Earphones on. Annotated script in his lap. It’s a polite way of saying don’t talk to me. Sure, I got a chaste morning kiss and a cup of coffee, but I’m still pissed. After the night we shared, a girl shouldn’t have to climb out of bed for a week if she doesn’t want to. Instead, I’m sitting on a barstool, waiting on a ride to set, remembering all the ways he used me. Hell, we maybe got an hour of sleep before the alarms went off. Jane is perky, fresh and perfect. She’s about to get punched in the teeth if she doesn’t bring it down a notch. Ernest is the only one who seems to get my mood. He’s cutting a wide path. “Breakfast?’ Jane asks, checking her enthusiasm after a stern look from Ernest. “Um...no,” I say, distracted by Devon’s inattention. She follows my gaze and watches him for a few seconds. “Would you like to go over your lines?” Jane refills my cup with fresh coffee.
