My reaction time sucks this morning.
I close my eyes for a few seconds, finding it hard to keep them open. I must fall asleep again because I’m startled by the buzz on my pelvis. This time I manage to bring my phone to my face. I have an alarming number of missed calls and messages from my sisters. “What the hell?” I mutter, glancing over at Declan’s relaxed, still passed-out form.
I bring up the group chat and scroll back to the beginning, skimming the conversation in reverse. There seems to be some kind of video that’s caused a heck of a lot of drama, but I have no idea what my sisters are talking about.
I skip the messages and call Harley. I’m aware I’ll likely get both of them on the line, but London seems to be the most upset, so I’d rather deal with Harley first if I can.
She answers halfway through the first ring. “We have big problems, Avery.”
The fog that’s been hanging around in my brain is quick to lift at her less-than-pleasant tone. “I gathered from the messages. Can you fill me in, though? Because last night is unclear.”
“What the hell did you do last night that would make it unclear when you’re recovering from broken freaking limbs?” She’s loud and angry, which is not good. Harley rarely raises her voice.
I filter back through last night, and remember, just vaguely, when Jerome asked where the Tupperware had gone and how I’d polished off the entire container, despite the brownies tasting a little odd. “The guys came over to watch football. I had a beer because I’m not taking the painkillers anymore. Jerome brought some brownies of the special variety. I didn’t know and ended up eating all of them.”
“The special variety?”
“They were pot brownies. I was unaware and polished them all off, which I don’t recommend doing, ever.”
“Didn’t they taste … weedy?”
“I thought they might have some zucchini in them or something.”
“Well, pot brownies might explain your video rant.” Harley doesn’t sound amused.
“What video rant?” I rub my temples, still in the dark about the actual issue.
“You posted a video rant. Can you let us in, please, so we can have this conversation face-to-face? The latch is on and we’ve been standing outside your door for the last twenty minutes trying to get you to answer the door or your freaking phone.”
“Oh crap, you’re here?”
“Yeah.”
“Is London with you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, give me a minute and I’ll let you in.” I end the call and leave a still sleeping Declan—I have no idea how he passes out so hard—in my bed while I hobble uncoordinatedly down the hall.
Neither of them looks impressed when I throw open the door. London doesn’t say a word as she sashays past me, heels clipping on the hardwood.
Harley sighs and shakes her head as she looks me over. “I hope last night was worth it.”
I follow her back down the hall and catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. My hair is an insane wreck, still halfway up in a ponytail. My eyes are red-rimmed, there are pillow lines on my face, and I’m still wearing my sleep tank from last night. I’m also suddenly aware that it only covers my butt by a couple of inches, and I’m not wearing a bra or underwear.
The living room is a mess. The coffee table is littered with remnants of last night’s snacks, empty chip bags, a bowl with chocolate wrappers, and an empty pizza box. There are crushed pieces of popcorn littering the floor around the couch where I normally sit. The kitchen counter is home to several empty beer bottles, a half-gallon jug of orange juice, which I’m guessing I polished off, and several dirty pint glasses.
London wrinkles her nose at the mess and props her fist on her hip. “What were you thinking when you posted that video?”
“I think you need to back this up a little because I still don’t know what video you’re talking about.”
Harley’s nostrils flare and London holds up a hand. “Last night you uploaded a video to the Spark House account where you ranted about bendy straws and turtles, among other things.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.” I wrack my brain, trying to come up with a reason as to why turtles and bendy straws would even come up in conversation.
“Regardless of whether it makes sense or not, the company that was entertaining working with us backed out of the deal!” London says.
“Wait, what?” It takes me a few seconds to piece it together. Especially with my brain fog going on. And then I realize London is referring to Go Green, the company that she was trying to create a sponsorship connection with.
“Go Green backed out. They’re not going to sponsor us anymore,” Harley says quietly.
“I don’t understand why they would back out over a rant about bendy straws and turtles?”