Shift OR Drift

Amberly

Whoever came up with the idea of having the sunshine directly in their face when they wake up had half of a brain. The sun tries to pry my sleepy eyes open causing a disgusted groan to pop out of me. That person seriously had no idea of the concept of sleeping in. Glancing at my phone, there are several missed calls from Lexy. A low growl escapes my lips as a taste of displeasure about the number of attempted calls on her behalf. Crawling out of the rather warm bed, I pull the earbuds from my ears resting them around my tan-skinned neck. After a half attempt to wake up and forcefully having to drag myself down the stairwell, surprise dances across my face to see Lexy sipping on some coffee preparing herself for work in a rather good mood. I avoid asking the very obvious question tugging at my brain. Was the dick any good? And decide to just watch her in her morning bliss mentally taking a bet on how long it will take her to notice me sitting on the island watching her. No trace or sign of any man around. Instead, she dances in her own little bliss like the world does not exist. After about five minutes she turns around on me. Swinging a rather hard pancake straight into my face. If I was not awake before I sure as hell am now. I tell myself as the pancake lands on the counter. Leave it to her to butcher regular old pancakes.

"I'm so sorry," she says, dropping the spatula on the counter and covering her mouth in a dramatic half surprise half-apology.

I shrug it off like it was no big deal to get hit in the face with a flying pancake as hard as a rock seeming as if it was out for my blood. Getting up, I snag the spatula away from the counter and Lexylets me do the one thing Lexy knows I am better at. Cooking. Taking her place and making sure she sits in my seat, away from all cooking supplies, I take over the rest of her failed attempts and cook for her. Knowing full well she would not have made it to work without having to get fast food had I not stepped in to help.

Nothing is said between the two of us as she takes the plate from my hand looking rather hungrily at the plate I made. "You're late today," I mention suggesting to the clock, "and in a rather good mood might I add." She smiles and tucks herself away as if she is faking some sort of embarrassment play. I am not buying it.

"Well. I will take my good mood and tardiness out the door then." She gets off of the seat leaving behind the empty plate, grabs her bag heading for the door with a grin on her face. I will just pry the answer to the very question I was about to ask out of her later on, as clearly with her cheeky not having a desire to tell me anything about it now attitude will not give me answers.

Lexy, unlike the rest of us, does not need work yet, she chooses to do so. Bless her sweet and innocent heart for trying though as the rest of modern-day working-class men do it to barely make enough to afford their homes or the food themselves. Me? I am not working class however, I play the part just to specifically distract rather roaming eyes from the truth of the source of where my money comes from. With Lexy having millionaire parents who are more than happy to pay for anything of hers, it makes it hard for me to fully sympathize with her when she complains about her job she does not truly need. On the other hand, with nearly half a million in my bank account, I work to keep up with appearances. Lexy, on the other hand, has no appearances to keep up. Well, other than the rich only child status. She does a rather good job at playing the part as there has been nothing else she has ever known. She tried her best to feel bad when my father died however, she could not truly sympathize with me as she had no clue what I am or was truly dealing with.

Walking out to my car after managing to throw an outfit together, I drive to the glorious job of mine. The only place there may be a chance for me after all. A place where there may be a chance to make something of myself other than the drag racing dead father's girl. In fact, the reason they help me be more than just a street racer is because they are music producers. Like my father, after his death, music quickly became my solace and I started to create my own pieces, landing me this job. Having been told my skills were not just in the racing department but as well as in the music area. My one chance to do something different came to fruition. The producer sang their praises to my assistance as usual. I have been here nearly two years now and so far, all they have me do is edit the producer's work. A small price to pay for them to let me create my own music on Fridays. They always take the credit for my edits if it gets riveting reviews which I think is bogus. Of course, they think it is the most perfectly made deal.