I squinted behind my aviators. The afternoon sunshine was too strong for my light eyes. The splinting headache screamed. The muscles on top of my head and around my eyes tightened. I rubbed in a circular motion, trying to alleviate the pain. An unopened plastic water bottle was in my right hand. The condensation made the paper label bubble out – easier to rip it off.

I drank too much yesterday.

Min-ho fulfilled his promise. He picked me up in his silver Audi, the one with the nice leather interior, and drove us to the Golden Era.

Sentence after sentence, I spewed out information about the meeting, new contract, Mr. Dalton, Mr. McCoy, and Penelope. Word vomit continued. In the car and in the bar. The imaginary string stretched, small tight knots were on the fabric. Each story was a knot. My chest began to constrict, holding my breath. My thoughts rushed out like a pressurized bottle. All the liquid filled up – took up all the space, overflowing until the pressure created cracks. The glass bottle split. Water leaked out of the holes.

Penelope broke the bottle.

Penelope broke me. The past fought to be my present.

Every past memory. Our dates at the park, La Bella's, making silly faces at their makeup stylist, paranoid that cameras were watching us, and chilled in her dressing room. I sat upside down on her couch, sneakers marked the dressing room walls.

The details. Her vanilla fragrance. Fresh on my mind. All tumbled out of my mouth.

I winced. I recalled the past twenty-four hours.

Min-ho listened to my foul language, complaining Penelope as an attention hog, slimy cockroach – well, I said another name instead. I couldn't remember the amount of drinks I had. By the taste left in my mouth, whiskey was my choice.

Short fragments helped piece together my night.

Min-ho threw me back in the passenger seat. I barfed on the sidewalk near the grindy asphalt pothole. Min-ho tickled me for my keys, when I leaned against the cool, metal elevator wall. I was dragged into my apartment, and the remote controller was in my hands, pressing "x" and "triangle."

Dripped coffee smell woke me up this morning. Bitter and warm aroma jolted me up from my sleeping position, back cracked and head pounded. I slept on the couch's footrest, separate from the couch itself. On my belly.

"What the h-"

"Drink this." Min-ho placed the ceramic mug in my right hand. "I warned you last night. You're a grown man. 'I know my limits,' you said."

"Shhh!" I closed my eyes, "Talk softly."

Min-ho laughed.

"Why?!" he raised his voice.

I flinched. "I'm going to kill you."

Min-ho shook his head. "Good luck, you're moving slower than five o'clock traffic."

I grumbled, my lips pressed against the mug. Hot liquid burned the tip of my tongue. I stopped sipping. "Ah -"

"Take this."

Min-ho handed two white-powdered pills in my other hand. "It'll help. We need to get going."

I blew on the top. The steam flowed with the air flow.

"Wait, what – where are we going?"

Min-ho ran around me. He moved in between the kitchen, living room, and front entrance, grabbing random items: two apples, water bottles, coats, and a bottle of aspirin. He threw my light cotton jacket on my head. I couldn't see.

"Penelope."

"Yeah, so?" my voice muffled. I pulled the jacket off my head. My brunette hair frizzed, each strand went in their own direction.

"Mr. McCoy. Mr. Dalton. We're filming today at Luther Park."

That's why I sat in the afternoon sunshine with a massive hangover. I scooted back into my seat, up against the brown, wooden bench. The striped material was sun-bleached. No trees, shelter, or standing item could aid in shade. My charcoal pants soaked in the sun's rays. I had little time to change. I threw off my shirt, a small stain on the hem, and stretched into a new one before Min-ho corralled me out of my apartment.

The gray SkyWay logo with its signature three way printed in the middle of the shirt. I forgot the shirt was on my floor. I smelled the collar, nodding my head: it passed the test. I took a deep breath, trying to suppress the temperature and throbbing pain. It matched my heartbeat.

"I had a plan," a voice came from my left side.

I turned.

Violet plopped down on the open space on the bench. Her arms crossed in front of her chest. Her porcelain white skin seemed brighter in the sunshine. Navy, short sleeve jacket and black dress pants reflected her adaption to the spring season. The plastic VIP photo on her lanyard bent under her arms.

"It was organized. I understand how to be flexible. The ability to change. Six years of experience where I had to present confidence and lead by example."

She bit her lip. Her eyes cast on the oak tree a hundred yards away. Foot bounced on the cement ground.

"This was going to be one of my prized accomplishments." Violet's jawline set tightened. "And now."

Her eyes wavered to the left. Individuals hovered in three small groups, stapled documents flipped, pointing fingers at the organization, questions and voices wanted to be heard, and camera people set on the emerald grass around the edge of the soccer field. Children ran around in their mustard yellow and sapphire blue uniforms; their parents yelled their names as if they were playing a game of "who could be louder?"

"Someone else is in charge," Violet said.

Blonde hair waved down her back, she pointed to the document and answered the questions. Penelope.

"Yep." I popped the "p."

"Executive producer," Violet huffed. "She's acting like the director. That's my job and responsibility. I'll let her play her role, act all innocent, tell people where to go, what the shooting positions will be - just because she has money. When the cameras start, I'm in charge."

My eyebrow rose.

"I'm counting on you, Violet," I replied.

She looked at me once, then stood up from her seat. She walked to the small groups. I meant what I said. I didn't think about how the transition was going to affect everyone else on this project. The past day, I'd been too self-centered. Well, I still was. I ignored Penelope's gaze when she took a break from answering questions. When she stepped in my direction, I'd walk the opposite direction.

When Min-ho dropped me off ("See you later hangover!" he yelled before driving off), I heard rumors. Yesterday's meeting brought up conflicts: questions on legal documentations and about going public, the contestants' signatures to this new collaboration, and losing former team members. Victoria hung up on Penelope. At least, this was the rumor. She hadn't replied and showed up for her fourth date with me. Apparently, she said, 'This transition is a waste of time. I'm done. Yes. I'll sign it off if I get paid for my first two episodes' worth.'

I chuckled.

She was the smartest one of us.

And we lost Courtney. Gorgeous, hot Pilates mother.

She freaked out when our first names were released. She texted me before the meeting and transition occurred.

My ex-husband is using this to paint me in a bad light.

He had his suspicion on all of this. I thought he'd leave me alone and not care what I did in my free time. I need the extra money from this project. But he read the article and ... trying to piece together "the real me." Anything to save him a buck that he won't even pay for his two daughters and son's finances. I don't think I'll be able to continue this. I'm sorry, August.

Read 3:45 PM

I reassured her, but she still didn't show. I was getting nervous. Believe me, I would prefer getting tattoos all over my body than to be anywhere near Penelope. However, my bank accounts dwelled. I needed this project. I needed women to continue with this. We have only one and a half more episodes to finish. The goal was within their reach.

Please Sugar, I thought leaning over in my seat, Show up.

My voicemail box was empty.

No text messages.

I heard nothing from Sugar.

I've annoyed her. I guess I should take a hint.

Her smooth voice. Her teases. I wanted reassurance.

Mr. Dalton called her. Maybe even Penelope –

I breathed in through my nose. The idea of our meeting. Sugar's caramel eyes gazed into Penelope's turquoise eyes, sunshine brightening the colors. Penelope would be standing taller than Sugar, black four-inch heels aided in towering over Sugar's posture. Sugar's shoulders relaxed back, holding her ground.

Oh. The thought made my stomach churn.

Hands gripped into fists.

I don't want Penelope anywhere near Sugar – she can't find out. Penelope needs to leave before the shooting begins.

Hard stomping hit the pavement. A whoosh noise appeared along with breaths.

"I'm so sorry," the person huffed, "I'm here. Mr. Dalton called me. What's happening, August?"

Sugar.

I looked up.

"He started talking too fast. Giving me all this information. I've had f-four-four hours of sleep. I worked a six hour shift today. I'm just," Sugar closed her eyes, "I'm not with it today. Can you update me?"

Her puffy eyes, half of her hair in a bun the rest curled around her face, and the ugly navy uniform with mysterious stains on her sleeves reflected her mood. I stood.

"What do you remember? A lot has happened in the past twenty-four hours," I declared. I winced, the headache hitting back in full force. I rubbed my fingers on my forehead, "Did you get my message?"

Sugar pulled out her fabric hair band, redoing her bun.

"What message?"

"The ones I left you yesterday."

"You called yesterday?" she finished wrapping the band around her hair.

Is she pulling my leg?

"Yes. Several times."

Close to ten calls ... the last two were when I had four whiskeys in me.

"Shit."

I blinked at her declaration.

"I'm sorry," Sugar replied. Placing her hands in front of her lips. "I had no clue. No – I – I didn't get your message. Can you relay it to me now? I'm here. I mean, I'm here now."

I hummed. Licking my lips, "Okay."

I observed. Sweat accumulated on her forehead. Her attention glanced over at the small groups. The light breeze blew the strangler strands of hair.

The last time I saw this reaction was ... SkyWay. Her mother. Biological mother.

Did something happen yesterday?

I moved left to right on my feet.

I relayed all the information on the transition: new audience, contract, producers, a collaboration, and things I had no clue about. I made sure to pause. With each pause, new questions and thoughts arose.

It must be something bad.

I think it's her mom.

What happened?

Is it in my business?

Should I ask? Or ignore? It might upset her more if I bring up the topic.

"I see. Need my signature again?"

I nodded. "I'm sure they do."

Sugar let out a hiss.

The birds sang their melody songs. The yells and kicks of a soccer ball.

"Don't worry about it," I pushed through the silence, "We can do it later."

I sniffled. Too much yellow pollen carried in the wind. It could be another reason for my headache.

"How are you?" I felt the vibrations waver, although I hoped my voice was stern.

"Fine."

Cop out.

I tilted my head.

"Really?" I rubbed my thumb over my bottom lip, "I don't believe you. I'm asking because..." I sighed. "I want to know. I would like to know," I stuck my hands in my pants' pockets, "if that's okay."

Sugar met my gaze.

"How are you?" I asked again.

She couldn't open her mouth.

Taking two steps closer, I watched the group attend to the set up behind her shoulder.

"How's your mom? Did she contact you again?"

I couldn't look at her. My hands shook in my pockets. I focused on a focal point. She pointed her fingers giving new orders.

The long pause.

I breathed through my nose.

I wanted to show no signs to Sugar. How much she affected me.

"Last time, you were frazzled was when she called you," the silence made me speak more. "You have every right to keep to yourself. I just – I hope whenever you want to share. I will be ready. I am. Ready. You know that right?"

I turned. My shoe grinded against the concrete.

Sugar had her arms down to her side. Her mouth closed. Nostrils flared up, inhaling in soft breaths.

"I do," she said, "now."

I cleared my throat. "Good."

Pointing my finger over the set up, "Let's head on down there."

Sugar blinked. "O-Of course."

We walked side by side. The grass swished with our steps. I leaned a little to the right, I felt this invisible force to allow space between us.

Sugar stayed quiet.

This is weird.

Yells, tease, flirt, or call me, I'd wish for her to make a noise.

"You made it," Violet greeted Sugar. "We'll begin our shot in five minutes."

She looked Sugar's attire up and down. "Do you want to change?"

"This is all I have," Sugar crossed her arms in front of her chest. Her hands rubbed her arms up and down. "I forgot to bring other clothes."

"Want to borrow my jacket?" Violet suggested, "At least to cover up your work logo? Wouldn't want any strange calls after this is released."

Two letters "T" and "H" were sown in the right corner.

She nodded. "Yes please."

Violet removed her jacket, her skin had small dark brown freckles here. There was a shattering noise. She flinched as she handed over her clothing.

Violet cursed. "I'll be back."

She walked off.

Sugar slipped on Violet's jacket, right sleeve first.

The navy material complimented Sugar's complexion.

"Thank God," a feminine voice exclaimed, "You showed up!"

Sugar's eyes squinted.

Oh no!

I took a step in between Sugar.

"I'm Penelope. Executive producer and former winner on Champion." Penelope held out her hand. Sugar returned the hand shake as she slipped on the left sleeve. "You must be Sugar."

"Yes," Sugar glanced at all three of them, "what do you mean – "

"Courtney and Victoria are no longer a part of our project. We'll have to set a meeting to discuss other options. I'm sure August can find other women. Super easy with his charm and accounts." She giggled, and then she placed her hand under her chin, "However, we are running on borrowed time. Gosh! I wish we started this collaboration from the beginning! Would've saved money, time, and energy."

I grind my teeth.

I've started this project without you. For. A. Reason.

Penelope walked up to me.

Vanilla, coffee beans, and pomegranate. She smelled the same.

Reaching up, she swiped my aviators off my nose. I tried to stop her. I felt my heartbeat pound in my head, the intense light made me close my eyes.

"Can't wear sunglasses, Gus," Penelope said. She twirled the glasses frame. "It was one of the top twenty rules for Champion. Gosh! Do I have to teach you again?"

"Give it back, Penelope."

I blinked. My pupils tried to dilate in the harsh glare of the sun.

I thought the pain meds were helping.

I groaned.

"You can't wear them while filming."

"Well, we aren't filming. Give me my sunglasses."

"Ooooh, I see," Penelope laughed. "I thought you could handle alcohol. I guess that changed too."

"Pen-"

"Were you trying to find more women? That would have been clever. Did it work?"

Yes, if you count trying to wipe ALL memory of your freakin' ex-girlfriend!! Then yes!

"What are their names?"

"Penelope, give me! –"

"Scarlet and Joanne," Sugar spoke, "Those are the names. He told me earlier."

My eyes finally adjusted.

"May he have his sunglasses back?" Sugar's hand grazed up and down her pants leg.

Penelope turned her attention to Sugar. Her eyes held something behind them. Wonder? Curiosity?

Penelope glanced down at the item. "Oh, yes! Of course. Recording starts in three minutes."

She placed the glasses in Sugar's hand. Adding weight to the placement.

"Thanks," Sugar replied.

Penelope gave a sideways glance to me.

"Sure." She turned, blonde hair twirled and hit her back.

What was that all about?! Gosh, Penelope, I want to –

"Here," Sugar held out my sunglasses. "How much ibuprofen have you had?"

I took the item. My fingers brushed against the palm of her hand.

"I think two pills?"

She nodded. "Probably 400 mg each. Drink your water. Your body is dehydrated. I have Tylenol in my bag if your pain is that bad."

I smiled.

"Thanks."

Sugar smiled, but it seemed forced. Her eyes lacked their normal warmth.

"No worries –"

"No," I said. "I mean, what you did. Stepping in."

Sugar nodded.

"It looked like my friend needed help," she grinned.

A friend?

I glanced at the grass.

"Yeah, a friend," I replied. I put my sunglasses on again. "You're one of my best friends."

"Okay." She nodded.

A friend.

Why was there a sting? Why did my throat tighten up? Why couldn't I look her in the eyes? A friend didn't imagine kissing them. A friend didn't imagine a one-time deal ...wait, would I want it to be one time? Why so many multiple questions?!

It couldn't be the hangover.

It had to be.

Her.

"Take your place people!" Violet yelled out.

Crap. Oh crap.

I wiped my nose on the back of my hand.

I like her.

Heart rate increased.

Not the one and done. No. I like her.

I leaned away from Sugar, leaning forward in the grass.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Whiskey came back in my mouth. Acid. Alcohol.

I puked on the ground. I was on my knees. Grass took my disgusting gift. Soft touches rubbed on my back. Tugs pushed my brunette hair back, keeping it from falling into my mouth.

"You're okay. I'm here. I'm here."

She yelled at someone behind her for something. I had no clue what.

Shade? Water? Drink? I didn't know.

She deals with this. She's doing her job.

A laugh cry escaped my mouth. I realized what Sugar said. "I know."

She didn't react to my statement, "Breathe through your nose."

I did what she said.

When did this happen? When did I start to like her?