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What is my problem?
He means nothing bad.
Addison and I aren’t a couple.
We’re merely friends and coworkers.
I have no claim over her.
I’m clearly overreacting.
Thank God Arden is engrossed in his menu and not paying a bit of attention to me, especially since I’m still glaring at him like a mofo.
Enough!
Opening my own menu, I stare down at it.
But it’s nothing but a blur.
I’m far too distracted, trying to figure out what these strong feelings for Addison Knight might actually mean.
Shit, I don’t think I want to know.
Addison
Hayden does his interview withAtlanta Sports Monthly, and I get word, from him and the editor, that it goes extremely well.
When the magazine is released, in mid-December since it’s a January issue, we should have a good feel on whether it’s a success or not.
I have a feeling it’ll be big.
But we have a couple more weeks to wait, including getting through Thanksgiving, which is today.
Speaking of the damn turkey holiday, I am freaking bored.
Hayden has been with the team all week for away games up in Canada. But the guys were supposed to get back late last night.
He asked me, via text, earlier this week if I was planning to go back to Pittsburgh to be with my family for the holiday.
I explained that, though I’d love to see my parents and sister, I’m too new to ask for enough time off from work to make the trip worthwhile.
He sent a sad-face emoji and texted,Yeah, same here. We have away games the night after Thanksgiving and that Saturday afternoon, so no sense in traveling to Buffalo.
He’s lucky, though. I heard the team is putting on a nice spread of food down at the arena for all the guys who aren’t from the US and those who are just staying in town.
I’m sure Hayden will be going and enjoying all that yummy goodness.
Me, I’ll be eating turkey cold cuts for dinner.
Oh, yay.
I’m actually kind of hungry right now, as it’s getting close to dinnertime.
Running my hands down my soft salmon-pink sweater and black leggings, I get up from the sofa and head to the kitchen.
Halfway there, the doorbell rings, scaring the crap out of me.
Jumping, and then detouring to the front door, I mutter, “Huh, who could be here? I’m not expecting any visitors.”
