9. W I L K S

NINE

W I L K S

It’s a simple question.

One the second I rub the sleep away from my eyes and reach for my phone on my nightstand, I type into my web browser.

Some may say it’s an embarrassing thing to search for the second you wake up, but hey, when over forty million results come up, you realize that maybe you’re not the only one who's been in this predicament.

I need to study my idiocracy.

Why?

Because perhaps by understanding it, I’ll be able to rationalize why I fumbled the bag so hard yesterday with Chelsie.

Yet, as I scour through the first few results, the articles prove to be of no help. They’re shite. Rather than giving me legitimate advice and plausible answers to my very serious question, all they’re saying is:

Don’t be so hard on yourself.

Give yourself a second chance.

Get out of your own head.

This is bollocks. I came to the internet for answers, not a fucking motivational quote.

“Screw this.” I lock my phone screen and lay it flat against my chest as I attempt to resolve my own self-doubt.

Maybe I’m not an idiot. Maybe, just maybe, Chelsie just genuinely doesn’t like me. That’s a thing, right?

I scoff. There’s no way. Everyone likes me. I’m Gary fucking Wilkinson, and I don’t care if that sounds egotistical. Sure, I get on people's nerves at times, but I’ve got a lot to offer. A lot to give.

I’ve got a dream job.

A great reputation.

My own place.

My own car.

And a decently good-looking face.

Okay, that part is a little pompous, but I can’t help it. Chelsie’s got me on a downward spiral as I dissect every finite detail about myself that could’ve possibly steered her away.

Maybe she doesn’t like that I play football, but realistically, why would that matter? Football is a great profession. Not only does it allow me to support myself, but it’s allowed me to take care of my family. All the while, I get to do exactly what I love, day in and day out. How could anyone see fault in that?

I scratch it off as an option as I continue my mental search.

Maybe it’s my height? Some girls don’t like tall guys. Perhaps it's too intimidating, given that she must be a foot shorter than me. Though, a substantial height difference has never posed to be a challenge for me in the bedroom… if you know what I mean.

I scrunch my eyes closed.

Ugh.

I’m already exhausted, and I just woke up.

What could it be?

Oh? Maybe it’s my hair. Maybe she doesn’t like brunettes, some people have their preferences, I get it.

I assess the thought much deeper as I sink back. Nah, that can’t be it. The ladies love my locks almost as much as they love my coc?—

“Good morning!” a cheery voice breaks me free from the torture of my mind. “How did you sleep?”

I jolt up in surprise. “What the…” I cry out as I watch a girl emerge from my bathroom wearing nothing but my T-shirt.

Who the fuck is this?

Panic kicks in. I have absolutely no recollection of anyone coming back home with me last night after Tenners. All I can recall from last night is that after Chelsie rejected me, I embarked on a mission to free her from consuming all of my thoughts. In other words, drinking the bar dry and apparently using my lips for more than just muttering stupid comments.

“So, you think I’m charming.”

I’m such an idiot.

“You alright there?” the girl asks as I attempt to put a name to her face, running some plausible name options in my mind.

Is it Tiffany?

Brittany?

Hillary?

Christ, did she even tell me?

“Uh… yeah,” I speak, my throat hoarse as she bounces onto the mattress and wraps her arms around me. Before I know it, her longing gaze finds its way to the nape of my neck as she plants slow, tender, and delicate kisses along my skin.

What is going on?

I’m less than receptive to her touch as I awkwardly shift beneath myself, a gesture she immediately picks up on as she pulls back.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks with a look of concern in her brown eyes. “You seem tense … and not in the place you should be.” She peers down towards my crotch.

“I’m fine.” My attempt to reassure her I’m okay is just as poor as Coach’s attempt to reassure Delaney after the cake incident.

He’s rubbing off on me.

“I’m just trying to… uh?—”

“Remember my name?” She cuts my sentence short and flashes me a playful stare.

Heat rushes to my cheeks.

Well, this is embarrassing.

“No, no.” I raise my hands in defense. “Of course I remember your name. Don’t be daft.”

Impatiently, she folds her arms across her chest, sitting up straight. “Oh yeah? Then what is it then?”

“It’s uh…” I attempt to move my lips in ways that don’t make sense, praying that it’ll come to me. Praying that her attempt to call me out on my bluff won’t actually come to fruition.

“It’s Felicity!” She rolls her eyes and abruptly stands up from my mattress, stomping her feet as she collects her things.

“Right, Felicity,” I cheer, yet the name feels foreign on my tongue. “Of course.” I shake my finger in the air as I blatantly lie through my teeth. “See, I didn’t forget. It’s just early, that’s all.”

“Yeah, right...” Felicity reaches for a pair of leggings that were once flung across the room, slipping them on one leg at a time. “You’re so full of shit.”

Remorse courses through me as she continues to get dressed, gathering items from around my flat that’s in complete shambles.

Not only are clothes flung everywhere, but my lamp is knocked over, and there’s an empty bottle of wine laying on the ground. The kicker? A once half-naked woman kissing up on me as if it wasn’t the first time.

Am I in the fucking hangover movie?

Shit.

“Hey, Felicity…” I run a messy hand through my knotted hair, unsure how to precisely phrase this obvious question. “Last night. Did we, uh—you know…”

“ Fuck ?” She finishes the sentence for me, making direct eye contact as she takes off my T-shirt and replaces it with her own.

I gulp as she flings it in my face.

“Don’t worry, pretty boy.” She slips on her shirt and heels, her voice full of confidence. “We didn’t.”

I can’t deny the sense of relief I feel. It’s not that I was afraid that I’d just slept with this girl. She’s fit as fuck, I’ll admit, but if I sleep with someone, I’d like to be able to remember it.

“So, care to enlighten me on what exactly happened then?” I scratch behind my neck, hopeful she’ll give me some context on what I missed.

“What happened?” she repeats back to me as she reaches to retrieve the wine bottle from the ground. “Well, isn’t it obvious? We were both drunk at Tenners and started making out. Next thing I knew, we made it back to your place, and right before we were about to have sex, you fell asleep. The end.”

I don’t know what’s worse, not remembering what happened or that outcome.

“Sorry about that,” I apologize, given that that was likely not the night she thought she was signing herself up for, but can you blame me? Between the game, the rejection, and the drinking, clearly my mind was just ready to shut off—only to wake me up with such an intensity of thoughts this morning.

“Don’t worry about it.” She’s visibly receptive to my apology as she sinks back onto the mattress. “Besides, you were kind of being off all night. Was something bothering you?”

I shake my head, not only because I don’t know how to answer her loaded question but because it’s the only way to soothe this pounding in my skull.

I wish my binge drinking could be so easily forgotten.

“It’s nothing,” I lie. “I was just thinking about some stuff, that’s all.” I shrug off the question.

“Some stuff, or some girl?”

My eyes widen.

“How did you… how did you know…” I’m left dumbfounded as she flashes me a cocky smirk.

“I think everyone at Tenner’s knew, Wilks. Hell, you wouldn’t stop going on about this girl all night. How do you think we started kissing? You said something along the lines of ‘give my lips something else to do’. So, I took you up on the offer.”

I scoff in laughter.

Now that sounds like something I’d say.

“I think Kelsey, you said her name was?” She looks up in thought. “I’m not entirely sure, but all I do know is that you were deep in your feelings. Pining about how she rejected you.”

I’m left slightly embarrassed. Not only did I give her a night she’ll never forget, and not in a good way, she had to experience firsthand how much of an emotional drunk I am.

Great .

“So, was that her name? Kelsey?”

“ Chelsie ,” I correct her, rubbing along my face as I lean my head back into my headboard. Even saying her name out loud makes me feel even more like shit. “And she didn’t reject me, per se,” I object in an attempt to save my ego. “She just said that my quick charm wasn’t going to work on her, that’s all. ”

Felicity scrunches her lips with a strained look in her eyes. “Sounds like a rejection to me.”

Damn.

This girl does not show an ounce of mercy when it comes to spitting out the facts. First, she’s calling me out for my poor performance, and now this? Hell, maybe this is what I need? Maybe Felicity holds the answers to my internet search from earlier.

I sit up a bit straighter. “I just don’t get it though? Everyone likes my charm. It’s like the number one thing I have going for me. Why am I such an idiot?”

Felicity relaxes her shoulders, flashing me a friendly smile despite us being nothing but complete strangers. “You’re not an idiot,” she rebuts. “Trust me. I know an idiot when I see one, and you’re not one of them.”

“Thanks,” I murmur, but I’m hardly appeased.

“Maybe Chelsie’s just not a fan of all that charmer stuff you put on,” she tells me. “Maybe she just wants to see you, be, you .”

I furrow my brows at her remark. Me be me? What does that mean? I’m always authentic. I’m always myself. I couldn’t be any more myself even if I tried.

“I’m Wilks!” I tell her as if she doesn’t know. “How much more ‘myself’ can I be?”

“Maybe that’s just it.” Felicity shifts slightly, kicking around with what to say before she says it. “Maybe she doesn’t want to get to know ‘Wilks.’ Maybe Chelsie wants to get to know Gary.”

Gary.

I’m transported back to the earlier portion of mine and Chelsie’s conversation before things turned sour.

Talking to her felt so simple. Smooth. Easy.

Was I being me in those moments?

The thought is way too deep for this early in the morning as I sigh and scratch my forehead. Though I’ll admit, this conversation is helping.

Felicity is giving me some direction here, but now I need a road map. I need to know what to do next.

“So, Miss. Expert,” I joke. “What do you suggest I do now, then?”

“That…” Felicity smooths out her T-shirt as she stands back up. “I don’t know. But what I do know is that if you like her, don’t give up. Girls love a good grovel, especially if it’s you who's doing it.”

Her sense of humor in all of this is almost as relieving as the weight that momentarily lifts from my shoulders. The advice is simple. Give it another shot. I’m good at that, after all—taking shots.

“Thanks for the advice,” I tell Felicity as she slips out of my bedroom. “And sorry again, you know, about everything...”

“Hey, I got to spend a night with Gary Wilkinson. I should be thanking you. I’m going to be gloating about this to my friends non-stop. See you around, Wilks .”

I playfully roll my eyes as I watch her slip out of my bedroom before I reach over for my phone, this time with a newfound sense of optimism as I open my search engine and carefully type out my next question.