Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 89674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
I leaned into the throw and let the ball go. I watched the zigzag the ball made all the way to the end. Driven more by instinct than careful thought, I made a small adjustment and released another ball with a little less force than before. My gaze darted back and forth until the ball landed in the cup.
“Yeah!” I exploded, shooting to my feet, jumping up and down. The remaining balls in the bucket scattered everywhere as I reveled my win. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Scott hollering and hooping in celebration with me. I was so damned proud of myself I brought forward the old dances from my youth. First, the running man. Second, the cabbage patch.
“I win, I win, I win,” I chanted as if it were my own special song. Though, I’d easily admit I wasn’t a lyrical genius, I did get my point across.
On the turn of an exaggerated swivel of my hips, I spotted Dash and his mentor and hot, older boss, Lon Blackman, standing in the entry of our living room, looking very much like an advertisement for Dolce & Gabbana. Where Dash was blond haired, and blue eyed, Lon was dark headed, dark eyed, with a perfectly tanned complexion. They appeared like the type of lawyers that seemed ready to walk into a courtroom, and kick ass at any given moment.
In contrast, I wore my normal weekend attire, vintage athletic shorts from my college days and a well-worn T-shirt. Since I’d had Friday off, two days worth of facial hair caused an itch at my chin, and my prized Texas Rangers ball cap turned backward on my head completed my ensemble. The cap didn’t really fit properly due to the shoulder-length disheveled hair that I hadn’t cut in years.
No question, if I didn’t look like an ass, I felt like one. Which wasn’t an unusual feeling with ninety percent of my interactions with Dash’s colleagues. I halted dead in my tracks, the happiness of moments ago drained off me at the same time as my hands fell to my sides. Scott must have taken in the scene. His laughter came louder.
“We’re creating a video for YouTube,” I said, not sure I’d even told Dash about Scott’s new channel. I gestured to my obstacle course as if that would help clarify the situation. The brief moment of embarrassment that crossed Dash’s brow had my shoulders drooping. “Scott, I’ll send you the video.”
“No, don’t break the connection. I wanna see how this plays out,” Scott shot out seconds before I shut the lid.
“I wasn’t able to reach you,” Dash said. “Lon and I are having lunch with clients and their significant others. We’d like you to join us.” His hands were clasped together, the grip tight, another sign that I had let him down again.
“What’s all this, Beau?” Lon asked in the cultured way he spoke, shrugging off his suit coat, stepping farther into the living room. With a toss, the jacket landed over the back of an armchair. The entire time he surveyed the course, undoing his buttons to roll each sleeve up. I quickly lifted my hands in surrender and mouthed I’m sorry to Dash.
“The goal is to get a ball into the cup at the end. You toss from here,” I explained, pointing to the start position. As if I thought he was too dumb to understand, I scooped up a ball and sent it bouncing its way down. This time it came close to the cup but missed. Lon came to my side, lifting the material of his slacks to squat and survey the course.
“Fascinating,” he remarked earnestly, casually tossing his tie over his shoulder. He gathered a few nearby balls and sat on the couch in front of the course. My gaze darted to Dash. His stare fixed on me, the disappointment easy to read. Dash had worked so damned hard and climbed the firm’s ranks so swiftly that now he was an associate to a senior partner: Lon. If Dash continued this momentum, he would likely make junior partner before too much longer. Apparently, it was a meteoric rise, unprecedented in Dash’s circles. Yet, he’d managed to do it.
I felt a sense of pride for him and tried my damnedest to be a suitable partner, but he and I both knew I was failing. I was never able to truly settle into the fancy places he took me, or be ready at a moment’s notice to join him. Dash worked tirelessly from morning until late at night, seven days a week, while I found myself in bed these days at about eight o’clock. Many times, my day began when Dash’s day was winding down.
Dash’s level of ambition was a foreign concept to me. I would never understand the way Dash’s “work buddies” constantly undercut each other on their climb up the ranks, yet, somehow, they still remained friends. I was regularly ready to knock their lights out for putting Dash in various risky situations. However, he only brushed off my irritation, assuring me it was nothing more than good-natured ribbing.