A Recipe for Disaster (Clash Of Cliches Book 2)

Chapter 19- New Beginnings

What a way to enter the new year, and new decade. Rest in peace to Kobe, Gigi, and everyone else who lost their lives in the tragic accident. My heart breaks for those they left behind. Such a huge loss.

Chapter 19- New Beginnings 

I rushed through getting ready for work the next morning, showering, dressing, and making it downstairs in record time. Kameron was nowhere to be seen, and as I trudged despondently back upstairs from my journey to the basement to check if he was still in bed, I told myself that the only reason I wanted to talk to Kameron was to tell him that Jermaine knew about us.

I mean, it's partially true...

Mainly, I just wanted to see him to cement the notion that what happened last night wasn't a dream, and that we were really doing this. Whatever this was.

Madness, Janessa. This is madness.

Pouring myself a bowl of cereal, I plopped onto a stool to think about my next move. Texting Kameron was out of the question, because despite everything that had happened between us so far this summer, I didn't have his phone number. What had he said last night, amidst the kisses, and the touching, and the revelations? I wrinkled up my brow as I stared into space, trying to remember his words, and definitely not the kisses.

'I have practice at 6am.'

I checked my phone. It was almost 8am, which meant he would probably be wrapping up his training session in about an hour and heading home to change for work. 3-hour training sessions are for the devil, not for me. We would probably get our wires crossed, because I had to be at work at 8.30, and as important as seeing Kameron and warning him about Jermaine was, I didn't want to be late for work. Not when I had a group of unruly kids to train for our upcoming tee-ball game.

DM him on Instagram?

Stupid idea. That would tell him that I had, at one point, scrolled his entire Instagram account just to catch a glimpse of his potential FWB. Stalker alert! And since I didn't follow him, he would be more concerned with how I had found his account, as it didn't pop up when his name was typed into the search.

Just call me inch high private eye.

As I sat deep in thought, Deshaun walked in. In the split second it took for my eyes to snap towards him then back to my bowl, lips curled in disdain, I noticed he was wearing the clothes he usually put on when he was going to football practice.

This is weird.

I mean, it was practically August, and apart from acting a damn fool around Sao Marino, going on dates with his summer 'bawdies', and intentionally annoying the hell out of me, Deshaun hadn't done a single productive thing since summer started. If I didn't know that the competitive streak that ran through him was a mile wide, I honestly would have thought he'd given up on his NFL dreams because his dumb ass sure hadn't picked up a football all summer. Yet here he was, stomping into the kitchen, his helmet cradled in his arms.

"Hey baby sis," he huffed, breathing like he'd just finished a grueling triathlon as he headed straight to the fridge and grabbing a bottle of Gatorade. I disregarded him completely. "Probably wondering if I went to practice, huh?" Ignore. "Janessa," he said in a wheedling voice, resting his elbows on the counter across from me and shooting me ridiculous puppy dog eyes. Ignore, the sequel. "You're mad at me?" The idiot scrunched his forehead, a confused look on his face. "About what?"

My nostrils flared with incredulity and I looked up from my bowl, trying to infuse all the contempt I could muster into my very being. "Unbelievable." Icicles hung off that one word, and Deshaun looked even more perplexed, which made me continue. "Last night?" The perplexed look morphed into a mixture of realization and sheepishness, but I wasn't done with him yet. "Do you do this on purpose?"