Cinncinnati Chili: Sling
Grover woke up to a pounding in his head. Not the temples or the forehead. No, this pain encompassed the entirety of his skull. Only one other time in his life had he felt such a headache and that was in college after a nasty bout of binge drinking and an ugly incident with a kangaroo he would rather not talk about. He eased himself upright, careful not to make sudden movements. His bathroom was an infinity away, but that is where the ibuprofen was. He thought back to the previous evening with Gwen and Legend and Herpezoids and DNA morphers. It felt like some hazy, oddball dream brought on by the late night consumption of General Tso’s Chicken leftovers. Yeah, that’s what it was. Some crazy ass dream.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand. A text from Gwen had arrived.
Thank you again for your help!
The text was accompanied by a selfie of Gwen and Legend in his new human form, complete with perfect golden hair, rugged, square jawline, and kind blue eyes. Their happiness oozed from the screen and did nothing to alleviate Grover’s pain in his head or heart. He summoned the strength to send a thumbs-up emoji and left it that.
Another buzz. Another text. He sighed because he knew it would Gwen again and he really wanted to forget last night happened. It was too much to take in. He picked up his phone in spite of himself and discovered it was not Gwen.
Reg Marsh here. Let’s touch base when you get to the office.
Grover’s stomach knotted and his head pounded as he wondered if his ass was now in a sling.