That’s when the animation kicked in.
A colorful can rolled in, a slogan flashing underneath it in bold letters: CHOOSE ENTERTAINMENT OVER DIGNITY. The can shook then, trembled, as if about to burst, and poof, something materialized at the front.
With a disbelieving blink, I stared at the logo that had just been stamped on the container.
It was a simple illustration, but even that way it was impossible to miss the similarities. I knew what I was seeing. I recognized it. By now, I had watched the clip so many times that I could probably summon my face, jaw unlocked and expression unhinged, if I closed my eyes.
It was my Lady Birdinator face.
And turned out, I was on a can.
Dread and shock swirled inside me, making the few bites of turkey I’d taken turn sour.
MATTHEW: I’ve done some research. It’s a new energy drink company. Pretty small. Vegan. Miami based. Targeting Gen Z for the most part. They have been very smart about it. You wouldn’t make the connection if you haven’t watched the video. But…
ADALYN: But millions of people have seen it.
MATTHEW: I’m sorry.
A wave of nausea hit me straight in the gut at that I’m sorry. I didn’t want anybody’s pity. Not even Matthew’s. Because that… That made it all worse. I swallowed, trying to push down everything that was bubbling up in my throat.
MATTHEW: You think you can sue?
ADALYN: I’ll talk to my father. I’m sure he’s already seen it and is taking legal action to protect the franchise.
MATTHEW: I’m more concerned about you.
ADALYN: I’m part of the franchise.
I stared at my own words, that sensation in my chest intensifying. But I was still part of it, wasn’t I? I was his daughter, and employee, as much as I’d been temporarily suspended from access to my account and banished. My father would protect me. I knew he’d done that in the past, I now knew that he’d—
One of the bushes across from me moved, capturing my attention.
It moved again, making me narrow my eyes, and then, before I could prepare, something charged out of the bushes.
My phone and sandwich were startled straight out of my hands, and I even heard myself yelp as I shut my eyes, bracing myself for whatever that thing was. A bear? A ravenous rabbit? I’d read about several species of rattlesnakes in the area that were deadly. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be worse than being claimed as the image of an energy drink whose marketing campaign was based on my demise and lack of dignity.
When seconds ticked by and I wasn’t attacked, I opened one eye.
The chicken in front of me clucked.
“It’s you. You’re Cameron’s pet.” The bird batted her wings and stomped on my sandwich. “Hey. That was my dinner, you know?”
Her head bopped forward, in the direction of the food, as if telling me, Now it’s mine.
“Have at it, then,” I relented, carefully leaning down to pick up my phone and sitting back on the porch step. “I guess it’s only fair after the other day.”
The thing clucked, scratching at the floor.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry, okay?” I said with a sigh. “I was having an odd day. Or fine, maybe it was more of a bad week. Actually, I don’t think the streak of bad luck is over. I seem to be going through a long string of bad.”
Cameron’s pet chicken bobbed her head before pecking at the bread.
“I’m not sure if a chicken should be eating turkey,” I murmured with a frown. “It must be some sort of animal cannibalism.” The thing continued. “Your eggs will come out… strange. Probably.”
“It’s a rooster,” a deep voice said in the distance. “Not a hen.”
And naturally, just like always, my spine straightened in response to that voice. My cheeks also flushed—a relatively new development.
Cameron’s boots moved the gravel around as he walked closer to me, making me wonder if he, too, had come out of the bushes. He stopped in front of me, and when I looked up from his feet, the first thing I saw was the humor dancing in eyes.
That was also new. Cameron apparently did something besides grumbling and storming off places. He also laughed.
“Looks like a chicken to me,” I said from my post on my not really a porch.
My gaze dipped, trailing down his body. Another of those outdoorsy fleeces hung off his wide shoulders, zipped up to his throat. And he was also wearing a pair of those pants with zippers and pockets he favored so much. They were dark gray and the fabric clung to his legs. His wide and strong thighs. Which I seemed to be fixated with.
“It’s a cock.”
I nearly choked. “Sorry, what?”
The tiniest of smirks hid beneath his beard. “A cock,” he repeated, and I still blinked, feeling my whole face heat. “Not a hen. The shape of the comb is a dead giveaway.” He pointed at the top of his head with one of those large fingers. “But when in doubt, roosters also have sickle and hackle feathers.” He paused, pushing his hands inside the pockets of his jeans. “Hens don’t.”
Oh. Oh? I cleared my throat. “Thanks for the poultry anatomy lesson, Attenborough.”
Cameron’s lips twitched. “He’s also not my pet.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Were you spying on me? How long were you standing there?”
He shrugged. “Josie came to me with some ideas for a coop. Apparently, someone told her I had a pet chicken and she has decided I should have a brood.”
The thing clucked and batted his wings, as if acknowledging Cameron’s words.
I flinched back. “I don’t know how I feel about having more of these around.”
Cameron closed the distance to where the rooster and I were, then kneeled down and started picking up the mangled remains of my sandwich.
I remembered his warning from the morning he’d found me sleeping in my car and felt like I needed to explain myself. “I wasn’t feeding it my dinner, by the way. I’m not stupid. I dropped it when—”
“I know,” he said, confirming he’d been there enough time. “You might be a lot of things, but I don’t think you’re stupid.”
I knew a backhanded compliment when I heard one. “Thanks.”
Cameron put the food leftovers he’d collected inside one of the pockets of his pants and then checked his watch. “A bit early for dinner, isn’t it?”
Yes. But I’d been exhausted from unsuccessfully disassembling that bed in order to yassify the stupid cottage. And I’d had nothing else to do. Today was a Tuesday, and without practice to occupy myself… “I was hungry.”
“Are you also a toddler?”
I shot him a bland look. “Don’t you have anything else to do?”
Cameron shifted closer, and before I knew what was happening that large body of his was plopping down beside me, providing the answer to my question.
My breath caught at the sudden closeness, just like it did last night, when he’d caught me in the air after that miserable trip. Or Sunday, when his hands had been all over my body. Because there it was, his scent again. There was a hint of perspiration in there, as if he’d just come from a walk or maybe a run, but he still managed to smell so… good. Like outdoors and musk and—
I shook my head.
Sweaty men were something that I usually had to make myself tolerate. Live with and try to avoid. That was why I never set foot inside the changing rooms after games or practice unless extremely necessary.
“How’s the renovation coming along?”
Glad for the distraction, I thought back to the mess I left behind. “It’s going great,” I lied. I caught Cameron giving me an inquisitive look over his shoulder and I looked away. Was I flushed? My face felt warm. “How do you know I’m renovating?”
“The constant screeching coming from your cottage,” he explained, and I didn’t miss the way he said the word cottage. “Then there’s the dust you’re completely covered in.”
I fought the urge to touch my hair. Brush my hands over my top. I swallowed. “You really love to continuously complain about me, huh?”
I glanced at him in time to see him shrug. “It’s hard to focus on anything else.”
The warmth covering my cheeks intensified.