My mornings used to be predictable. Wake up. Shower. Toss on a hoodie and joggers. Have coffee that was black with no cream and no sugar. Grab my duffel and head to practice.
But today? Today I stood in front of my closet for almost ten minutes, staring at my clothes like I was trying to solve a Rubik’s cube.
"Bro," my roommate, Deon, leaned against the doorframe with a s**t-eating grin, toothbrush hanging out the side of his mouth. "You trying to impress someone or finally realized sweatpants every day is a crime?"
I threw a shirt at his face. "Shut up."
He dodged and laughed. "Nah, seriously. That’s the third shirt you’ve picked up and put down. You got a date or something? Wait…. don’t tell me this is about Skylar."
I froze mid-button. Damn. Busted.
Deon raised both brows. "Holy
