Because a team might get stuck with a player or a salary that they can't trade, they're more likely to seek to fill the spots with American talent. At least that's the idea. It's not like we don't all have leagues in our home countries. Alastair is here because his contract paid him tons more money.
I'm here because I have no choice.
Alastair sits on the bench next to me, stuffing the contents of his locker into his large duffle bag. "I'm considering going back to the BFL."
Heading back to Europe would be a good way to extract ourselves from the Terrors organization. Alastair has that option.
I do not.
"I wish I could, mate. But you should look into it. Anything to save you from another season here."
"Ah, but what'll you do? Other than sit in your flat and sulk all the time. I'm worried about you, mate."
"I'm thinking of volunteering with a rescue organization for the next two months. That should keep me busy. You don't have to worry."
"Bird Man, you're too much. Really." Alastair stands, clapping me on the shoulder. "I feel terrible that you're stuck here."
"At least until March. I'll work to see if I can get traded then."
Alastair leans in and whispers, "You know no one likes to deal with Camacho. He's screwed over so many people that they don't trust him. I don't either."
That makes two of us. Our owner is as crooked as the day is long. I don't trust Camacho not to screw me over royally. And it wouldn't surprise me if other owners didn't want to trade with him because they felt the same way.
Once my locker is cleaned out, I look around. I can't believe I have no other options than to stay with the Terrors. As I head toward the door, I realize I'm not the only one having a terrible night.
"Take it down." Trent's screaming into his phone. "Ophelia, I mean it. I'm going to sue you for defamation of character. You made me look like an asshole."
I keep walking, knowing that Trent needs no help in looking like an arsehole. I'm not sure what Ophelia can do with this momentum, but I hope she profits tremendously. Or at least enough to recoup the cost of her plane ticket.
Chapter 7: Ophelia
I keep waiting for that sick feeling to go away every time I look at my phone. Nope, still there.
The necessary evil is that I need my phone. At least I do if I want to talk to my best friend. Marley works in a busy doctor's office, so I can only text with her during the day. And since it's Monday, that means I have to pick up my phone to get some much-needed emotional support right now.
Marley: 400K+
Yeah, I didn't need that text message.
I don't need to know that over four hundred thousand people have witnessed one of the most embarrassing situations in my life. And that's an impressive statement because remember, I'm the girl who had the police called because she felt her life was threatened by a dove.
And we won't even talk about the sock incident.
What's so embarrassing about this is that I didn't know. I had absolutely no idea. I didn'tseeuntil thousands of strangers—literally—pointed it out to me. I mean, things were over with Trent anyway, obviously, but the video …
A wave of nausea rolls over me.
How could I have been such a fool?
Yet another check in the column of "stupid things Ophelia Finnegan has done in her quest for love."
I had to shut down my direct messages. I turned off my notifications. I thank my lucky stars that my ClikClak account is not under my name so that no one can find and troll me on my other social media accounts. Sure they could look for my face, but that's like trying to find a needle in a haystack of short, average-looking brunettes. At least they can't link my ClikClak to my real name.
Lovelylia.
More like "Laugh at Lia."
Here's the thing—I don't know what to do now. Hell, that's the story of my life. My follows have gone through the roof as my video—and all the ones in the series—have blown up in views. I could, and should, use this as a springboard for more.
