The Game (That Girl, #2)(10)

Before I open my eyes and before Jazzy can sucker punch my mouth, the car comes to a jolting stop, sending my forehead straight into the back of the passenger seat with Jazzy’s hand perfectly sandwiched in. The motion of the abrupt stop and placement of the backseat and Jazzy’s hand creates the perfect sucker punch to my mouth. I can already feel the fat lip beginning to develop.

“What the f*ck?” I mumble.

“Karma, *,” Jazzy proudly announces, dragging her hand from me.

To make it obvious, I hold on a bit longer out of greedy need for her. Deep down, I know it will cause me more pain, and really in the end I’ve never been worth it to anyone, but knowing this simple fact doesn’t make me want her any less.

“Shut the f*ck up, both of you!”

Stunned from the sudden stop and now Lynlee’s roaring voice, we both look up to her. She’s facing us and looks like a tiger ready to eat her young.

“I’m so sick of you two fighting. You’ve done nothing but argue and bitch about each other since the day you met. Seriously, can’t you just boink and get it over with?” Lynlee faces the steering wheel and begins to drive again, but doesn’t give up on her lecture. “Levi, you act like an arrogant horny-ass teen around Jazzy. And Jazzy, you act like a freakin’ ice queen around Levi. I know both of you better than you’d like, and I know for a fact you’re both putting up this huge front. Why, I don’t know. I just know if you keep this up, you’re going to give me a bad case of hemorrhoids.”

“Of what?” I ask, shocked to hell.

“Hemorrhoids. My nerves can’t take much more stress from you two.”

I’m not sure who starts to laugh first, but our laughter fills the backseat. Lynlee is dead serious about her fear of developing hemorrhoids from the stress we are creating.

“You know they make cream for that, right?” Reclined on the black interior of the backseat, Jazzy is holding her giggles in

“Actually, they don’t, *. You can take a pill, but still I’m tired of you guys and your shit. So just stop. I don’t need a nasty hemorrhoid during Lincoln's first professional season and my college classes.”

I almost feel bad for Lynlee. Her expression and tone of voice are so serious, and her fear of developing a hemorrhoid from undue stress is certainly comical. I’m sure she means an ulcer, but who am I to correct her?

Looking over at Jazzy, I can see she’s also on the edge of busting up in hysterics over the wrong use of hemorrhoid. She shakes her head, placing her finger over her lips, and I can only respond with a wink.

“Yeah, I’ll try to stop, Lynlee. It would be the real shits if you got a hemorrhoid. I’ll be a better best friend, and keep most of my nasty comments and bickering to myself.”

“I agree. What kind of raging * would I be to keep fighting? I’ll try to smooth things out between us.”

It’s taking everything inside of me to not bust out in laughter. I can’t wait to tell Lincoln this little story. I know it’s one of the things he loves most about Lynlee. Hell, she called him by the wrong name for a while. The pride in her face as she continues to drive is too much. I feel the touch of Jazzy. She’s placed her hand on top of mine on the middle seat. Her f*cking touch is going to be my undoing. Looking over at her, I can spot she’s trying like hell to not let a giggle escape.

Everything inside me wants to flip my hand over and hold on like hell to this little connection she’s offered up, but then just like everything else in my life, I realize it always leaves me. My mom, Rebecca, playing ball, the honest love of my dad, and friends—they all vanish out of my life. I’ve never been worthy of keeping them around.

I relax my head on the backrest and imagine a different life, one worth living, where there’s no fake persona to pull off. No big show to live up to, no fame, cars, money, or women. I dream of a simple life with a chain link fence and the touch of a woman like Jazzy. Her hand in my hand.

***

Jazzy



I have no clue what came over me. Why did I grab his hand like that? Why did I leave it there? And why in the hell did it feel so right? The man is a dick. He knows it, I know it, and the whole f*cking world knows. I’ve never been a sports nut, but found myself Googling his name last night. Lynlee wasn’t exaggerating when she explained his fame, talent, and looks.

Levi Wilks is on top of the world, or was before his injury. His face covered every sports webpage and sports magazine with incredible titles such as “Three-Time League MVP,” “Can Anyone Stop This Man,” and “The Warrior of the Game.” That was then, but now the headlines filling the newsfeed aren’t so glamorous. Everyone is speculating on his comeback and recovery, and there are way more skeptics and critics than hopefuls. It saddens my heart to think of a man who can dedicate his whole life to the game to only be thrown away with his first injury. But the fact is he’s still a dick who I’m beginning to realize I’m madly attracted to.

“Here are some shades and a Denver ball cap. You can wear them. No one will ever think it’s you,” Lynlee says, tossing Levi the two items.

“I don’t f*cking think so. I’d rather wear a pink tutu. I’m not wearing this shit.”

“Levi,” she threatens.

“Lynlee,” he counters right back.