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I HAVE BEEN avoiding him all day

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I HAVE BEEN avoiding him all day. Or he was avoiding me all day. Or maybe we were both just avoiding each other—either way, I haven't seen Chase at all since this morning when I yeeted my fucking converse at his face. 

There was a point, when we were all helping cleaning up, that I heard him coming up the stairs and I threw myself into the upstairs towel cupboard so fast that I smack my hip against the wall. CEO of being a fucking clumsy idiot. Karma and me are good ol pals and she's making damn sure I pay for making what's apparently the worst decision of my life. 

After waking up from my umpteenth nap of the day, I throw a white linen dress over my bikini and make my way downstairs in search of a freezer to bury my head in. My brain felt like it had been pulled out piece by piece through my nose, smooshed back together and then put back in my head by a fucking cannon. It's too painful to not be descriptive. 

I stumble my way out of the bedroom, one hand holding onto the wall for support and the other pressed against my skull as if that would stop the pounding. As I was making my way downstairs, I notice that it was quiet...a little too quiet. 

It was empty and clean and silent. The sun was setting, allowing the orange haze of the setting sun to streak through the large windows over looking the ocean. The doors were all open, allowing the soft breeze to carry in the scent of summer and salt. 

I run my fingers over the countertop as I walk into the kitchen and make a beeline for the fridge. I open a door and almost collapse into it. It was so cold and for a slight moment, took away the pain of my fucking delayed hungover. This is what I deserve after the mess I made of myself last night. 

"What are you doing?" 

"Fuck!" I hiss as I slam the fridge door close...with my head still inside. The shelves of condiments shake as they slam against my body. I stumble backwards and eventually close the door. When I turn, I place a hand to my hip and the other to the countertop in a completely natural position—note the sarcasm, "Hey...Everett." 

"Do you really want to avoid me that much that you've resorted to hiding in the refrigerator, Jones?" Chase smirks with a cocked eyebrow as he folds his arms and leans his shoulders against the wall of cabinets, crossing his ankles to complete the very attractive and iconic pose. 

"I haven't been....I'm not avoiding you....pfft, what gave you that idea?" I question with a cheesy grin as I gestures widely with my hands, a habit I've realised I've picked up whenever I get exposed. 

"I don't know, maybe the fact that you jumped head first into the hot tub early this morning when I walked outside?" He chuckles as my grin slips from my lips and embarrassment takes over. I groan and run a hand down my face as Chase's small scoff turns into a laugh. "Was it a nice dip?" 

"Fuck no. It reeked of beer vomit and I don't even want to know in there." I shake my head with a short chuckle as I lean back against the kitchen counter. I glance around at the emptiness of the house, "Hey, where is everyone?" 

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