Page 33 of East

A splitting headache in tandem with the sun streaming through the curtainless window wakes me up.

I rub at my temples, look around.

Where am I?

I swallow. My throat is dry.

I went to a new place last night. The Jade Sanctum. Right. I was on a date. I met the owner. He showed me around, charmed the hell out of me. Date didn’t show. And I went home with⁠—

Oh, damn it all.

I went home with the bartender of the West section. Wick something.

I was going to charge my phone for twenty minutes and then go home.

And then I found that Nintendo controller, and I⁠—

Shit. I must have passed out.

What the hell got into me?

I don’t find Wick attractive at all. The lip piercing, black fingernails? Not for me.

But with a few drinks in me I found him irresistible.

Totally weird.

The walls in Wick’s bedroom are painted black. Several posters for punk-rock bands hang haphazardly, their edges ripped and curling in slightly. Dirty socks and briefs litter the floor. Glad I couldn’t see this last night.

What time is it? It’s rare that I’m up after sunrise, what with⁠—

Fuck. My job!

My phone is plugged into a power strip at the side of the bed. I quickly grab it. It’s fully charged, thank God.

And it’s five a.m.

Oh, no.

I’m supposed to be in my makeup chair right now. One hour until the first ChicagO2 broadcast of the day.

Shit shit shit fuck shit…

I jump out of bed, peel off Wick’s T-shirt, and put on my gingham dress. I can’t wear this on the news, but I keep a spare outfit at the station in my dressing room. I can change once I get there. If I get there on time.

I still have my makeup on from last night, so maybe my makeup girl can just clean it up to save some time. That plus a few yanks of a brush through my hair might make me presentable.

I’m in my dress, back zipper be damned. I just need to find my shoes…

Where the hell are they?

I clap my hand against my mouth.

For fuck’s sake.

I ditched my shoes when my heel got caught in that sewer grate on the way to Wick’s car.

What the hell was I thinking? Those were five-hundred-dollar Louboutins.