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NAVY

Red is the color of the season, right? December has always been more of a red than a green month to me.

However, hot pink is my signature, and I’m a sucker for the fun vibes that come with a flirty lip.

It’s too bad lime green isn’t an acceptable option, as it is my favorite color.

I should check and see if lime-colored lipstick is a thing. If it is, I’ll order the entire stock. Although, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone with lime-colored lips.

Wait, where is my hot pink lipstick?

Damn it. Tenley has it. I remember letting her borrow it before her date the other night, and she never returned it.

Good thing I have extras.

I’m a certified girly girl. I love a good quality shopping trip to stock up on cosmetics and new outfits.

Looking my best makes me feel sexy and confident. I thrive on the feeling and it’s crucial for me to feel empowered.

It seems silly for something as superficial as makeup and clothes to make me feel powerful, but it’s true.

Growing up, I played with pretend makeup and dressed up like most little girls in my generation did, but I craved meaningful attention underneath it all.

I always have.

Don’t get me wrong, I have the most incredible parents. I have nothing but great things to say about them. There are a few things I’ve now realized as I’ve matured that make sense, like how I was the only child until I turned thirteen.

That’s not what I learned, though; it’s what came after.

My older brother, Callaway, was adopted into our family when he was fifteen and I was thirteen. Going from being an only child for so long to suddenly having a new sibling was both a blessing and a struggle.

I adore Cal. He’s my best friend, always has been, and always will be. My parents’ adoption of him was quite literally the thing I wished for most in the world.

Cal is the undisputed champion of the Best Brother Ever award.

He’s protective of me but in a respectful way. We both respect each other’s boundaries and trust each other’s decisions. The system works for us, making living close and working together more fun than testing.

The only drawback has been the unintentional—I’m sure of it—lack of attention I receive from my parents now. I’d never tell them I feel that way because I know with all my heart it would crush them, but the effects of this over the years have been substantial in my relationship with them.

Although I’m confident on the outside, I’m secure enough to admit that having someone be intentional and notice my inward beauty sounds too good to be true.

A pretty face is meaningless with a sour heart.

I’m not that, but for some strange reason, looking presentable has always made me feel like I need less attention from my parents. It’s almost as if it doesn’t bother me when they forget to ask how I’m doing or what I’ve been up to because I feel good about myself, and that’s all that matters.

At least, that’s how I justify it in my head.

My ex-boyfriend Luke didn’t contribute anything positive to that deflection.

After being together for as long as we were, you’d think his love for me would have been easily seen from the outside looking in.

Except, I couldn’t even feel it from the inside.

Luke never mistreated me; he failed to encourage or compliment me. I’m not some woman out chasing compliments, but typically, when you’re in a relationship with someone, especially throughout nearly every stage of life, complimenting is a form of love.

Attraction.

Desire.

The undeniable want to see your partner happy and feel loved.

It seems shallow to keep those thoughts to yourself. The ramifications lead to a lukewarm relationship.

We became content with resembling friends who lived together—at least, that’s what it felt like until Luke’s need to wife me up saved me. His controlling tendencies set off my alarms and lowered the blinders that sheltered me from his behavior.That’s when I ended things with him, and the next day, I came home to all of my things thrown outside the apartment.

Fun times, I tell you.

Thankfully, Luke is in the past now—tragic after spending nearly half our lives together, but necessary.

I’m working on caring less about others’ opinions and more about my own views. It takes time, and old habits die hard, but I’m sure I’ll get there.

The thing that will not be dying hard, though, is my love for lip colors.

Securing my extra bright pink shade, I walk across the room and settle in front of my portable mirror light to tackle my tired and naked face.

I’ve got thirty minutes to prepare for my first postseason interview with Coach Leggins today. Most people assume reporting ends when the season does, but that’s not true.

The same goes for the players.

Yes, they get time off, but they’re also contracted year-round to continue press conferences and interviews on what’s to come in the upcoming year and any postseason training they’re doing.

My interview today with the head coach of the Atlanta Strikers, Jack Leggins, is to get some insight into his drafting process, signing, and trading. What does he see the Strikers looking like next year? Are there any free agents he has an eye on to extend an offer?

The new spring training season starts in March, giving all the Major League coaches time to secure their potential drafts and lineups.

Technically, my interview isn’t for another hour, but given I need twenty minutes to drive there now, I need to get my ass moving.

Except, that’s difficult in this three-hundred-square-foot hotel room.

I’m selfishly missing the five-minute commute from Tenley’s condo real bad.

I’ve been living in this dilapidated hotel room for a month now, and it isn’t getting any more enjoyable. I’m almost positive the front desk lady is selling cats behind the counter. No joke, meowing is the first thing I hear as soon as I get home from work, and I’ve witnessed countless people exit casually with a cat in their hands.

She’s a hustler if my suspicions are correct.

I’m on to her, and I plan to find out.

Not only that, but I haven’t had a hot or even warm shower since I’ve been staying here. I legitimately had to go to my storage unit to grab bed sheets because housekeeping has yet to clean and change mine. That’s if there even is housekeeping.

You’d think the goal of this hotel’s management is for you to leave as soon as possible, not book another night’s stay.

Truthfully, I wouldn’t even call this dump a hotel. It’s more like a motel from down under.

I don’t know what I expected from only paying fifty dollars a week, but a little pride in their business wouldn’t hurt.

Unfortunately, I can’t afford to pay any more than that. I mean, I can, but it would surely bankrupt me in no time. I’m capable of suffering through the temporary. I know people who have adapted in worse, my brother, for example, so I consider myself fortunate to have a place to rest my head at night.

Once I’ve made my face presentable, I lather some styling cream into my naturally bouncy red curls, letting their wildness become my entire personality, and head to the closet for an outfit.

I’m meeting Tenley for dinner tonight at a new restaurant in town; it’s been forever since we’ve had a chance to catch up. I’ll head to the restaurant right after work, wishing the hours to pass until I see her pretty face.

When considering my options, I need to look professional but casual enough for dinner and drinks—something that can transition from modest and professional to sexy and chic in seconds.

My outfit choices are limited since most of my clothes are in storage. After searching and finding nothing that screams at me, I settle on some basics and attempt to find a way to elevate them.

Despite being an avid shopper, life blessed me with some challenges. One of them is entirely out of my control. I’m tall as shit, something that has never bothered me but makes shopping difficult. I have to ask the salespeople if they carry extra-long lengths, and they dare to look at me like I’m crazy.

I’m not; I’m thorough and know my size.

Have you seen the length of my legs? Do you carry giraffe sizing? I will need to see that line, please and thank you.

I count my blessings because I was smart enough to pack all my high-waisted trousers. The color choices are endless, and I land on navy blue.

I pair them with a lime green, pink, and white patterned silk tank top that can be tucked in. My matching navy blazer and white pointed-toe heels complete the look perfectly. I’ll have to layer myself in a thick coat to brave the cold, but I plan to remove the blazer for dinner to give myself more of the casual vibe I strive for when I’m not working.

I take one last look in the mirror and evaluate myself.

It could be better—it could also be worse.

Well, this is as good as it’s going to get.

I snatch my keys off the counter, fling my oversized handbag over my shoulder, and confirm the bright pink of my lip color is vibrant enough.

Color confirmed. I’m looking flirty and thriving.

Today is going to be a great day. I can feel it in the air.

I feel like my best self, and nothing could happen today to change that.