to see that he’s spooked me. I’ve got to bulldoze my way into the NFL; I just have to figure out how.
I think about the quotes I have taped up on my bathroom mirror.
Push yourself because no one else is going to do it.
You are responsible for your success.
You is all you have.
And fuck, that last one crawls around inside me and sticks.
5
“Wake up and get me a cigarette, bitch,” cries Vampire Bill, the African grey parrot that’s in his cage on my nightstand.
I ease up and glare at him from my bed.
Ryker stayed over with Penelope, my roomie and best friend, last night, so I pulled the parrot from her room into mine. Nothing kills the lovey-dovey mood like a parrot telling them to “Get your bony ass down the road and get a job.”
He was rescued by Penelope from a bunch of cigarette-smoking, belligerent, low-class morons. Our neighbors from across the street, they left him on the side of the road on their move-out day, and Penelope ran out to save him. She says he’s hers, and I guess he is, but I like to think of us as co-parents.
When I stretch and reach out to pet him, he fluffs his feathers and rubs the back of my hand with his head. I study his misshapen right wing, the one that keeps him from flying, and hand him a cracker from the box on the table. Regardless of the things he says, he’s an affectionate creature, and I have a soft spot for him. He reminds me of, well, me—a little broken but still fighting.
“Time to make this day my bitch, but no smoking for you,” I say, hopping up out of bed and putting on some new workout leggings and a T-shirt. Deadpool is on the front saying, Yeah, I’d do me. I sweep my hair up in a high ponytail and head out to the den of the house I share with Penelope. Her mom left it to her after she passed away, and it’s in a quiet neighborhood near campus.
No one else appears to be up yet—thank God—so I bring up the YouTube channel on the TV for my yoga session of the day.
Later, after several attempts at this ridiculousness, sweat drips off me while I push my legs as far apart as they’ll go and grasp my toes. I call it The Crotch Widener Pose, but I don’t think the trim girl in the video would approve. She moves into another position, and I fumble around on my mat, trying to get up. “What’s the point of this,” I mutter, weaving as I try to stand still on one foot, my arms straight and pointed at the ceiling, one foot tucked into the bend of my knee. “Look, I’m a rocket man,” I announce to no one. “Should have brought Vampire Bill out here so he could critique,” I say on a laugh. Then, I catch a glimpse of myself in the glare from the television and wince at the scrunched-up face and strands of hair that have fallen loose from my up-do. Ugh. Definitely not a Dani kind of girl.
Ryker walks into the room wearing flannel pants and no shirt. He comes to a halt when he sees me and rakes a hand through his golden-blond hair. “Damn. Any clue how many captions I could put on this image—”
“Trust me, she can caption them herself,” replies Penelope as she follows him into the room and swats him on the ass. With her copper hair up in a messy knot and her red glasses perched on her nose, she looks slightly mussed and happy in her pjs. I’m not surprised considering the number of times I heard her calling out his name last night. I’m thrilled they’re in love and all that jazz, but dang, enough with the awesome sex already. I make a mental note to pick up some earplugs at the Piggly Wiggly.
“Bedsides,” Penelope adds. “No one likes an audience while they’re exercising.”
“Especially when they’re short and gravitationally challenged like me.” I laugh and continue into the next pose. “Be glad I wasn’t in downward-facing dog.”
“Namaste, Charm. Please continue your workout,” Ryker says then gives me a broad grin as he heads off for a shower.
I finish up just as my phone rings with a call from an unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Charisma Rossi?” It’s a man with a distinct Boston accent.
I grip the phone tighter. The only people I know who’d be calling me