The Baller Read online Vi Keeland

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Funny, New Adult, Romance, Sports Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
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“Should I leave?”

“No. It’s just . . . Willow came up a few minutes ago and—”

“Willow is in your hotel room with you?”

He dragged his hand through his hair. “It’s not what it looks like. I swear.”

“Then tell me. What is it?” I peered into Brody’s suite and saw Willow standing in the living room. Her feet were bare, and she was watching us from a distance.

“She needed a friend. It’s been a rough few days.”

“And you were going to console her while you were half-dressed. . . in your hotel room?”

“That’s not what I was going to do.”

“Tell me then.” I raised my voice. “What the fuck were you going to do?”

“Nothing. I just couldn’t . . . I couldn’t turn her away.”

“Why not?”

Brody held my stare. “Because I couldn’t.”

I dropped the cannoli box and turned back to the elevator. The damn car had already disappeared. I pushed the button twenty times, desperate to get the hell out of there.

The door to Brody’s suite slammed closed, and for a second, I thought he had gone back inside. But then he was behind me. He put his hand on my hip. “Don’t go. Please. Nothing happened. I swear.”

Thankfully, the elevator car came quickly. I stepped inside and turned to Brody. “I actually believe you. I don’t think anything physical happened between the two of you. That’s not why I need to go.”

“Then why?”

“You need to figure that out on your own.” We stared at each other as the doors slid closed.

I held the tears at bay until I hit the street. Then everything flooded all at once. The sadness. The disappointment. The heartbreak. I gasped for air, leaning against the outside of the hotel, bent over and holding my knees.

Brody must have taken the next elevator down because I saw him running out the door just as I climbed into a cab and sped away.

The cab pulled to the curb outside of my apartment building, and then I decided I didn’t want to go home.

“I changed my mind. Can you take me down to Chelsea—One Fifty-Five West Twenty-Second Street?”

“You’re paying the fare from where I picked you up.”

“Of course.” I could have cared less if the fare was five hundred bucks; I just knew I didn’t want to go home. It was almost ten, but Indie wouldn’t care. Staring out the window at the street as we headed back into traffic, I didn’t cry. It was as if my insides were hollowed out and even though I wanted to cry, wanted to get it out of my system, the tears couldn’t fight their way through the vast emptiness to escape.

I walked into Indie’s building in a fog. In the elevator, I stared at the button panel, unable to figure out what I was supposed to do. Luckily, an older gentleman walked in with a small dog on a leash and took charge.

“What floor?”

“Ummm. Seven.” After I had said it, I wasn’t even sure it was the right answer.

The hallway smelled like marijuana, confirming I had gotten off on the right floor. Indie’s neighbor, Devin, was a pothead.

I knocked lightly, and she opened the door without asking who it was. A smile lit her face when she saw me standing there, but it quickly fell. “Oh, honey.” She had no idea what had happened, yet she pulled me into her apartment by wrapping me in a hug. Tears threatened, but they still didn’t come.

“Come on.” She led me into the kitchen and flicked on the light. “Sit.” She pointed to a chair, and I complied. Honestly, I’m glad it was Indie I turned to, because I was so lost, I would have taken orders from a complete stranger.

She opened the cabinets, pulled out bowls and proceeded to scoop two heaping servings of Ben and Jerry’s. Placing one in front of me, she slid me a spoon and then sat across from me. “What happened?”

“Can we talk about something else? I don’t know. The weather? Work? Global warming? Anything else.”

She nodded and shoved a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. “I’m thinking about sleeping with Devin.”

“The pothead?”

“He fucks like a jackrabbit.”

I almost cracked a smile. Almost. “How would you know that?”

“We share a bedroom wall.”

“He takes ten minutes to spit out a sentence, he’s always so damn mellow. How is that even possible?”

She shrugged. “You just interrupted a good session. You want to go listen?”

“Think I’ll pass.”

She was quiet for a few minutes. “You sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

I stared into my half-empty bowl. “I really fell for him.”

“I know you did.”

“I put the framed picture of Drew inside my closet.” Saying Drew’s name felt like a tiny fissure in the wall I’d put up over the last hour.

“It was time, honey. Whatever happened with Brody, it was still time.”


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