Page 21 of Ripped & Shipped
Shannon turns her eyes from me to Jayme. Her eyebrows are raised and her eyes wide.
“You’re pregnant too?”
Jayme blushes. Then she looks at me. “How did you know?”
“Lucky guess.”
“Um, yes,” Jayme says, looking each of us in the eye. “We’re ten weeks. I was going to tell you all this week. That’s why I missed girls’ night. I’m so wiped out these days. The first trimester is no joke. I plan to cook supper most nights, but I usually curl up on the couch, thinking I’ll just lie down for a few minutes. Before I know it, Grant’s nudging me to tell me it’s time to move this party up to our bed.”
“You’re pregnant!” Lexi shouts as if the news just registered.
I sit in Laura’s chair like one of those life-sized Barbie heads, as if only my hair were present. I’m as good as a fly on the wall. A blond fly with a killer velour sweatsuit, mind you, but just as invisible and insignificant as a resting bug. Laura continues to expertly wrap my hair around the wand and release the curls while the four friends all gush about babies and pregnancy and how their kids will all grow up together. Eventually, Laura finishes curling and brushing out my hair. She gives me a dousing of hairspray, and I’m on my way.
The rest of the afternoon flies by between responding to my followers’ comments and posting a photo of myself in my rockin’ dress with my hair and makeup done.
At three forty-five I leave my house. I arrive at the Big Boy on the outskirts of Columbus an hour later. It’s not really mealtime, so the parking lot is less than a third full. My heart rate kicks up when I think of the magnitude of this collaboration. I take a cleansing breath, letting my grip fall from the steering wheel.
Supreme boss babe. That’s me.
I know I am. It’s still intimidating facing a dream like this—knowing everything will change after this one night. Either people will love me or they won’t, and their reaction to this video will definitely impact my rankings. Either tonight will open up doors for future collaborations and more exposure, or it will be social suicide. No biggie.
It’s just a meal. Have fun. Ignore the cameras. Be your best self—the online version. Like Meg said, people will love you.
Okay. Here goes nothing.
My little inner pep talk would make Journey so proud. I’ll have to tell her how I grabbed a hold of my thoughts and rode them like a steed until I tamed that wild horse and it was eating out of my hand. She taught us that equine metaphor about a week ago. Look at me, already implementing it. I’ll have to share that technique with my peeps—after this whole night is successfully over.
Journey comes up with the most interesting analogies. I guess that’s why she’s the guru and I’m not. Well, I’m not the positive-thinking guru. I’m the go-to-girl for skin care, and for being boldly, unapologetically, and uniquely you.
CHAPTER10
Ella Mae
I shutthe car door and look around. I wish I knew what Drake drives. It might quell my nerves if I saw his car. Or maybe it wouldn’t help at all knowing he beat me here and is sitting right inside that restaurant. DrakesDaMan in person.
I smooth my dress down in the front even though it’s not even wrinkled. I’m wearing these chunky wedge sandals that match the green in my dress. It’s all very retro and throwback to go with the vibe of Drake returning to his roots. My blond hair falls in beach waves down my back and over my shoulders. I definitely look more suited to a night at Hyde Park Prime Steakhouse, not an outdated Big Boy, but hey.Dress for the life you want to have, I always say.
I walk into the restaurant and look around. I don’t see Drake or anyone but a few families and an old man sitting at the counter on a barstool eating a bowl of soup. The hostess walks up to me.
“Table for two. But could you make it a roomier booth? We’ll tip well, I promise.”
“It’s not that busy right now. Pick wherever you like,” she tells me.
“Thanks, Amber,” I say, reading her name tag.
She gives me a polite smile and I walk toward the back of the restaurant, selecting the largest booth in the place and sliding onto the bench seat.
I have a straight view to the front door from our table. I’ll easily see when Drake arrives.
Five o’clock comes and goes. No Drake.
I check my messages and his page almost obsessively. My followers start to message me that they’re looking forward to my livestream with Drake. I send back short answers like,me too, orthanks.
My waitress, Shawna, comes by to ask if I’m ready to order. I explain to her that I’m waiting for someone. She brings me an ice water and sets it down on the table, smiling a smile I’m sure she gives out over one hundred times a night, whether she feels like it or not.
I check my social media account again, quickly flipping over to Drake’s page. There’s no mention of the collab on Drake’s posts for today. His previous posts this week mention all the collabs he has planned. But he hasn’t hyped this one specifically since two days ago.
That’s okay. I don’t mind doing the heavy lifting of promoting. He’s bigger than me. It makes sense I’d do some grunt work to earn my spot as a collaborator with him. His followers aren’t so interested in me that announcing a partnership with me would give him any sort of traction. I understand him being low-key about tonight.
