When Lily Langston goes to a game with her best friend. The last thing she ever thought to happen was being hit in the face with a ball.
But what left her even more shocked was when the guest pitcher himself, the known ruthless billionaire Hayes Gr...
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I stared at the half-full boxes at the foot of my bed. I was leaving behind my first piece of adulthood. I loved this apartment, and I knew that after this arrangement, I could always move back.
Olive would kick whoever dared to live here after me out, no questions asked. But I still felt guilty leaving her; this place was my home.
"You're doing it again." Her curls were more frizzy than usual, but that made them even more perfect. I'd always envied Olive's looks, her bronzed skin, and perfect dark eyes. Her mother was Ugandan, and her father was Canadian; her genetics were perfect.
She took more after her mother. "Obsessing over your looks, I know it's like I'm in love with you?" I joke.
"Are you not in love with me?" A frown is displayed against Olive's lips.
"I know what you're doing, getting in your head about this whole thing," she says, sinking next to me on the bed. She lies back, sprawling her arms back.
"Can I take your room? It has the better window?" I shove her legs slightly.
"Come on the deal isn't so bad, you'll be back here in no time. Just with a shittier window" she whispers, I lean back next to her.
"Just play the part; you'll be just fine," a kiss is pressed on my shoulder. "Plus, you get two million and no student debt out of it; I think you're technically winning."
"Winning with a lie of a life, I have to call my mom. I'm surprised James hasn't mentioned anything to her yet."
"You get married in about a week. I think telling your mom before the day of would be common courtesy." She hands me my phone, and I take it in my hand. It feels heavier than ever.
She squeezed my hand and then rolled off my bed, falling to the floor. "Olive?"
"I'm okay!" Her curls bounce up as she rises from the bed. "I get it; you're obsessed with my hair," she smirks. She points to her phone and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her.
I click on Mom's contact and watch as my finger hovers over it. I'd have to tell Warren he's going to hate this the most.
I click on the contact and sit up on my bed. I cross my legs as I lean forward in agony. Then I tap on it; the screen flashes with the red escape button at the bottom. But after two rings. Her voice greets me.
"Lily!"
"Hey Mom" her voice is filled with excitement, I've avoided her for weeks.
"Oh darling, I've been trying to catch you. I was calling about when the next checks are coming in, but I got it in the mail on Sunday."
"Yeah, don't worry; it's all there. How's Dad?" I ask the question I wanted to avoid. Because I live in a bubble in which Dad is still healthy, he isn't sick. He's not dying; he's at home listening to his Beatles record.
