HIS FAVORITE GINGER ✓

THIRTY.

...I never hit so hard in love...

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Grayson

The fuck?

Geez, it's so bright...

Am I in heaven?

What's this soft stuff under my head?

My hands flew towards my face to block the brightness before I used every calorie of energy in my body to rip my eyelids apart. After realizing I wasn't in heaven and the source of the ultra-violent light was the morning sun, I licked my dry mouth and sat up on my creaky bed groggily.

Memories from last night should have cliché-ly come crashing in my head but the nightmares I had overnight were still tormenting my train of thoughts. I opened my palm and harshly grabbed my throbbing forehead and squeezed it.

I stretched my arms and let out a yawn before I withdrew to avoid the invisible repulsive cloud caused by my morning breath.

It took roughly fifteen minutes for me to brush my teeth and wash my mouth and all those pre-bathe shit- what? I wasn't just lucky alone to earn all these pearly whites and overall gorgeousness.

I took one last glance at my bed and noticed that it doesn't seem like just one person slept in. The covers were all over the place and the pillow was under my feet. Shrugging, I came to a conclusion that the horrible nightmares made me scatter the sheets to this extent.

Lasagna and toast smothered the hallway with their scents and my brain geared towards an answer as to who was at home.

It couldn't be Damien. If I remembered correctly, he told me some shit that made me real mad the previous night and he knows better than to near me a yard when I'm pissed so, no. It isn't him.

Layla? She has the key to the house - for obvious reasons - but I took it back after we broke up.

If this is those type of burglars that has the guts to intrude and cook in houses, I swear. . . My hands travelled to the handle of a baseball bat idly leaning against the wall.

I took cautious steps to the kitchen and it was as if with every second gone, my grip on the bat became stronger. My heart pounded against my ribcage and I swallowed down a thick lump in my throat.

Bracing myself for the worst scenario of a black-hooded figure stuffing my flavoured Nutella collection in a sack, I was met instead with a sexy beast having a fat ass, juicily tanned skin, and Dr. Dre headphones on its orange head.

"Al-Alejandro, what are you doing here?"

". . .Tell the paparazzi get the lens right, got the windows down, top, blowing la', got the hazards on, only doing five. . ."

The bat dropped from my utterly embarrassed grip and onto the floor with a loud clank as he got on his laps and started to twerk his butt-cheeks. My jaw bounced up to the ceiling and down on the cold tiles like those comical, inhuman Tom and Jerry gestures. I felt drool seeping out of the corner of my lips and my pupils dilated to the extreme at the sight of the fiercely jiggling twin basketballs.