I take my coffee to my bedroom and open the proposal document. In the harsh light of morning, it reads like a fever dream written by someone with imposter syndrome and a thesaurus problem.
This needs a complete rewrite. I need to sound confident and professional. Someone who deserves to be in that room.
Fake it till you make it, right?
A knock on my door makes me jump. Jessa pokes her head in, concerned.
"Are you okay? You look like death."
I smile. "Thanks. That's exactly the look I was going for."
"Seriously, did you sleep at all?"
"Define sleep." I gesture vaguely at my laptop. "I was up late... working."
Working is code forsexting a man I've never met while questioning all my life choices, but Jessa doesn't need those details.
Her eyes flick to my screen. "Is that for the Havoc?"
"Maybe." My cheeks heat. "Juliet found out about my kinesiology degree. She asked for a mobility program proposal."
"Scout! That's amazing!"
I downplay it. "It's just a proposal. They might hate it."
"Or they might love it and you'll finally get to use that expensive degree." She grins. "Either way, don't work yourself to death before lunch."
"Right back at ya!"
I shower fast and throw on my uniform. Black yoga pants. Gray team polo. Hair in a braid that's already staging an escape attempt. Minimal makeup because I'm too tired to care about looking human.
I grab my bag, my travel mug of coffee, and head out.
The drive to the arena's quiet this early. The sun hasn't fully risen yet and the streets are mostly empty. I count red lights out of habit. Five between my apartment and work. The same as always. The predictability's comforting.
When I arrive, the parking lot's nearly deserted. Just a few cars belonging to early staff and maybe one or two players who couldn't sleep. I recognize Silas's car in his usual spot, perfectly centered between the lines. Of course he's here.
He's got this stubborn streak that pairs well with his self-denial. His strict routine, his devotion to being first at the rink every single day, his near-obsessive relationship with preparation. These things make up the core of who he is. I've watched him arrive before dawn for months now, always the same time, always the same parking spot.
Most people would call it discipline. I think it's closer to fear of what happens if he stops controlling everything.
But I don't want to think about Silas right now. Then I'd have to remember the way he looked at me last night after the game. Cold and dismissive.Stay in your lane.Like I'm a child who needs to be reminded of her place.Ugh.
I push through the staff entrance and head to my tiny office. It's more of a closet with a desk, but it has a door that closes. And right now, that's all I need. I drop my bag and pull out my laptop, opening the proposal document with a sick feeling in my stomach.
The introduction's weak. The methodology section's incomplete. The budget projections are based on guesswork because I don't actually know what anything costs. I have no idea how to make this sound professional when I feel like a fraud.
My phone buzzes. A message from the dating app.
StatMan12
Good morning. Did you sleep at all?
I stare at his message, taking my time before answering.
Yoga4Lyfe
A little. You?
