twenty | sunday scaries

PATRICK CARRIGAN KNEW FOUR THINGS WHEN HE FIRST WOKE UP THAT NEXT MORNING. First and foremost—arguably the most pressing matter—his head was positively throbbing. It felt like someone was inside his brain using a jack hammer against his skull. The second thing he knew was that they'd lost last night and the dread of what the tabloids were saying about his form was what stopped him from instinctively reaching for his phone, as he usually would in the morning. And then was the third thing he knew—this was more like a punch to the gut then a real 'fun fact'—was that he'd had her last night and he'd let her go. In fact, he'd not just let her go but he'd stormed off from her (though, it'd been a matter of seconds before she was going to leave him there alone anyways).

Oh, as for the fourth thing he knew? He knew that if he rolled over right now, he'd be face-to-face with the girl he'd picked up after her. The one he'd pretended was her the entire time she had him down her throat (for fuck sake, she'd been a short brunette, too). Patty knew the moment he rolled over, he'd have to face the guilt that was fighting to wash over him.

He's not really sure why exactly hooking up with other people made him feel guilty—she clearly did. The thought of someone else touching her the way he had filled him with a level of rage he'd not known himself capable of.

"Good-morning, handsome," purred the body laying next to him. He froze when he felt he'd fingers trace the sparse tattoos on his bicep. "You gonna make me breakfast or what?"

Bracing himself, he rolled over to face her. "Oh, hey," he said gruffly, his morning voice making her smirk. "I, uh. . . won't really have time, sorry," he told her, racking his brain for excuses. Running a hand through his hair, he sat up in the firm hotel bed.

She sat up too, the blanket falling down her front to expose her breasts. He averted his gaze to the alarm clock at his bedside. "Why?" She tried to tug his face to look at her, hoping she could coax him into another round.

The alarm clock had given him an idea. "We've, uhm, got a team meeting in like ten minutes," he told her pulling away from her grip.

She crossed her arms as she watched him—butt naked—gather her scattered clothes around the room. "At 7am. . .?"

"Yeah, sorry. Annoying, I know," he told her nonchalantly as he placed her pile of laundry in front of her. "Shouldn't need a key to get to the lobby," he added, grabbing a towel and disappearing into the bathroom.

Patty waited until he heard the hotel door close quietly before he turned the shower on. Letting the water cascade down his bare body, he hoped the boiling water would wash away all the mistakes he'd made in the last twenty-four hours.

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(@dionnestanley via instagram stories!)

viewed by jordanriki

AS MANY TIMES AS SHE'D TRIED TO TELL HER NO, LUCY STANLEY WAS ADAMANT ON DRIVING HER LITTLE SISTER TO THE AIRPORT. The duo had spent majority of the day rotting in the elders bed—thanking the lord Dionne had booked a late flight.

"Are you even sure you'd pass an RBT?" Dionne asked as her sisters fiancé, Dan, loaded the brunettes luggage into the back of her Toyota Corolla.

Lucy waved her sister off. "I didn't even get as drunk as you, Miss Footy Fucker," she joked, much to the dismay of her sister.

Dionne scoffed. "I didn't fuck him."

"Well, not this time—my bad for interrupting," Lucy said cheerfully, not sounding sorry whatsoever.

"You know Tequila makes me make bad decisions," Dionne whined, rounding the car to enter the passenger side.

"Blame the Tequila all you want," Lucy retorted, "but he was hot. And I know you enjoyed yourself."

Dionne rolled her eyes, looking out the window at her sisters house as they pulled out the driveway. Dan, holding their black cat, stood on the porch waving enthusiastically. Sometimes Dionne was jealous of her sisters life, she had the ideal everything. Lucy loved her job, she owned a house and she was getting married—what else could you want? "It's not happening again," she assured her sister.

Lucy shrugged. "So what if it does? I'm really not seeing an issue," she told her sister. "Seriously, I did a little googling on this Patrick Carrigan guy and he literally seems like such a catch."

"Please," Dionne scoffed. "He's a brain dead Rugby player one knock to the head away from brain damage."

Lucy raised an eyebrow. "Now tell me what you really think about him."

Dionne threw her hands up in exasperation. "Seriously, Luce, I would never date a professional athlete. Most of them either cheat on or abuse their significant others."

"Not all, though," Lucy pointed out. "And this guy doesn't seem like the type that'd do either."

"Why're you pushing this," Dionne groaned, resting her head on the dashboard.

"I just think if you've got a minor celebrity pursuing you, why not give him a chance? You're already attracted to him." Dionne didn't reply. "See? You can't even deny it," Lucy laughed, shaking her head at her sisters stubbornness.

"He's not pursuing me," Dionne insisted. "We mutually dislike each other."

Now Lucy was properly laughing her ass off. "Oh, really? What do you call last night? I don't know about you, Di, but I've never made out with my enemies in the middle of the club."

"It was an accident—!" Dionne fired back. "I wasn't planning on him being there."

"But he was and he looked hot and you got with him."

"Hots an exaggeration," retorted the grumpy younger sister.

"Just. . . think about it, alright? You haven't really put yourself out there since Paul. . . I just wanna see you happy again," Lucy told her, wearing a wistful look as she stared at the road ahead.

"What about the other guy I hooked up with? Last weekend?" Dionne challenged, "Why aren't you trying to sell me on him."

Lucy looked at her sister sidelong ways. "Do you even remember his name?"

"What, of course I do! It's. . ." Dionne tried to rack her brain but the name escaped her but not wanting to prove any of Lucy's ludicrous points right, she opted to make one up. "It was Matthew."

"No, it wasn't."

"Uhm, yes it—"

"You FaceTimed me in the Uber back to his place. His name was Peter but you kept calling him Patty by accident," Lucy told her sister matter-of-factly.

The colour drained from Dionne's face. "I didn't—?!"

"Oh but you did," Lucy responded, laughing at the memory. "I think he corrected you like five times in the space of a two minute call."

"I mean, both names start with P?" Dionne offered. "It doesn't mean anything."

"I'll remember this for my maid of honour speech," is all Lucy said in response.

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🌸 karla yaps !

lucy just wants her sister to get that bag.

anyways, this chapter was probably really boring with how dialoguey it was but we must build everything up. patience, my children.

also do we like the new gif???? it was a pain to make but i think it's worth it (even if i can see all the editing mistakes i made). if anyone wants one for their own stories, head on over to my graphics store <333