Page 70 of Blitz'd

That and it’s amazing to wake up with his lips wrapped around my cock on the days that his roommate has already gone to class.

I’ve been in a better mood over the last few weeks than I have been in a while, and Inotice…

It’s one more reason that I should definitely be breaking this shit with Zander off… but instead, I’m shooting him a text after I get out of practice, a picture of my hair slicked back from the shower and the sun catching water droplets in my lashes.

Me: Hungry, Dimples?

I grin, because I know there’s a fifty-fifty chance he’s either going to ask for sex or something to eat, but there’s a one hundred percent chance I’ll end up getting both.

Dimples: How do u always look so good

I wait with a smirk on my face, and…

Dimples: I could eat

I stuff my phone into my pocket, ready to make him wait until I get back to my apartment because I know he’s going to wonder what I meant. It makes me smirk, makes delight lick up my spine.

And it’s thoughts of torturing him slowly withexactlywhat I mean that has me distracted when I climb out of my car, so I don’t notice the two people waiting for me until a hand catches me by the shoulder and spins me around in the empty hall in front of my apartment.

“What the fuck—” My eyes meet the steely expression of my Dad, and my voice cuts off. “What are you doing here?”

“Your coach said you were sick after your game, so we thought we’d pay you a visit where you couldn’t run off.” My mother’s voice is soft, sweet. I canrememberevery time she talked to me like that—every time Dad was at work. Every time he wasn’t around to see her do it.

It was almost worse, the way she cared when he wasn’t there to judge her for it. It was definitely worse when she’d close the door behind him when he came into my room to wake me up with a fist to my gut and demands that I get up—that Idosomething. That Imake myself useful.

And that sweetness wasn’t there at all the weeks on end that he decided to pretend I didn’t exist—no smiles, no hugs. No food or acknowledgement.

Nothing.

My eyes drift from the smile she has plastered on her face to my dad’s angry expression.

That’s what’s going to decide how this situation goes.

It always has.

“I wasn’t sick.” I shrug one shoulder, fixing my gaze completely on him.

“I saw that throw. Of course you weren’t sick. But running off like that right after a game is a great way to make sure you fuck up any scouts?—”

“Oh, fuck off.” I snap before he can try to give me advice that he doesn’t even understand. “The only thing I fucked up was whatever your plans were.”

“We just wanted to see you play.” Mom’s voice is still that soft tone, and it makes my jaw tic. I swear to fuck he brings her because he knows it gets to me.

“That’s what a TV is for.”

“If I want to watch my son play in person, I’ll watch you play. When you’re a professional, we’ll have seats?—”

“You aren’t coming to my fucking games when I’m pro.” I snap it out without thinking, and my dad’s eyes darken.

The thought of them being there, trying to get screen time, trying to ride the high of everything I’ve worked so hard to get is enough to make my stomach turn. I don’twantthem anywhere near the life I’m building for myself.

“We’re going to be there every step of the way, Kerian. You owe us at least that much.”

You owe us. Mom’s voice, slightly higher pitched, taking on that bitchy whine that means she’s falling into perfect place beside whatever the fuck my dad wants.

Like usual.

I turn, throwing a hand up. “I have plans. If you want to visit, make sure to call next time so I can tell you to fuck off over the phone.”

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