Page 47 of The Red Zone
Two nights ago, both of us ate in silence while Scarlett and Lea talked about their latest work endeavors. Seeing as I’d been avoiding work like the plague lately, I didn’t have much to chime in with, anyway.
Oh, yeah. Business is great. Five seconds from going broke, but great. Really, really great.
Inherently, I knew I needed to get my shit together. To buck up and battle through the storm. Regardless of the outcome of the business, I would live comfortably for the rest of my life, thanks to my financial advisors. The houses were paid off, retirement accounts maxed, my investments had a consistent and healthy cash flow. Not to mention, there were brands constantly banging down my door offering me obscene amounts of money to wear their clothes or post about them on Socialgram.
I had everything I needed and more. There was something about running my own business that fueled a fire within me, though. For the first time in my life, I felt like I was doing something for myself. Not because someone was instructing me on how I needed to look or walk or pose.
This business was mine.
My only regret was not being as well versed in business as I should’ve been from the beginning. I’d made a few—okay, a lot more than a few—bad decisions out of ignorance. Couple that with the fact that I should’ve asked for help sooner, and there was really no one to blame but myself.
I’d heard the phrase once that nearly half of small businesses fail within their first five years. I guess I was naive in believing I wouldn’t be one of them. Now, like a coward, I was trying to salvage my business at the eleventh hour to keep my models employed—the one’s I had left at least.
You know what? Enough thinking about this. I had places to be and I was still on the hunt for a shirt to wear to tonight’s Thursday night football game. The Matrix were playing the Atlanta Assassins and Lea scored Scarlett and I some sideline passes to watch Abel play.
Bursting out the backdoor, I marched over to the pool house, not even considering knocking before turning the handle and letting myself right in. My heels clanked against the hardwood floors as I made the left turn into Scarlett’s room—scratch that, October’s room.
Speak of the devil. There he stood shirtless with unzipped black suit pants and his boxer briefs showing out of the opening.
“Oh, sorry… I didn’t think you’d be here.”
“The door was unlocked?”
“Scarlett always left the door unlocked.”
Not to mention the part where I own this pool house and therefore, by obvious deductive reasoning, would be in possession of a key. Meaning that, even if it wasn’t locked, I could’ve got in with ease.
“You’re naked.” He lifted a brow at me.
“You’re one to talk.” I side eyed him, flinging open the closet doors. “Have you seen a lilac purple corset looking top lying around anywhere? I’ve checked my closet, Lea’s, and Scar’s and I can’t find it anywhere.”
The thing about committing to challenges was that I was going to win. Come hell or high water. This was especially true whenever October was involved.
As much as I’d grown fond of watching him out the window every morning as he cleaned the pool—shirtless, might I add—before running off to the Matrix’s morning practice, I was starting to feel like one of those middle-aged sex deprived mothers in those soap opera style television shows who spent their free time gawking over the pool boy.
It was appalling behavior on my part, really.
I should’ve been ashamed of myself.
“Wear this instead.” He tossed me the navy-blue jersey which had been laying on the edge of his bed.
I stuck out my hands to grab it, holding it out in front of me and watching it unfold to reveal a large, white number sixteen printed on the front, and, yup—you guessed it—his last name written across the back.
“This is your jersey.” I turned the garment around so he could see what I was seeing.
“Congrats on… wait, what are you making that face for? Is wearing my jersey such a bad thing?” His jaw was clenched tight, and I stood there with the jersey in my hands staring at it in disbelief. “Stop making that face and just put it on. You can’t wear purple anyway. That’s Atlanta’s color, and they’ll kick you off the sidelines before the game starts.”
“How many other girls have worn this?” The words slipped out of my mouth before I had the chance to filter them.
“It’s brand new… I wouldn’t give you a jersey someone else has worn. You deserve better than that.”
I was at a loss for words.
I didn’t like him. I might not have hated him anymore, but I still didn’t like him. And wearing a jersey with his name on it felt like a very “girlfriend” thing to do. I mean, I wasn’t very well versed in the world of sports, but this was totally the kind of thing that was reserved for girlfriends, right?
“Are you going to put it on yourself or do you need me to help you?” There was a snarky kick in his comment.
With my eyes squinted, I shoved my arms through the holes and pulled the two sizes too big jersey over my head. I turned to look in the floor length mirror in the corner, which had been there since I bought the place, taking in my newest outfit.
