Meant for Stone (Meant For #1) Read Online Natasha Madison

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Insta-Love, Sports Tags Authors: Series: Meant For Series by Natasha Madison
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Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
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She hands me a baseball hat. “Apparently, we have to wear these,” she says while Zara squeezes my arm before walking back to her seat. I put the hat on, and then everyone stops talking when the roar of the crowd starts. “I think they’re on the ice,” she states, bumping her shoulder into mine. “You okay?”

“I thought it would be weird,” I admit to her. “But I don’t know if anyone knows we dated besides his parents and, well, my parents.”

“Everyone knew,” Gabriella confirms. “He made sure everyone knew.”

My stomach rises to my throat, and I breathe out through my mouth and inhale through my nose. “Well, I’m glad no one is holding a grudge.”

“You need a drink,” Gabriella declares. “Let’s get some shots before we head out to watch the game.” I walk over to the bar at the left side of the room as she pours six shots. A couple of her girl cousins come over and take the shots with us.

I’m waiting for one of the girls to ask me what happened, but no one does. The game ends with Dallas winning, and the crowd is electrifying. And standing with Stone’s family without him here is more painful than if I was home alone, looking at pictures of him. Feeling him all around me but not having him here is horrible, and with each drink I have, the pain gets worse.

When we finally get home, I head to my bedroom, the tears coming nonstop as I slide into bed. The following morning, I don’t even bother looking at myself in the mirror before I head down to the kitchen. My father stands by the counter with the blender going, and I wince.

“Why is that so loud?” I ask as I grab a cup of coffee.

“How much did you drink last night?” he scoffs. “You look like shit.”

“Tyler,” my mother hisses at him, “what is wrong with you?”

“Her eyes are all puffy.” He points at me.

“I have allergies.” I avoid looking at them. “Started this year.” Neither of them calls me out on my bullshit.

“We leave at noon,” my mother announces when I’m about to sip my coffee.

“Leave at noon for what?” I swear I sound like a whining kid.

“Family lunch. We spoke about it in the car on the way home.”

I’m about to argue with her. “Was I awake?”

“You were blinking your eyes, so I assumed you were awake.” She grabs her own cup of coffee, bringing it to her mouth. “I think I heard a grunt.”

“Why do I have to go?” I ask, and they both stare at me.

“That would be so rude,” my father scolds. “They know you are here with us and then you aren’t going to show up?”

“Ugh, fine,” I concede, walking out of the kitchen, “but this is it. I’m not doing anything more.”

“Duly noted!” my father yells while he turns the blender back on.

I stay in my bedroom, watching television until I have to get up and get dressed. Going over to my open bag in the closet, I get on my knees and toss clothes around until I spot my white jeans. Getting up off the floor, I shimmy my way into them before I snatch up my thin, long-sleeve black sweater and bra. I put the bra on and then the sweater, pulling up the sleeves before tucking one side in the front. I brush my teeth and put a bit of cover-up on to hide the dark circles I have under my eyes.

“Mom,” I shout from my bedroom door, “can I borrow your Converse sneakers?”

“They’re by the front door,” she replies. I run down the stairs to get them.

At one minute past twelve, we’re in the car and going to someone’s house. When we pull up, there isn’t even parking on the street. “Where did all these cars come from?” I mumble as we park and walk down the street toward the house.

“It’s starting to get so hot,” my mother huffs. “I can’t wait to head to Montana.”

“Girl, same.” I look over at her, smiling as we walk up to the door.

My father rings the doorbell, and I look over at him. “Why are you ringing the doorbell?”

“We aren’t just going to walk in,” he sneers at me.

“Dad, do you not hear the hundred people in that house?” I point at the door. “They probably don’t even hear the doorbell.”

“Then walk in.” He holds out his hand, and I’m about to do it when the door swings open.

“You guys didn’t have to ring the doorbell,” Matthew says, holding the door open, “you just walk in.”

“See, told you,” I tell my father. I kiss his cheek at the same time that my phone buzzes in my back pocket.

“Go on in.” Matthew points at the door that leads to the foyer. People are everywhere.


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