Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Press Play
Author's Note: I hope everyone had a nice Valentine's Day. I spent mine making a gingerbread house, breaking a gingerbread house, and watching Slumdog Millionaire.
xx_eddi_xx: Sweet. I'm glad you're still reading.
Tissamy: You're dead on about Cameron. Keep reading and you just might get your wish.
Now the chapter...
SIX: drunk girl
C A M E R O N
The morning came too soon. The sun was too bright. And the clock on the wall was ticking too fucking loudly.
As I turned away from the sunlight burning my eyes, there were 3 things running through my mind:
a) How much did I drink?
b) How did I get home?
c) How can I make this hangover go away?
In efforts to collect my thoughts, I swung my feet over the side of the bed and leaned forward onto my elbows.
“Fuck…”
Everything about the previous night was mixed in a blur of whiskey shots, heavy grinding and music that kept my ears ringing. Raising my hand to rub sleep from my eyes, I noticed a phone number sloppily scrawled on my palm.
K (773) 308-9633
“…Karen?” I said, trying to remember the name attached to the blonde I was dancing with.
“No, Katie…” Shit. Now that I think about it, she was a brunette.
“Keltie?” No. She moved to Michigan last month.
“Kerri.”
I was about to head off to the bathroom when I noticed a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water next to my phone.
Juliet must’ve driven me home…
Grateful, I popped two of the small white tablets and downed them with a mouthful of water.
As I ran a hand through my hair, random bits of conversation flashed through my mind.
“…Courvoisier.”
“Idontreallyhaveaboyfriend…”
“Dude, you’ve gotta stop stringing her along.”
“Pour me another…”
In hopes of clearing my mind, I pulled myself out of bed and took a shower. But no matter how hot I made the water or how much I scrubbed my skin, my thoughts kept wandering to the same girl. And her name didn’t begin with a K.
After drying off, I pulled on some clothes and tucked my wallet into my jeans.
Sunglasses. Coat. Keys.
Stepping into the hallway, all eyes were on me. By the way some of the neighbors were staring, I probably made an ass of myself. Locking my door, I noticed new dents in the wall as well as the doorframe. Shit.
I tried not to attract more attention, but I could feel eyes boring into the back of my head as I walked toward the elevator.
“Good morning, Mrs. Janek,” I said, greeting the elderly woman who stepped in before me.
“Good afternoon, Cameron.”
Blood rushed to my cheeks and I directed my gaze at my sneakers.
She got off on the 2nd floor while I made a descent to the ground floor. When the tiny 1 lit up, steel doors slid open and I practically ran out to my car.
Once outside, January winds were the only things that greeted me.
A thin layer of snow covered my Range Rover, so after starting it up, I had to pop the trunk and take the snow brush out. Once I cleared off all sides, I hopped in the driver’s seat and buckled myself in.
Reverse. Turn Signal. Check traffic. Drive to Starbucks.
This sequence of events was second nature to me. Autopilot, if you will. Before long, I found myself parking on the corner of Kimball and Foster. The one on Clark is much closer, but Lacey made it clear that I’m not welcome at her place of work.
The small brick room was semi-crowded. Tables were occupied by college students working on term papers, businessmen reading the Sun Times and high schoolers chatting about their love lives over steaming espressos.
I got in line behind a middle-aged woman who was having an obnoxiously loud conversation on her Blackberry.
“She did what?!” the woman said, flailing her other arm in the air “…God, now I have to cancel my 2:00.“ Sighing in frustration, she failed to move up with the person in front of her. “...Yeah, alright…No, she‘s not fired, but I‘m considering this to be her 2nd strike.”
I stopped eavesdropping on her conversation and slipped a hand into my coat pocket. $9.72. That’s exactly how much money I had in there. That’s exactly how much it costs for a tall vanilla latte, a tall hot chocolate and an apple pastry.
After getting off the phone, she stepped up to the counter and made a ridiculously complicated order. The barista must have been new because his eyes went wide, then he turned to Barbara. The tall blonde nodded as the woman repeated her order and started preparing the drink, while the boy collected payment. Once her coffee was made, the woman grabbed the cup and bustled out of the door.
“Cameron, I‘m guessing you‘re gonna have the usual,” Barbara said over the new kid‘s shoulder. I nodded and she rang up my order from memory. Wordlessly, I pulled out the crumpled $5, four $1s, 2 quarters, 2 dimes and 2 pennies, then set them on the counter.
“Ben, could you grab me an apple pastry?” she asked, filing the money into the register. He complied, while she grabbed a cup and started mixing liquids.
“Exactly how plastered did you get last night?” she asked, preparing the drinks.
“I started grinding with some random girl at Excailbur and I couldn’t remember her name this morning.” She smirked and shook her head.
“If it weren’t for coffee, Juliet would have dropped you a long time ago,” she joked.
Though she didn’t mean anything by it, her words stung. I faked a smile and laughed off her comment.
She set the cups on the counter, along with the apple pastry. With a quick “Thank you,” I grabbed the paper bag and the drinks.
Slipping back into the driver‘s seat, I turned on the CD player, then continued through the motions.
Reverse. Turn signal. Merge into traffic.
I kissed a drunk girl
I kissed a drunk girl, yes I did
I kissed a drunk girl on the lips…
Andrew McMahon’s voice amplified the comment Barbara had made. Sighing, I pressed fast forward, but it was too late. Guilt had already set in.
I know I am not the one
I know I am not the one
“I know I am not the one…”
+++++
Please Rate/Review.
T'would be pretty rad if you did.
xx_eddi_xx: Sweet. I'm glad you're still reading.
Tissamy: You're dead on about Cameron. Keep reading and you just might get your wish.
Now the chapter...
SIX: drunk girl
C A M E R O N
The morning came too soon. The sun was too bright. And the clock on the wall was ticking too fucking loudly.
As I turned away from the sunlight burning my eyes, there were 3 things running through my mind:
a) How much did I drink?
b) How did I get home?
c) How can I make this hangover go away?
In efforts to collect my thoughts, I swung my feet over the side of the bed and leaned forward onto my elbows.
“Fuck…”
Everything about the previous night was mixed in a blur of whiskey shots, heavy grinding and music that kept my ears ringing. Raising my hand to rub sleep from my eyes, I noticed a phone number sloppily scrawled on my palm.
K (773) 308-9633
“…Karen?” I said, trying to remember the name attached to the blonde I was dancing with.
“No, Katie…” Shit. Now that I think about it, she was a brunette.
“Keltie?” No. She moved to Michigan last month.
“Kerri.”
I was about to head off to the bathroom when I noticed a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water next to my phone.
Juliet must’ve driven me home…
Grateful, I popped two of the small white tablets and downed them with a mouthful of water.
As I ran a hand through my hair, random bits of conversation flashed through my mind.
“…Courvoisier.”
“Idontreallyhaveaboyfriend…”
“Dude, you’ve gotta stop stringing her along.”
“Pour me another…”
In hopes of clearing my mind, I pulled myself out of bed and took a shower. But no matter how hot I made the water or how much I scrubbed my skin, my thoughts kept wandering to the same girl. And her name didn’t begin with a K.
After drying off, I pulled on some clothes and tucked my wallet into my jeans.
Sunglasses. Coat. Keys.
Stepping into the hallway, all eyes were on me. By the way some of the neighbors were staring, I probably made an ass of myself. Locking my door, I noticed new dents in the wall as well as the doorframe. Shit.
I tried not to attract more attention, but I could feel eyes boring into the back of my head as I walked toward the elevator.
“Good morning, Mrs. Janek,” I said, greeting the elderly woman who stepped in before me.
“Good afternoon, Cameron.”
Blood rushed to my cheeks and I directed my gaze at my sneakers.
She got off on the 2nd floor while I made a descent to the ground floor. When the tiny 1 lit up, steel doors slid open and I practically ran out to my car.
Once outside, January winds were the only things that greeted me.
A thin layer of snow covered my Range Rover, so after starting it up, I had to pop the trunk and take the snow brush out. Once I cleared off all sides, I hopped in the driver’s seat and buckled myself in.
Reverse. Turn Signal. Check traffic. Drive to Starbucks.
This sequence of events was second nature to me. Autopilot, if you will. Before long, I found myself parking on the corner of Kimball and Foster. The one on Clark is much closer, but Lacey made it clear that I’m not welcome at her place of work.
The small brick room was semi-crowded. Tables were occupied by college students working on term papers, businessmen reading the Sun Times and high schoolers chatting about their love lives over steaming espressos.
I got in line behind a middle-aged woman who was having an obnoxiously loud conversation on her Blackberry.
“She did what?!” the woman said, flailing her other arm in the air “…God, now I have to cancel my 2:00.“ Sighing in frustration, she failed to move up with the person in front of her. “...Yeah, alright…No, she‘s not fired, but I‘m considering this to be her 2nd strike.”
I stopped eavesdropping on her conversation and slipped a hand into my coat pocket. $9.72. That’s exactly how much money I had in there. That’s exactly how much it costs for a tall vanilla latte, a tall hot chocolate and an apple pastry.
After getting off the phone, she stepped up to the counter and made a ridiculously complicated order. The barista must have been new because his eyes went wide, then he turned to Barbara. The tall blonde nodded as the woman repeated her order and started preparing the drink, while the boy collected payment. Once her coffee was made, the woman grabbed the cup and bustled out of the door.
“Cameron, I‘m guessing you‘re gonna have the usual,” Barbara said over the new kid‘s shoulder. I nodded and she rang up my order from memory. Wordlessly, I pulled out the crumpled $5, four $1s, 2 quarters, 2 dimes and 2 pennies, then set them on the counter.
“Ben, could you grab me an apple pastry?” she asked, filing the money into the register. He complied, while she grabbed a cup and started mixing liquids.
“Exactly how plastered did you get last night?” she asked, preparing the drinks.
“I started grinding with some random girl at Excailbur and I couldn’t remember her name this morning.” She smirked and shook her head.
“If it weren’t for coffee, Juliet would have dropped you a long time ago,” she joked.
Though she didn’t mean anything by it, her words stung. I faked a smile and laughed off her comment.
She set the cups on the counter, along with the apple pastry. With a quick “Thank you,” I grabbed the paper bag and the drinks.
Slipping back into the driver‘s seat, I turned on the CD player, then continued through the motions.
Reverse. Turn signal. Merge into traffic.
I kissed a drunk girl
I kissed a drunk girl, yes I did
I kissed a drunk girl on the lips…
Andrew McMahon’s voice amplified the comment Barbara had made. Sighing, I pressed fast forward, but it was too late. Guilt had already set in.
I know I am not the one
I know I am not the one
“I know I am not the one…”
+++++
Please Rate/Review.
T'would be pretty rad if you did.
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