feelings out of me. I just wanted to get lost and wild and let myself truly be free, in the way I can’t quite seem to.
My past has such a hold on me, like I’m stopped at a red light that never changes, waiting for that green light that never comes.
I wish I could just go.
I even thought about calling Sergio.
He was good-looking. He would have been up for it.
Maybe it would have been a quick lay, maybe it would have been something more.
Hey, we would have had a great meet-cute story.
But I didn’t.
Something stopped me.
Maybe fear.
Maybe something else.
Like a hand reaching out and pulling me back.
I ended up going back to my apartment and passing out on the couch.
So, suffice it to say, I’m silent this afternoon because I kind of feel like I’m going to throw up in the back seat of the car. I slept through my alarm, missed the morning’s therapy, rushed like mad to get here.
I’m also silent because I’m going to see Alejo today, and I really don’t know how I’m going to deal with that. I guess I don’t really have a choice but to sweep it under the rug. Maybe enough time has passed and we can pretend we don’t remember.
But I remember.
I remember exactly what it felt like to be kissed by him.
It was a kiss that erased my past.
Maybe that’s why I never ended up finding anyone last night.
I knew they wouldn’t even compare.
Manuel drops me off at the building, and after waving my pass through a few security checkpoints, I make my way into the first team building.
Yeesh.
I’m not a hippie-dippie kind of person, but I do believe in energies, and I can definitely feel the energy in the air as I walk down the hall.
It’s not good.
There’s an undercurrent of anger and hopelessness, a tension that seems to come from the walls. Bad vibes all around.
It’s also pretty quiet, even for siesta time. Usually there’s some noise somewhere.
I walk past Mateo’s office, but the door is closed and I don’t hear him inside. Maybe he really is sleeping. I want to apologize for missing this morning, but I don’t want to push my luck.
I then make my way to the physical therapy room, glad that I’m ten minutes early so I have enough time to prepare and get this hangover under control.
Except Alejo is already there.
Sitting on the table, his back facing me.
Wearing the light blue shirt he uses for training, the same shirt that makes his eyes look icy cold.
I breathe in deep through my nose, ignoring the queasiness in my stomach, and walk over to him.
“I didn’t think you’d be here so soon,” I tell him.
“I’m always here early,” he says without turning around.
“No you’re not. You’re always late.”
He finally looks at me, and for a moment, the breath is knocked out of my lungs. Shit, I didn’t think looking at him would feel so vibey.
He frowns. “Are you okay?”
“Do I not seem okay?”
“I heard you weren’t here this morning and” —he gestures with his finger at my face— “this isn’t the face of someone who is okay.”
I give him a funny look, wondering what the hell kind of face I’m making, then go straight to the mirror.
Okay. I’m not sure how I managed to miss it this morning, but I have last night’s mascara smudged under my eyes. I thought I’d washed it off, but I didn’t even put on makeup after to make up for it.
“Ugh,” I say, going over to the shelves and bringing a kit down. I take out a cotton pad and some coconut oil and quickly wipe it under my eyes, then rub a bit of oil on my face for good measure, slicking some back in my ponytail too.
At least I remembered to brush my teeth.
I walk back over to him. “Better?”
He gives me a small smile. “I don’t think you could ever look bad.”
“You should have seen me when I first woke up,” I point out, happy that so far things don’t seem too weird.
“Why? Are you hung over? Is that what’s wrong with you?”
I nod. “Took myself on a date last night. Had too much sangría. I’m a cheap drunk but not a cheap date.”
“You couldn’t find anyone to take you on a date?” he asks, his voice quiet.
“I wasn’t really trying,” I say. I clear my throat, putting my hand on my hip. “Besides, it was fun. I had fun. But they don’t really serve sangría