The Love Playbook

The Love Playbook Tilda Currey Copyright © 2023 Tilda Currey All rights reservedThe characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. Contents Title Page Copyright Chapter 1 - Billie Chapter 2 - Jackson Chapter 3 - Billie Chapter 4 - Jackson Chapter 5 - Billie Chapter 6 - Jackson Chapter 7 - Billie Chapter 8 - Billie Chapter 9 - Jackson Chapter 10 - Billie Chapter 11 - Jackson Chapter 12 - Billie Chapter 13 - Jackson Chapter 14 - Billie Chapter 15 - Jackson Chapter 16 - Billie Chapter 17 - Jackson Chapter 19 - Billie Epilogue - Jackson Chapter 1 - Billie Billie's to-do list: 1. Get promoted to Senior Data Analyst and get a raise! 2. Pay off your student loans with said raise 3. Celebrate with your bestest friend in the whole wide world 4. Get laid “Priya!” I yell up at the ceiling of my tiny studio apartment. “My to-do list is a serious inventory of the things I need to accomplish!” “You getting some WOULD be a serious accomplishment!” comes the muffled reply of my best friend and upstairs neighbor. Okay, it’s been a while, but not THAT long. Priya and I have known each other since college, and when I first landed my dream job as a Junior Data Analyst with the Mystic Mariners, Connecticut’s prized NFL team, she negotiated a great rate for the studio apartment above her parent’s Indian restaurant in downtown Mystic. Now, would I normally choose a shoebox-size apartment with thin walls and a busy body neighbor? No. But do I love living here just the same? Yes, yes I do. In fact, I wouldn’t trade it for the world right now, and that is lucky because it is all I can afford. While working for the Mariners has been a lifelong dream, it does not pay as well as you might expect. Working for the Mariners, it turns out, is a LOT of people’s dream, and therefore, the competition is fierce, and candidates are willing to settle for lesser pay than they normally would in other fields. But is it worth it? In my opinion, absolutely. I love the awe I inspire when I tell adults and children alike that I work for an NFL team. And being born and raised a die-hard Mariners fan only adds to my job satisfaction. I also love knowing that I am contributing to the success of my hometown heroes. The work I do for the Football Technology Team supports the coaches, staff, and even the players. I provide the insights which allow our team to make the best possible plays utilizing the right players. It can be long hours, little pay, and travel away from family during holidays, but I feel like I am a member of the team and can’t see myself working in any other field. Speaking of work, I am going to be late, very late, if I don’t get a move on. “You are distracting me and are going to make me late!” I call back up at the ceiling. “If you got laid on a regular basis, you’d be less distracted!” My nosy best friend responds, her voice now making its way through the heating grate in the corner of the ceiling like some sex advice spirit from the beyond. Luckily (unluckily?) for me, Priya is a poor college grad working toward her dream career and, therefore, in need of cheap accommodations as well. We were roommates in college, so living on top of one another felt like a natural segue into our lives as “real” adults. Continuing to live in close proximity to your best friend does have perks, though. Late night movie dates, split cab fare on our occasional nights out, and she has the hook up when it comes to leftover naan and onion baji from the “Jewel of India” that her parents run, and she occasionally waitresses in. She is currently in med school and dead set on becoming a plastic surgeon so that she can, in her words, “Solve the world’s problems, one Brazilian butt lift at a time.” Parental pressure dictated that she would have a doctor in front of her name, but she was determined to do it her way, and her focus area reflects that. “Hey! Your floor hasn’t been ‘a-rockin’ in a long time, missey!” I holler upstairs. My apartment is a near-perfect rectangle. I have my double-sized bed toward the front windows of the building. Separating my sleeping area from my living area is a trusty IKEA Kallax shelving unit that I garbage picked from the dorms on moving-out day. I have a small futon that occasionally houses one of my four brothers and then a tiny kitchen in the corner with an apartment-sized stove, fridge, and microwave. No dishwasher for this girl, sadly. I scramble out of my “corner kitchen” area and over to the bathroom. Splash water on my face, drag my light brown hair up into a top knot, inspect my long sleeve navy “Mystic Mariner'' blue tee for food crumbs, slide my glasses up my nose and grab my backpack as I race out the door. Being late doesn’t leave time for any other primping, and I have a three-mile bike ride to the corporate offices ahead of me. Now let's be clear, I do not bike to work for my health, and benefiting the environment is just a happy aftereffect of me not owning a car. The sad fact is I am trying to pay off my student loans as quickly as possible. Coming from a blue-collar family with four children, I had to pay the majority of my