Page 33 of Ripped & Shipped
@EllaMaeFan4ever: No Drake ?? I was so sad. But you and the new guy were great! Loved it. The way you mixed desserts was #relationshipgoals. SO sweet. I’m totally shipping you two. He’s so ripped! #rippedandshipped #ChellaMaeBae #DessertFor2
@sparkle2shine123: Oh my gosh! What a fun live! At first I was like, no Drake? What? But then I saw Drake 2.0 sitting with you and I was like, that’s what I’m talking about. You two made it work. That shake looked delish!
@Fab-U-lous_EllaMae: Thanks, Sparkle! The shake was scrumptious. I’m so glad you loved our live!
@ohiogirl4evah:I don’t know what I’d rate that burger, but I give that “big boy” eating with you a ten out of ten.
@fashion_beauty_lifey:O.M.Goodness! When you wiped his face! I was dead. Stick a fork in me. I’m done. Who needs Drake? #rippedandshipped #ChellaMaeBae
@healthy_greengoddessss:I need that smoothie recipe, Ella Mae. I’m making a cookbook of only green smoothies. Promise to give you 100% credit for your concoction. That shake you drank on the livestream would put me in a sugar coma.
@Fab-U-lous_EllaMae: I DM’d you the recipe. Thanks for the shout out in your cookbook! Let me know when you put it out and I’ll promote it here. The shake was worth the coma, trust me.
CHAPTER13
Ella Mae
My phone pingswith notifications all the way home from Columbus. It’s sweet music to my ears. After Drake blew me off—forgot, overlooked, whatever—I imagined losing followers, word spreading, and then my mind spun into all the worst-case scenarios.
I mean, all it would take is one person saying I made up the collab as a publicity stunt, and people could stage a mass exodus from my account. Everything I’ve worked so hard for would easily slip down the drain.
But now, after tonight’s dinner with Chris and the obvious popularity of our livestream, I’m enjoying a leisurely drive home, chilling to the sounds of Pink’s soundtrack and the constant dings of my cell—each one a chime of validation.
They loved it.
They loved it!
My mind replays our dinner. Chris surprised me—not only with his heroics, but also with the way he rolled with everything. I never did find out what brought him into a Big Boy on the outskirts of Columbus on a Wednesday night.
When I get home, I bump the door open with my hip and shout, “I’m home!” and then I promptly pop off these wedge shoes and wiggle my toes.
Meg and I rent an older home in the middle of a typical neighborhood in Bordeaux. Our front hallway runs down the center of the house, with a room off to the left when you walk in that we use for my filming and our yoga. Well, my yoga. Meg only joins me occasionally these days.
The staircase leading upstairs is to the right along the hallway. The kitchen and living room are at the back of the first story. I see the light on in the living room as I walk further into the house.
Meg’s sitting sideways on the couch with her legs outstretched, reading something on her kindle. She looks up when she sees me walk in.
“So, how’d it go?”
“Stellar. Simply stellar. And weird. And … wait. Didn’t you watch?”
“Sorry, I had a headache, so I came home and went straight to bed. I only got up a half-hour ago. I just grabbed a bowl of soup and snuggled up here on the couch. I figured I could watch a replay with you later, and you would fill me in on everything.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just a stressful day at work. I’m good. So? Tell me everything.”
“Well, Drake didn’t show.”
“Hewhat?”
“Yeah. He blew me off. Or forgot. I was sort of freaking out until—well, you’re not going to believe this.”
I barely believe it myself.
Meg’s eyebrows are raised, obviously I’ve got her attention.
“Chris walked in.”
