Chapter 16 Cecily
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 biker shorts. 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.”
Dylan smiles, walking in. “Moo.”
I smile back. “Your taste buds are going to hate me, but it will nourish your bodies.”
Westley’s quiet as I watch the three of them enter my space. Dylan is cool per usual, so I smile at them, knowing my secret ingredient is going to kill them.
“Where’s Rocky?” I ask, closing the door behind them.
Scott replies, “Being a bitch.”
Dylan shakes his head. “He’s sleeping.”
“Yeah, being a bitch. Show us what you got, chica. I’m ready for my hangover to be cured.”
My eyes meet with Dylan’s again. I thought it would be weird, but luckily it’s not. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.
I turn the blender on as Scott starts talking.
“Sorry,” I mouth at him, and he grins at me.
His eyes travel to my workout attire, and he asks, “Are you working out after this?”
I shrug. “I’m not going to sit around today, so yeah.”
I shrug. “I’m not going to sit around today, so yeah.”
I don’t strain the homemade green juice, which will make it even more challenging to drink. I’m laughing on the inside as I pour them a few glasses. I’m doing this on purpose just to torture them.
Because of these guys, I did something out of character last night, and the least I can do for revenge is make them drink some weird healthy drink I like to make.
“Here you go,” I say.
They all look at me and the glass full of chunky greens.
“This isn’t a shot, Ce,” Scott says.
“Yes, this is a tall glass.” I showcase the tall glass to them, waving my hands in front of it like I’m proud. “Scared?” I challenge.
Scott starts drinking it, and when he’s done, he winces. “What the fuck did you put in here?”
“Cheers,” I mutter to Dylan and Westley.
They glance skeptically at the drink and listen as Scott coughs.
We drink from our cups. Damn, it tastes too healthy.
Westley stops halfway. Dylan finishes his off, making a face of disgust.
I chug what I can and put the cup down.
“Hangover will be cured,” I say.
Scott taps the counter. “That was harsh. You are evil.”
“Yeah, what’d you put in there?” Westley asks.
Dylan grabs the cups and rinses them in the sink.
Scott continues, “So, remember what I said last night? I’m serious about it.”
I know what he’s talking about, so I say, “You have to ask Dylan if he’s alright with it.”
“Alright with what?” he says, standing next to me.
Scott looks at him. “You sure you don’t have anything private?”
I glance at Dylan, who’s confused like a baby bird.
“We could do a group thing. If Dylan’s up for it.” I turn to Dylan.
“I’m lost.”
I flick my chin to Scott. “He’s jealous and wants me to train him too.”
“You want Cecily to be your personal trainer?” He lifts his shirt and says, “Jealous?” He hooks an arm around my shoulders. “She was my friend first.”
Scott looks at both of us. “What days do you train?”
I shrug Dylan off me. “Three days a week. I have strict rules. Not only will you show up, but you’re going to give it 110%, eat right, have a bedtime, cut out the crap, and listen to some mindset-development podcasts. Are you down for that?”
Scott scoffs. “God, Dylan. She has you on a leash, huh?” He turns to me. “What are the perks?”
“What?” I ask.
“Do I get to bang you too?”
“Dude?” Dylan says. “What the fuck?”
Dylan and I synchronize, “We’re not banging.”
I continue, “I’m not going to train you, Scotty. What the hell. Don’t be a creep.”
“Yeah, what the fuck?” Dylan says.
I finish my cup, and Dylan takes it from me to rinse it in the sink.
I clean up the rest of the mess in the kitchen as Dylan mouths something to Scott. I know Dylan didn’t say anything about last night, and that Scott is just fishing.
“Smile,” I say, taking a pic of them at my tiny dining room table.
“You tagging us?” Scott asks.
I nod. “Yeah, I’m going to tell everyone you’re bored and single.”
Scott chuckles. He stands abruptly. “I’ll meet you assholes in the truck.”
Dylan stands tall. “Hop in with me. I’ll take the guys home, and we can go to the gym right after.”
“You’re not dressed,” I point out.
“It’ll take me two seconds.”
My eyes meet his, and it looks like he’s pleading with me to do this. “Okay. Let me get my shoes on. Meet you guys out there.”
Westley walks out, so Dylan’s at my bedroom door as I put on a shirt and socks.
“Hey, did you take it?” he asks.
I nod. “Yes, thank you. When did you get it?”
“I went to Walmart right after I left here and saw it, so I bought it for you. You’re okay, though? Do you have any pain?”
I shake my head, walking past him to grab my shoes. “No, no pain.”
“Do you mind if we spend the day together? I want to make sure you’re okay.”
I lace up my shoes and shrug. “Sure, yeah.” I grab my flask from the counter and refill it. “Hey, you didn’t tell Scott––”
“Hell no. He’s just a dick.”
I lock my apartment behind me and follow Dylan to his truck.
I sit in the backseat with Westley. They listen to music as I flick through my to-do list for the week.
I need to contact a brand regarding my invoice, follow up with a few other brands I reached out to, and plan a Zoom meeting with the agency.
When we reach their house, the guys pile out. I’m left in the back seat, remembering what we did here hours ago. I step out and get into the front seat.
I scroll on my phone when Dylan opens his truck door.
“Ready?” he says.
“Just waiting for Princess Dylan.”
He smiles, giving me a princess face as he drives off.
It’s silent for a couple of minutes before he glances over at my phone and asks, “How’s work?”
I shake my head. “I did some work for a brand called Aslo. They’re based in the UK.
I did some UGC content for them. Probably my best work.
I hired out a photographer, a graphic designer, the whole thing, and it did great.
I get a commission from the sales through my link, but they can’t figure out how to wire it properly to my bank.
I’ve been back and forth with them for nine weeks now, and they keep saying that they’ll pay me, they’ll pay me.
I’m just frustrated with the whole thing. My bank is apparently the problem.”
“How much do they owe you?” he asks.
I laugh. “You don’t want to know.”
“A few hundred?”
I bite my lip, shaking my head. I point my finger up.
“A thousand?”
I point up, shaking my head. I don’t want to tell him that it’s over twenty thousand dollars.
“Holy shit. You don’t even need college, Ce. Is being here holding you back?”
“I’m here for friends, and a backup plan.”
“Ce,” he begins, but I cut him off.
“A degree matters to me.”
He pulls into the gym parking lot.
“College matters to me, Dilly. As ridiculous as it sounds, we’re only young once and can’t experience this ever again.”
“But you’re not even in the dorms. You said you haven’t even made friends yet.”
I frown a little at the reality. “I have you.” I quickly get out of the truck, hoping to finish the conversation.
He hops out, locks his truck, and then says, “If you had no other obligations like college or training a friend, I bet you could triple your income.”
“It’s not all about the money for me, Dylan.” He looks at me with a blank face, so I continue, “Do you want to be an influencer?”
“If it means I’m making thousands for a brand deal, shoot the puck my way.”
We walk through the parking lot. “Speaking of pucks, hockey books are still storming around Booktok.”
“I have a few if you want to borrow,” he says, opening the door for me.
“You do not,” I scoff.
“I wish I were joking.”
“My followers would love to know that my hockey player friend has a hockey romance stash.”