Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“Must be nice,” I mutter under my breath.
If he hears my comment, he doesn’t let on. Instead, he places his hands in his pockets and is silent for a moment; a second later, his chin lifts, and he meets my stare.
“Nothing happened. You don’t know me.”
“Whatever you say—I don’t even know your name.”
“Good.”
“Wow, if I thought you were grumpy yesterday, it has nothing on this new version.” I shake my head. “I should know your name, so I know who to stay away from.”
He lets out a breath. “Dane.”
“And do you have a last name, Dane?”
“Sinclair.”
“Very well, Dane Sinclair, I’ll avoid you like the plague. Wouldn’t want Dad to know his ‘son’ fucked his daughter.”
“Stop.” He lifts his right hand and runs it through his hair, pulling at the locks. “Are you always this reckless?”
“Isn’t that what you liked about me?” I wink. “I’m a hellfire, after all.”
I’m baiting him. Purposely going against what he’s asked of me. I’ll pretend I don’t know him in front of my father, but right now, I want to make him feel as off-kilter as I am.
“You’re something all right,” he says, shaking his head.
“Don’t forget, I’m also a tightrope walker.”
If looks could kill, I’d be dead. “Do you ever stop?”
“No. Not really, but don’t worry, I’ll get out of your hair.” I turn on my heel but look over my shoulder. “For now.”
“Maybe you can go trace another trident.”
Despite my previous words, I change my mind.
I won’t be leaving him alone.
Not when he’s so much fun to play with, and right now, I need all the fun I can get.
11
DANE
If it weren’t bad enough that this has been a shitty week, starting with the impromptu meeting on Monday where I found out I fucked the coach’s daughter, now today, Sunday, it’s raining.
Of course, it is.
Why wouldn’t it be?
Today is the day I get the Cup.
It also means I have the damn Cup ambassador tailing. I’m not in a pleasant mood, let alone prepared to be social. Oh well, sucks to be him because where we are going, he’s going to get ignored and soaked.
Not my problem.
I’ve been drinking since seven o’clock. I can’t care less if I’m a drowned rat. I’m so goddamn numb; maybe a chill will do me good.
I have refused to consider what has me more prickly than normal because I know, and quite frankly, I prefer to just stick to ignoring everything.
When we arrive at the location, the car stops, and I don’t wait for the driver to open the door for me. Instead, I throw it open and hop out. Right before exiting the car, I grab the Cup.
The driver I hired to chauffeur my ass around is most likely not impressed by me, but I can’t find it in me to care. He made money off me, so how I act is not his concern. Nothing is wrong with his car, and I don’t pay him to like me.
My foot slips a little from the rain, not the booze, although I doubt the Cup ambassador or my driver probably agree with that assessment.
Nonetheless, I trudge through the mud. With each step I take, my clothes cling to my skin, and my hair sticks to my forehead.
How cliché can I be?
I’m the lead actor in a made-for-TV film, where the drunk hero visits the grave of his dad.
But I’ll have a great epiphany in the movie version, something I’m sure won’t happen here today.
The grass is muddy, and my shoes have taken a beating by the time I finally make it to the bastard’s grave.
From my back pocket, I grab the flask, and then I pour the contents directly into Stanley.
We’re on a first-name basis now that my team won.
“Bet you never thought this is how I’d spend my day, huh, Dad? Actually, I bet you never thought this day would come at all.”
I lift the Cup and take a swig. The whiskey burns as it travels down my throat, but I welcome the feeling right now. It reminds me I’m here.
“Cheers, Dad,” I slur as I wave the cup in the air. “This is the moment you’ve waited for. Sooo . . . did it live up to the hype? Oh, wait, you’re dead. How could it?” I laugh bitterly. “Not much of a talker, are you? Funny how things change. You always were back then. Always endless lectures about goals. Funny how you never took your own advice.”
I plop down on the ground, my wobbly legs no longer willing to hold my weight.
Now, sitting, I can feel the mud seeping into my jeans. Fuck it. Fuck it all.
Anger swells inside me. Of course, this is how it would be. “What a fucking joke this all is. But you know what? I have no one to blame but myself. It was my fault, after all. I’m a fuckup. Isn’t that what you said that night on the phone? But look at me now with a championship under my belt.”