Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 85453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
It isn’t another neurosis of an unrequited childhood crush but more a reminder of what Cash said last month.
Men like to be challenged, and there is nothing more challenging than the competition of another man.
I think.
With my confusion keeping my eyes off the court for the longest time tonight, I miss the cause of Cash’s distraction, but his opponent uses it to his advantage. He knocks the ball out of Cash’s hands, dribbles it to the net, then dunks it.
It is clear they have a beef when he shouts, “You snooze, you lose, Milo.”
I give Cash a look to say, you can’t win them all before shifting my focus to a more pressing issue.
It isn’t Gabriel’s quick departure. He’s fleeing like Cash’s distraction was caused by him.
It is the scoreboard.
The Hawks were in the lead before my overworked brain tried to solve a puzzle too complex for mankind, but now they’re down by one.
Like a loser who kissed her hand all throughout middle school and junior high, I cup my mouth then shout. “Come on, Cash. Punish the net.” Is that right? “We only need another three-pointer. That’ll make us winners, right?” I ask anyone listening. “Just one more shot. Easy-peasy.”
When the people wearing jerseys opposite to the one Cash is wearing mock me with laughter, I sink low in my chair, then cover my inflamed cheeks with my hands.
Jasmine’s laugh rumbles over the roaring chants of the crowd when she spots my red expression, but it isn’t as ego-deflating as the opposition. “You know a three-pointer isn’t that easy, right?”
I ponder her question for barely half a second before shaking my head. “The percentage of three-point attempts has risen the past few years. In 2013, it was twenty-three percent. Now, it is over thirty.”
“Attempts,” she amplifies. “The success rate is nowhere near as high. Milo is the only exception to that rule.”
I could continue to argue that his percentage brings up the overall percentage of the team but decide now is not the time for a lesson in basic math. Instead, I focus on another matter. “Why doesn’t Cash invite anyone to his games?”
Jasmine takes a sip of her Diet Coke before screwing up her lips, pondering a response. “How long have you been studying here?”
“I started this year.”
Her tongue delves out to lick up a droplet of Coke from her lips before she murmurs, “Oh.” Her pause kills me. “Then you don’t know about the incident.”
Curiosity is heard in my tone. “His brother’s accident?”
Surprise highlights her features. “He told you about that?”
I shake my head before switching it to a shrug. “We discussed it. Kind of.”
Her smile is her most beautiful feature. It lights up her entire face. “No one thought he’d play after his brother’s accident, but it was an incident years before that that forced him to keep everyone at arm’s length.”
I’m confused, and it is heard in my tone when I murmur, “But up until a couple of months ago, he was dating Vivienne.”
Jasmine grips my arm then stares longingly into my eyes. “No. Up until six months ago, he was socializing with anyone who’d successfully hide his academic brilliance.” She smiles to assure me the worry flaring in my eyes isn’t necessary. “Then Professor Ren pushed him in your direction.” She either believes my ruse that I’m Cash’s girlfriend or she’s part of the drama squad because she has me convinced she’s rooting for us when she adds, “And look how well that turned out.”
I’m saved from lying again by the final siren. It roars through my ears, startling me so much, I jump to my feet along with Jasmine.
When she gallops down the bleachers to greet Kamil with a big sloppy kiss, I join them, mindful I’m meant to be playing the girlfriend role. Except I don’t lock my mouth with Cash’s. I awkwardly kiss his cheek.
I’m not even sure my mouth lands on him. With how sweaty his cheeks are, my lips should taste salty, but when I dart out my tongue to replenish their sudden dryness, I only taste my ChapStick.
When Cash asks, “Are you ready?” I bob my head.
He swings his eyes to Jasmine when she asks, “Are you guys not coming to Mama’s?”
I realize Mama’s is a pizzeria not a person when Cash replies, “We’ll come for a slice next time. McKayla and I have some stuff to take care of.”
“What do we need to do?” I ask when Cash circles his hand around mine and leads me toward the closest exit before his coach has finished congratulating his team on their win.
Their win!
They won.
Which means…
Oh god.
Suddenly fretful I won’t be so coordinated without alcohol heating my veins, I try to lower Cash’s fast pace by suggesting we go to Mama’s with Kamil and Jasmine. “I’m not a huge fan of pizza, but I’ve never been invited to something like that before. It sounds fun.”