Page 7 of The Home Grown
“Am I? Because I disagree.”
“Danny’s right,” Johnny says. “You are being dramatic. Vicky will figure out a way to fix this. Until then—” He looks around the room at the guys, “No one is to talk about this. It’s gossip. And I don’t stand for gossip in my dressing room.” The good thing is, no one argues with Johnny. “We’re all going out for drinks to celebrate, not one, but two of our guys making the prelim roster. That’s the focus this evening.”
There’s a roar of cheers and I’m forced to join in.
But despite the smile I have plastered all over my face, I don’t feel even slightly happy. I feel powerless and angry beyond anything I’ve felt before. But I do what I always do to lighten the mood—crack on and pretend like everything is okay.
Nevertheless, I have a feeling things are about to get a lot worse.
Chapter Two
ELLIE
Kathryn flops down nextto me on the bed of our parents’ spare room.
“Are you still waiting for your mystery man to text?”
It’s been forty-eight hours since my sister’s engagement party and Mark still hasn’t texted me.
Usually, I’d be obsessing over every word we said, picking it apart. But right now, all I can think about is the red document wallet on the bedside table shouting for attention.
“I’m trying to catch up on admin,” I say.
It’s not a lie. Iamtrying. I even have the spreadsheet open—though I’ve been on the same cell for the past half-hour.
Kathryn props a pillow behind her back.
“I’m so grateful for you, El. If you need any extra help, I’ll ask Greg.”
I roll my eyes.
My sister owns a beauty salon and even though my official job title is ‘beautician and stylist’, my services extend to the role of ‘lead skivvy’ which involves a ridiculous amount of admin.
She waits until I’ve busied myself by moving to a new worksheet before talking again.
“So … this guy,” she says.
“What about him? He hasn’t texted me. I’m not bothered and?—”
“I think I know who it is,” she says, cutting me off. “I mean, if I guess right, you’ll tell me, yeah?”
I scowl at her.
“Is it Mark?”
My cheeks could out heat a curling wand, but even with my eyes on cell B43, I can feel my sister’s smugness radiating.
“I didn’t think you’d go for him,” she says, tilting her head to the side as she gazes upward. She looks back at me, pursing her lips before saying, “don’t you think he’s a bit out of your league?”
I divert my attention to flash her a glare of contempt. “He asked for my number. Not the other way around.”
“I’m only saying,” she says. “You set your heights too high. You set yourself up for failure.”
“Can we let it go?” I snap.
The embarrassment sets in because—thinking about it now—he probablyisout of my league. But at the time I didn’t think so. I thought he was interested as much as I was.
More fool me, I guess.
