Ow, ow, ow… my head.
Groaning, I reach into the nightstand to grab the bottle of Advil I’ve got stashed there and pop a few, taking a drink out of an old water bottle on the floor.
Painkillers consumed, I sit in bed fuming and decide to dig my journal and pen out of my bag. Opening to a blank page I scribble out everything that has happened to me the last couple days, leaving me frustrated and feeling as if I’m losing my mind. Journaling is my go-to outlet. I fill them up with everything I’m feeling, and once they’re full, I shred them so that my personal thoughts stay private. I don’t journal to go back and reminisce - I journal to purge and expel my feelings because I’m not about to talk about them.
Gross.
Journaling is something Mom suggested I try. She started doing it when she was young and always found it helpful. I took up the habit as well, and it really is good for venting and purging myself of the things that upset me.
When I finish journaling, I tuck the notebook under my pillow and release a long breath. Whoo… it always feels good to get things out of my head and onto paper. Stretching my arms over my head, I decide I should get up and do my skin care routine. That’ll help me feel more refreshed.
Climbing out of bed, I pause a moment as the world spins. Once I’m certain I won’t collapse with one step, I drag my feet into the bathroom. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and flinch.
Good lord… my mascara is streaked under my eyes, my hair is a tangled mess, and I have crusted drool in the corners of my mouth.
“Rylee, is that you?” I ask, pressing my palm to the mirror.
Shaking my head, I wash my face and layer on my serums, moisturizer, and primer, then do my makeup so I don’t look so much like hot trash. By the time I’m done, I look like the gorgeous, functioning human woman I am.
I really should have Grace record my beauty routine and plaster it across social media.
Now, to go out there and face Zander.
Working with him. One-on-one.
Ughhhhhh… why can’t I just crawl back into bed and pretend he doesn’t exist?
No. No! I will not hide myself away just because of a stupid guy!
I quickly get dressed, brush my hair, then drag Gizmo out from under the bed before making my way out of the bedroom. As I march down the hall, I keep my chin held high. I will not feel embarrassed in front of that douche-canoe.
When I make it out to the living room, I’m pumped up and prepared for a verbal battle of wills, but Zander is… gone.
Fuck. Ghosted again.
Predictable asshole. Get a new play!
All this pent up aggression has nowhere to go now. He’s probably at practice. I didn’t consider that. Damn, I really need to put a schedule together and get things figured out for interviews and photoshoots, then I can hit up the end of practice and fill in the players and coaches.
But first, coffee before I pass out on the kitchen floor.
Crossing to the fridge, I open it in search of creamer and am surprised to find a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast, covered in saran wrap with a post-it note attached to the top.
Thought you might need some hangover food. - Zander
Nibbling my bottom lip, I pull the plate out to heat it up in the microwave. Okay… I do need hangover food. Score one for Zander.
The smell of warm bacon makes my mouth water and for a moment, I decide that maybe Zander isn’t such a bad guy after all. However, when I sit down to eat, I pause. Hold up… a little bacon isn’t enough to undo all the fuckery he’s put me through!
“If Zander thinks a morning breakfast is enough to make up for his ‘hit it and quit it’ behavior, he has another thing coming!” I grumble, glancing down at Gizmo.
I still eat the breakfast.
And, fuck me, it’s delicious.
After I eat, I grab my laptop and get to work setting up the schedule. Gizmo hops up onto the island next to me and curls up to sleep.
About half an hour goes by and I’m totally in the zone. So much so that when my phone starts buzzing, it startles me. I grab it and freeze, my heart racing at the name flashing across my screen.
