In The Unlikely Event [updates begin may 3]

10 | steph curry

!!PLEASE READ THIS AUTHOR NOTE!!

a/n  Black Lives Matter. it always has and it always will be. not sure if we're going to have an update this friday because while i do have some chapters pre-written, i haven't been writing a lot. I'm stuck in this place of despair, anger and frustration at the blatant disregard for the lives of Black people. it's frustrating having to constantly fight for BASIC, GOD-GIVEN human civil rights because every time it seems like we took a step forward, we're pushed back hundreds more. police brutality is real. don't ask around, don't look it up. just BELIEVE me, as a Black teenager living in Canada, when I tell you that police brutality is real.  racial profiling is real and every day countless lives are being lost to those sworn to protect us. it is exhausting having to fight the good fight. it's exhausting having to go to another peaceful protest. it's exhausting and tiring because it clearly doesn't work. so when u see people rioting and looting, don't talk to them about being peaceful and not resorting to violence. because we've been playing by the rules with no change, now we're going to talk to the oppressors in a language they understand. 

#

The sliding, automatic glass doors open, bringing in a wave of heavy winds and clusters of dead leaves that littered the linoleum floor. The wind blew my notes across the lobby, landing underneath the coffee table set out in display and my hair into my face. I scrambled, getting to my feet and almost knocking over my half-empty coffee mug.

"Shit," I cursed as I reached to prevent it from tipping over. On my knees, I crawled under the table, gathering my notes when whoever caused the door to open, walked in. Under the table, I lifted my head, looked down back my scattered notes before lifting my head again too quickly. My head hit one of the support rods underneath the table. I watched, rubbing the back of my head and wincing slightly, as Roman, made his way to Isabella with a bouquet.

From this far away from them, I couldn't make out their conversation, but I could admire his full-frontal profile without being cornered about getting caught staring too long and keenly.

His nose, slightly crooked and a little bent, sat atop full lips that looked ridiculously pillow-soft. Strong, square jawline--which I was convinced must have been craved by some master sculptor-- was accentuated and complemented by a growing 5'o clock shadow. At that moment, as my eyes trailed up and down his body, drinking in biceps that strained against the sleeves of his shirt and thigh muscles that had never looked so attractive straining against snuggly fitted jeans, he took off his baseball hat. A cascade of dark curls freed from his hat and landing wherever they may in bouncy curls that screamed: healthy. He ran his fingers through them, breaking a smile that had me disoriented enough to knock my head, loudly, against the supporting rods a second time. This time, it called the attention of Roman and Isabella and at the squint of his eyes as he approached me, I made quick work of gathering my notes and crawling out from under the table.

I hate unnaturally attractive people.

Still, he reached out his hand to me just as I stood up and gratefully took it, wishing for the disintegration of all attractive people except maybe a few for eye candy purposed only.

"Hi." He flashed me a smile, still holding onto my hand. I knew I should probably release his first--considering he made no attempt to drop mine-- but my hands were so cold, and his hand was so warm.

At least that was my reasoning as to why I continued holding onto his hand even a few seconds after I stood up. Clearly my throat, I took my hand away from him, and said, "Hi."  I turned my back to him. "Goodbye."