Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 115833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
“Um, hello?” Giselle called.
I cut a glance at her before returning my attention to Zeke. “What’s up?”
“What’s up?” she scoffed, her Caribbean accent thick. “Is that it?”
“Wasn’t expecting you to be here.”
“Well, I’m here, and I’m glad you made it back. I booked reservations for us at this new restaurant. Everyone says it’s really nice and it’s so aesthetic. You’ll love it.”
I stopped rubbing Zeke’s belly to stand up straight. “Giselle, I’m not in the mood to go anywhere. I just got back and wanna chill, to be honest with you. Plus, I’m working out with Javier tomorrow.”
“Well, it’s been a full week since I last saw you, Deke. Plus I ran out of pictures of us.” She put on a faux smile, and I blew a breath, peering out the wall of windows across the room.
I admit, when I first met Giselle, I found her sexy as hell. Every man in the world wanted her, and when she showed up at one of my games dressed in leather pants and a crop top to show off her tits, batting her long eyelashes at me, I could tell she wanted me. I wanted her, too . . . but that was before I realized there was a catch with her.
This woman only wanted me for the attention it would bring her. Think of it as a gold digger, but for the media’s sake. She was so desperate for the public’s attention, always insisting that I kiss her during our outings or hug her a certain way when cameras were around.
She started showing up at some of my games wearing the most ridiculous outfits, to sponsor whatever designer was paying her. Suffice to say, I was over it real fucking quick.
She wasn’t an entirely bad person, which was why I had given her a key to my apartment early on. She would swing by between my home games so we could fool around, and then she’d leave.
Despite how superficial she was, it was nice spending time with someone rather than being alone and drowning in my thoughts. There was only so long I could be around her, though, and she could sense I was pulling away. I could see it in her eyes. Sadly, I didn’t care.
“Fine,” I mumbled. “Let me take a shower first.”
“’Kay. Hurry up, though. The reservation is in an hour.”
After showering, getting dressed, and posing in front of this snazzy new restaurant Giselle was so eager to go to, we were seated in a booth.
Pictures were taken by the other diners, and Giselle was aware. She had her back straight and was trying her hardest to be sexy for the “random” shots that’d float around on the internet.
In between her poses, Giselle talked about her schedule and how she had to fly to Paris for a fashion show. She was going to be there for two weeks. Good. I already needed the break, and we weren’t even an hour into dinner yet.
As she talked my head off about some makeup collection she wanted to launch, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, surprised to see a notification from Davina on Instagram.
I hurried to open the app.
Sorry for missing out on bar waters. Maybe another time?
Btw, I got a few pics of yours back from the shoot and they look really good.
Below her message were three photos of me posing with her products in my hand or on a stand next to me. There was one I particularly liked, where it looked like I was tossing a container of face cream in the air like it was a mini basketball aiming for a goal.
For the sake of skin care, they’d asked for a few shirtless shots, and this was one of them. The photo shoot was creative as hell and would make a splash. Gotta say, I never knew I could make skin care look so damn good.
“What are you smiling about?” Giselle’s high-pitched voice caused my smile to slip away.
I lifted my gaze and watched as she stabbed a fork into her seared chicken, her eyes on me.
“Nothing.” I shut the phone screen off, and as I dug into my chicken, too, I made a mental note to message Davina back as soon as this dinner was over.
NINE
DAVINA
Past
Three weeks before Lewis died, I noticed his depression had worsened.
I wasn’t sure how to help him or what more I could do as his partner. He was slowly withering away. I still held out hope that things could turn around, but deep in my gut, I knew they wouldn’t.
Wilmer, his personal caregiver and a man who’d become a very close friend of ours, suggested that we all plan a trip to the beach.
Lew perked up at the idea, and though I was nervous to travel anywhere with him while he was so frail, I figured why not. He needed the experience after so many hard months, so during the last three weeks of his life, we planned and prepared.