Page 40 of Ripped & Shipped
He could have been more friendly. That choice was completely up to him. But as I told Meg, we’re not friends. I’m not going to let a rejection from Chris get me down. There’s too much good mojo going on from our livestream.
I slip into my car, still smiling over how well I nailed letting Chris know he doesn’t affect me. I walked into the coffee shop like a boss babe in pink, and I walked out head held high. I didn’t even have to reapply my lip gloss. Take that, Soldier.
I’ll always be grateful to Chris for bailing me out, and for causing my followers to go into a frenzy over him. But I’m not going to pause my life to fret over this small-minded town and the way people can’t get over themselves. It’s a beautiful day. And I’ve got a coveted collab on Saturday.
The next two days, I focus on pre-recording social media posts, answering even more comments on the livestream from Wednesday night, and doing my usual routines of exercise, skin care, and mindfulness practice.
By Saturday, I’m in top form, ready to meet Drake and make one more move in my quest for social media domination. I pull into a Burger-in-the-Box parking lot at noon. We’ll be getting Uber drivers to select our food over a five-hour period, pausing between going to each next stop.
The plan for today is more detailed and intricate than our original collab. I’m wearing a pair of cotton shorts with an elastic waistband and an off-the-shoulder top over a tank. It’s not the dress I wore to Frisch’s. I also didn’t drink enough green drink over the past twenty-four hours to pass a small marsh out my other end. I’ve been eating smaller portions, but I didn’t go all out to prepare my body for an onslaught of junk food.
It’s a different day for me. I feel more like Drake owes me one, even though I’m still a little starstruck about getting to film with him.
Drake’s here. When I pull up, I see him leaning on his car in a pose that’s so young James Dean. He’s tilting back on the hood of his sports car with his legs casually crossed at the ankles. Well, hello.
I check my lipstick in the rearview mirror, and hop out.
“Ella Mae! Good to see you. Glad you could make it.”
I’m glad he could make it, and I don’t want to sound bitter, so I just say, “Thanks.”
“Come on over here and give me a hug,” Drake says, extending his arms, and popping up off the hood of his car. He’s tall, muscular, dark hair, cut mid-length and wavy—the kind of hair that makes a girl want to run her fingers through it. He’s got that “it” factor thing going for him. He oozes confidence and comfort in his own skin. But he seems pretty smitten with himself too.
I lean in for a quick hug, and he holds onto me like an old friend. A little too long for having just met one another. I don’t meet his eyes as I step back out of the hug, causing his arms to drop to his sides.
He casually runs a hand through his hair. It falls out of his fingertips, the ends feathering in different directions. Drake’s got a Timothée Chalamet or Bradley Cooper look, and I’m not complaining.
“So, my camera guy is meeting us here. He’ll ride along next to you in the back seat, but he’s got a dash-mount camera too. He’ll put that in each Uber so he can capture shots from all angles.”
“You have a camera guy here in Columbus?”
“My cousin, Andy.”
“Nepotism. I love it.”
Drake laughs a little too hard at my lame joke. It’s one of those laughs that feels like he’s auditioning for a studio audience.
“You’re even more beautiful in real life. I can’t take my eyes off you, Ella Mae.”
I’m spared answering the awkward compliment by the arrival of Andy.
He hops out of his truck shouting, “Uber number one’s on its way!”
Sure enough, right behind Andy, a car pulls into the parking lot and parks right next to Drake’s car. Drake introduces himself, and then me and Andy, to the driver and tells him our plan. We all load into the Honda Accord and Andy sets one camera on the dashboard. Then, we get ready to film.
I pop open my phone.
“Heyyyy, my peeps! I’m here with DrakesDaMan!” I turn the camera toward Drake who’s in the front passenger seat. He does a little two finger salute and a wink into my camera. “And this is Andy, Drake’s camera guy. Say hi to my fans and followers, Andy.”
Where Drake seems to come to life for the camera, Andy definitely is more comfortable behind a lens. He gives a shy glance into my phone and then looks down.
“And with us is Stan, the Uber driver! Say hi to everyone, Stan!” I stretch my hand around the front seat so the camera can capture Stan. He smiles and says, “Heya, all the people in TV land.”
I pull the phone back to myself, laughing at the cuteness of Stan. I explain to the over eight thousand viewers watching me right now that Stan is going to pick our meal, and we’ll eat whatever he orders for us.
The first stop isn’t too bad. We get potato wedges loaded with gooey nacho cheese topping and bacon, a giant burger to split, and jalapeño poppers. I’m dying to ask for a diet Coke, but I’m following the rules. I can grab one on the way home if I still want one after a day of binging on junk food. Stan didn’t get us drinks.
We park the car and dig in, Andy filming us, and me turning my camera on sporadically to catch bits of the day to share live with my followers. The counts continue to climb as Drake posts on his socials. He’ll put a final edited video on his YouTube channel this week.
