"Woah, look at you go."
Should I tell them now that I am planning to bring her down? Or should I leave it a surprise? Fuck it, I will tell them now. "As soon as her schedule allows, I plan on bringing her to meet you all."
"What is it that she does?" My mom sounds cautious. As if Serena may be in some wayward business. And she's digging. It's nothing that I didn't expect because she's nosy as hell and tries to be in my business all the time.
"She's a flight attendant. Her schedule doesn't always match up with when I have a game or when I have to travel. But we will figure something out."
My sister snorts, and I don't want to know what she's thinking. Unfortunately for me, she tells me anyway. "Sounds like the perfect woman for you, Bentley. You get to see her when you want and still be able to have all the fun you want on the side. Isn't that what life is all about now that you’ve become a famous basketball player?"
I don't know what crawled up her ass, but this definitely isn’t a conversation to be having in front of our mother. "For your information I haven't seen anyone besides her in a long time. She has her own issues to work through, and I'm not adding to them. If you can't stop being a bitch, then I'm not going to bring her around at all.”
“Aye dios mio,” Mom sighs. “What am I gonna do with the two of you? You are both adults, and it's time to act like it. I can’t believe I still have to break up your fights at this age.”
She's right, and I know that. But Gabby needs to get off my case. It's not like I flaunted my past discretions in front of her. Hell, that was the whole reason I never took them around family. I didn't want to introduce them to somebody that wasn't going to be around long. "I'm sorry, Mom." I rub my hand across my forehand, frustrated with the way this conversation has ended up. Even though I'm not the one who started. "I need to go. We have to be out of the locker room soon."
"Okay. I love you, Mijo. And I can't wait to meet Serena." I hear the smile in her voice and know that she means it.
"Thanks Ma, I love you, too.” As much as it sucks that me and my sister fight over this one thing, she'll come around. She will love Serena just as much as I'm beginning to. Now, I just have to bring up to Serena that she needs to meet my mom soon. That should be loads of fun.
Twenty-Two
Serena
Tonight, has been more fun than I’ve had in a while. Hazel and I showed Bentley, Jordan, his wife, and Ross some of our favorite places. From the pizza joint down the street from the stadium to the bar we frequent. It was amazing to show him my city. The place I’ve called home since I left my parents’ house.
Now, though…my feet are killing me. After being on flights all week, and the late night with Bentley last night, I can hear my bed calling me. It’s too bad that’s not the bed I’m going to tonight. Or maybe not?
Bentley reaches for my hand as the elevator doors open. Everyone else has gone to their respective rooms, and Hazel headed home after the bar. Which was kind of odd since she’s usually a night owl? I didn’t miss the looks her and Ross were giving each other. There has to be something there. Who knows? I could be reading into something that doesn’t exist. Especially since I’m caught up in my own euphoria with Bentley.
As soon as we’re inside the box and the doors close, he pulls me to me. His arms wrap around my waist. “Are you sure you don’t want to go home tonight?”
“Yeah,” I nod. “It’s late. Besides, you’re here and I’d much rather be with you.” Gah, that sounds so mushy. Like something a teenager would say on a date with her first actual boyfriend. He makes me feel that way, though. Everything around us doesn’t exist. It’s just me and him, and all the fucked up things that screw with our hearts. It’s not impossible to overcome, but we’ve torn down each other's walls. He knows about my shitty family, the horrible idea that was Braxton, and that I’m not a flashy girl. And yet…he still hasn’t walked away. He hasn’t given any sign that I’m too much trouble even with me being states away from him. That speaks more to his genuine character than anything I’ve read. Or the cocky, self-assured persona he has on the court. We’re more alike than I think either of us has realized.
“That’s good to know.” He bends down, blocking the already dim lighting in the elevator, and brushes his lips across mine. The kiss isn’t rushed, or hurried. Nothing like the frantic pace we had last night. No, it’s the exact opposite. Soft. Gentle. Promising me he’s all in. That he’s willing to do whatever it takes to make sure things between us work. It’s reassuring, knowing he seems to feel the same way I feel about him.
I lean into the kiss, letting him know I trust him. As soon as the elevator doors open, he’s backing me out, our lips never parting. As awkward as it is to walk backward, not knowing how far we are going, I don’t pull away. I don’t break the kiss. I meld with him completely until we come to a stop and he moves one hand to fumble in his back pocket.
“Damn it,” he mumbles against my lips before pulling back. “Why is it so hard to get your wallet out of your back pocket?”
“I don’t know,” I lean against the door we stopped in front of. “Maybe it’s because your jeans are so damn tight that it would take a force of nature to pull it out.”
He looks down at the jeans in question. “You don’t like them?”
That doesn’t deserve an answer, but I give it to him, anyway. “I do. But it is making it take longer to get into the room,” I pause for a second, “and so does sitting outside your room talking about your clothing. It’d be a lot better if we were inside and they were on the floor.”
His mouth drops open. I guess he wasn’t expecting me to say that. It’s not like I’m a prude or anything, but I can see why he might be surprised by my comment. “I guess we better remedy that.” He finally gets the wallet out of his pocket, and searches for the key card. He waves it in front of the door, but the light stays a steady red. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he groans.
“Did you have it in the little paper sleeve while it was in your wallet?” I’m ninety percent sure I know what happened, and he’s not going to like the answer.
“I’m not sure?” It comes out as a question, and I have my answer.
“Are you sure we’re at the right room?” Might as well, figure that out while we’re at it.
“Yes,” he nods emphatically. “We definitely have the right door. What does that have to do with anything?”
I shake my head at him. Amateur. “Well, if we’re at the right room,” I yank the key card out of his hand and try waving it in front of the reader with no luck. “That means the data on your key card was erased.”
“How is that even possible?”
