Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73963 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73963 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
It’s been a long weekend. We’re only on Sunday afternoon and so far, Slade has been doing everything in his power to keep my mind off all the Ben bullshit. I was lucky that he didn’t come home last night but it didn’t help hearing Shay sobbing through the wall.
She’s hurting so bad. She doesn’t know what to do. On one hand, this is her husband. This is the man she’s madly in love with and has been since she was only fifteen years old. This is the man she’s shared her life with, bought a home with, this is the man whose shoulder she cried on when her sister was brutally murdered. But on the other hand, this is the man who betrayed that sister and whose actions lead to her death.
I’ve been asking myself how I’m ever going to move past this, but what about Shay? It seems like she’s got it the worst here.
As I step up to Slade, his hands fall to my waist as he pulls me in between his long legs. “Are you alright?” he rumbles low, sending a shiver down my spine and making my thighs clench with desire.
I bite down on my bottom lip and nod. “Yeah, I’m fine. I can’t say the same for Damian’s head though.”
Slade pulls me in closer and brushes his lips over mine. “Trust me, he’ll be fine. That kid has been hit in the back of the head so many times that he probably wouldn’t notice it anymore. It’s not like he could lose any more brain cells.”
“Hey,” Damian demands from under the basket. “I can hear that shit.”
“You were supposed to.”
“Oh, yeah?” Damian challenges, propping the ball against his hip and narrowing his eyes at his best friend as they glisten with mischief. “Why don’t you come over here and say that?”
“What? You don’t think I will?” Slade laughs. “You think I’m scared of you? I’ll fucking smoke you man, and you know it.”
“I hear a lot of talking but not a lot of action. If you think you’re so fucking good, then come over here and prove it.”
Slade’s eyes come back to mine and it’s clear that Damian knows exactly how to get a reaction out of him. “I can’t let him get away with trash-talking me.”
“He literally trash talks you every time, you get up, whoop his ass, and then he starts all over again. You realize this is exactly what he wants and you’re giving it to him.”
“I know, but he does it so well…”
“PUSSY!” he hollers from behind me, making Slade’s eyes narrow and his grip tighten on my waist. “What’s wrong? Do you need your girl’s permission to play ball?”
Oh, fuck no.
Slade practically flies over the top of me before sprinting toward Damian and making his eyes bug out of his head. No one gets away with calling Slade Cruz a pussy, not even his best friend saying it to stir shit. Hell, I wouldn’t even get away with it. I don’t even want to think about the consequences of taking a risk like that. Though, I’m sure paying penance for my crimes would be well worth it.
Damian gawks as he sees Slade launching toward him like a rocket. He takes off up the other end of the court like a bull out of a gate but Slade is right on his ass, more than ready to take this fucker down.
The ball is stolen and I grin at how easy it was. Damian is an incredible basketball player and could go all the way if he wanted, but Slade has natural talent that outshines Damian’s by miles. Blake’s skill lies somewhere in between these guys but I feel as though he holds back, waiting for his chance to truly shine during the next season when he’s no doubt going to be captain.
Slade runs for the hoop with Damian desperately trying to catch up, grunting and groaning as Slade kicks his ass. I laugh as I watch them. They’re both complete morons but seeing them carefree and enjoying life is just too good of an opportunity to miss.
Knowing that no matter what shit is currently going down, I’m going to make it through the other end, has me feeling content. I reach for my discarded pencil that was nearly thrown to the ground in Slade’s desperation to get onto the court and I drop down onto the bench.
Pulling my legs up, I make myself comfortable and grab my sketchpad. My fingers have been craving the feel of the pencil gliding across the page for days now. My head has been a mess and to be honest, I don’t even know what I’m drawing. I let my subconscious do the work and as the lines and shapes start to form, the familiar outline of my parents' faces begins to take shape.