Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
He snorts, setting the ball down and swiping his water bottle off the bench. He takes a quick drink. “Well, I wish mine would tell me more than to stop drinking cow’s milk. The last time I tried to figure out what my gut was saying, I woke up with a wife.” He curls his lips. “That’s why I stopped listening to that sonofabitch.”
“I didn’t know you were married.”
“I’m not.” He gives me a toothy grin. “Anymore. Thank God.”
“Are you serious?” I ask, unable to read the goofy fucker.
He shrugs before trotting to the basket and shooting a free throw.
I take a ball from the rack by the window overlooking the courtyard and dribble it from one hand to the other. Football was my bread and butter, but I’ve always loved basketball. The smell of a gymnasium—sweat mixed with stale popcorn—reminds me of high school. The acoustics are nostalgic. I’ve spent many hours bouncing a ball as I work out a problem or regulate my nervous system when I’m stressed.
Like now.
“Date me for six weeks. Let me prove you wrong.”
“Deal. You have six weeks to broaden my horizons.”
The thought of broadening her horizons makes my dick so hard I wince.
I have no idea what got into me today, or why I decided to shoot the shot I’ll never really get to take. There’s a damn good reason I friend-zoned Gianna on the first day that I met her. She’s impossibly perfect in every way but the one that matters.
Regardless of whether this was a wise decision on my part, the choice has been made—and she co-signed it.
I’d better enjoy the next six weeks because I won’t get them again. I’d better figure out how not to get crushed by the vixen, too.
“Are you about ready to call it for the night?” Jory asks. “I got up early as shit, and I need a shower. I smell like a locker room.”
“Yeah. Might as well.”
We walk side by side to the benches lining the court and gather our things. I sneak a peek at my phone—still no response from Gianna. I’m not sure if this is one of those “no news is good news” type of things or not.
“Want to grab some dinner on Sunday?” he asks as we head for the exit. “They opened a new surf ’n’ turf place near the stadium. Some of the guys on the team said it was good.”
I sling my bag over my shoulder. “I’m going to my parents’ house for dinner on Sunday. My dad is … going through some stuff, so I try to get back and help my mom as much as I can.”
“You’re a good dude, Bennett.” He starts down the long hallway to his bank of elevators. “See ya when I see ya.”
“Later.”
I forgo the elevator and take the steps instead—all nine stories of them. It’s a long haul, and by the time I get to my floor, my thighs are screaming. It hurts like a motherfucker, but it gives me something to think about besides Gianna.
Mr. Hernandez waves at me from the end of the hall as I slide my key into my door. I return his gesture before stepping inside my apartment, then I drop my shit and head straight for the shower.
I peel off my shirt to hop in the shower when my phone buzzes from my pocket. I dig it out and try to hide my disappointment that it’s not Gianna.
“Hey, Evie.”
“We have some things to talk about,” she says. “And I’m just a little pissed that I had to hear your news through the grapevine and not from you personally. Do you know how much clout I lost today from being the only person in my office who didn’t know you’re now dating Gianna Bardot?”
I blow out a breath that feels like it originated in my toes. A grin dances on my lips. Even though we’re not really dating, even though we are, I like the sound of it.
“My apologies for not calling you with such important news,” I joke.
“It’s Gianna Bardot, Drake,” she says, like I’m a child. “This is quite possibly a bigger deal than you signing with the Legends.”
I laugh at my sister. Only she would think that.
“So tell me what happened. Give me every little detail,” she says. “I need something juicy to share with the office on Monday to save face.”
“Did you listen to the podcast?”
“No, I didn’t listen to the podcast. Some of us have to work in the middle of the day—although I do plan on listening to it when I get home … and out of this traffic.” A horn blasts in the background. “This is the fast lane, asswipe!”
“Settle down.” I chuckle. “Damn. You sound like Dad.”
“There is one tractor in the slow lane, and this grandpa decides to match his speed in the fast lane. I’m the third car back, and I can’t see the end behind me.” She honks again. “Back to Gianna.”