Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 58947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
I laugh self-deprecatingly and say, “Stereotype, huh? Baller makes it out the ’hood. Gets a fat contract. Takes care of his mama.”
“You live in the ’hood?”
“Nope. The 'burbs.”
We laugh together at that.
“What about your dad?” she asks.
“Died when I was in fifth grade.”
“I’m sorry.” Her brows bunch up, and her dark eyes hold a world of sympathy.
“Yeah, it was unexpected. Stroke. He was young, but…” I shrug. “Took him out, and even though two of my sisters are older than me, I felt like the man of the house, ya know? Like I’m supposed to take care of them or whatever.”
I look down at my hands, unused to talking this much but finding it too easy to stop.
“I love basketball, but not the way Cliff and some of the guys do. It’s a means to an end. I don’t breathe ball like your brother.”
“No one does,” she says dryly. “Ball has been his whole life for as long as I can remember.”
“So why hair?” I ask, changing the subject because we probably don’t have much time. Who wants to talk about her brother when I could be learning more about her?
“Why not hair? I like to make people look good. It makes me feel good seeing how just getting her hair done can boost a woman’s confidence. Maybe one day I can be in the thick of things. New York City. Hollywood. Making famous people beautiful. Regular folks, too.” She laughs. “You gotta start somewhere.”
It’s getting dark now with only the moon and a few fairy lights strung on the roof for illumination. The darkness softens the lines of her body, but I can see her turn her head and look at me—sense her searching my face in the dim light.
“You think you’ll get some looks from colleges?” she asks.
“Playing backup for the best baller in the city?” I chuckle, leaning back on my elbows. “Probably not. My old coach offered to put some feelers out to a few football programs. I may not make it to the NFL, but I got good tape. Even if I just win a scholarship, play for four years, get a business degree—that’s better than nothing. I’d actually be pretty happy with that.”
“A backup with a backup plan,” she teases.
“I guess. I’m not Cliff. I need options if I expect to succeed.”
“You’re not like Cliff, no,” she says. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t have ambition. Things you want. They’re just not all about you.”
I nod slowly because she’s right. I am ambitious. The need to help my mom, to provide for my family and set up their futures—it burns in me.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to help my family,” I say. “If I thought digging ditches was the best way to make that happen, I’d grab a shovel. If it’s not ball, it’ll be something else.”
She giggles at that, and it draws a smile from me, too.
“I know Cliff would have nothing without ball, but that’s not me.” I shoot her a sharp glance. The guy may be an asshole eighty-five percent of the time, but he is her brother. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“No, you’re right. He probably would shrivel up without ball. He can’t imagine a life where this dream doesn’t come true.” She tips her head back and stares up at the sky. “I just hope it does.”
The smooth line of her neck is exposed, and her breasts rise and fall with easy breaths under the shirt cropped at her belly button.
“Are you checking me out?” she asks, flipping onto her side and propping her head in her palm. “Because guys have drawn back a nub for less.”
“You’re very pretty,” I say softly, finding it hard to joke about the effect she’s having on me. “I like you a lot.”
Shit. Why’d I say that?
I’m not good with girls. Like, yeah, they come to me because I’m an athlete and they want to say they’ve been with a guy from the team, but that doesn’t mean I’m that dude who says the right things or knows how to flirt.
Instead of responding to my awkward statement, she stares back at me, blinking long lashes before turning onto her back.
“Look how bright the stars are tonight,” she says, biting her bottom lip and watching me from the corner of her eye.
I ease down on the blanket beside her, careful not to let any of our body parts touch. I fold my hand under my head and consider the sky.
“Up here,” I say, “they feel really close and bright.”
“It’s the quarter moon. Less moon, brighter stars. When there’s a lot of moonlight, it hides them. Dims them.”
Over the next hour or so, the noise below grows thinner as cars pull off and the guys leave. I keep holding my breath and stealing glances at the stairs, like someone will come up here any minute and make us stop, but no one comes, and we keep talking. She has this way of looking at the world that feels a lot like mine. She’s filled with subtle ambition, too. Her brother’s ambition blares in every room he enters, like a trumpet. Her hopes and dreams are quieter, but no less sure. I want to see where this girl will go because I think it will be far. Probably beyond my reach. I may only have these moments to know her.