelling lotion. Then I quickly rummage through the kitchen to make an outstanding green juice shot that will heal both my soul and body. I capture the greens and post it before cutting everything up to blend.
I put music on and start dancing to the beat. Today I’m going to have a good day, no matter what. I drink a couple of cups of water and take the Morning After pill with it. Easy peasy. I continue dancing, taking aesthetic photos of my green juice.
I’m running the blender on high for more than three minutes when a knock sounds through my apartment. I turn it off and skip to the front door.
I open it to Dylan, Scott, and Westley.
“Hey, puckers. Ready to die?” I eye them suspiciously.
“Fuck,” Scott says. “It smells like a health store in here.”
