I published it.

And I’m pretty sure two people bought it: one was Reese, and the other was Stan.

Reese offered to post it on his social media, but I didn’t want that. I wrote that book about Damian and me. It was our relationship, and I enjoyed knowing it was out there in the netherworld of sales. Over the next six months, three more people bought it.

Thank you, whoever you are.

As for Reese and I…

“I’m going to murder you!”

I was holding on to his hand in a death grip, my thighs spread wide, and it wasn’t his head between my legs. A fucking basketball was coming out of me.

I know, I know.

I would love the little basketball. I would adore it. This twenty-two hours of pain would be worth it, or so I’d been promised. The outlook wasn’t pointing that way, but then the doctor looked up. His face serious, his mouth in a perpetual firm line, he said the three most heavenly words that made me want to profess my undying adoration of him.

“One. Last. Push.”

Well, I pushed.

I heaved.

I tried to punish Reese by breaking his hand, and he was cringing, but I knew it wasn’t because of me. His gaze was fixed firmly on that doctor too, and then, with a last shove—I was trying here, so bad, but the epidural was working wonderfully—thank goodness—then the basketball was out of me.

I paused, holding my breath, tears streaming down my face.

The doctor lifted up our little basketball, curled up in a fetal position, all wrinkly and purple, and he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

“She’s a girl!” the doctor announced.

She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

Reese was crying. I was crying, and a heartbeat later, she was crying. See. We were the most perfect family there was.

We named her Echo, call me a sentimental mess, but that’s where Reese and I met. Echo Roman Forster, and yes, her last name matched mine because Reese and I tied the knot a year ago.

Holding Echo, holding Reese’s hand, feeling a swell of feelings, I couldn’t help myself. With the doctor still there, and a roomful of nurses, I asked no one in particular, “Thoughts on why we don’t set toilet paper vertical instead of horizontal?”

THE END

For bonus scenes or more stories to read, head to www.tijansbooks.com.

Other sport romances by Tijan:

Hate To Love You

Broken and Screwed

Fallen Crest Series

Ryan’s Bed

And more are coming!

This book gutted me, and I hope, in a good way, that it gutted you too.

I hope it made you laugh. I hope it made you cry. And really, I just hope it made you feel.

Thank you to everyone who has helped me with this one!

To Amy, Eileen, Crystal, Mari, Kara, Paige, Chris and so many more.

Thank you to my readers in the Tijan Crew group! To those in my Audiomen group! To all the bookstagrammers and bloggers! If I miss a post, message me. I appreciate every single one of them.

I worked with dementia residents for almost twenty years, so I wanted to acknowledge them and their loved ones.

I’d like to acknowledge someone I know in my personal life who’s going through something similar. This book is for you. This book is mostly for you.

Last, and I’m keeping these short for this book, just a thank you from me to you.

SNEAK PEEK OF ANTISTEPBROTHER

Kevin was kissing another girl. And he wasn’t just kissing her—he was inhaling her. He pressed against her, her dark hair twisted in his hands, his lips moving down her throat and lingering between her breasts.

It was a trainwreck.

I saw it coming. The lights were bright and impending, and I could have gotten off the tracks. But nope, I was the idiot blinded in place. I couldn’t look away, though I should have.

This was Kevin—my Kevin! Okay, not my boyfriend Kevin, but my stepbrother Kevin. The same Kevin I’d been in love with for two years—since my junior year of high school, since my mom died and my dad decided he was in love with the most popular guy in school’s mother.

Sheila Matthews, aka Kevin’s mom, was the nurse who took care of my mom during her stay in hospice. It had been such a scandal. How dare Mr. Stoltz fall in love even before his wife passed? It didn’t matter that my mom had been dying of cancer for years. My dad’s timing sucked, but it happened. The night after my mom was buried, he was at the Matthews’ house.

One positive, even though my dad and Sheila hadn’t kept their relationship a secret, was that I didn’t have to meet her until later. Actually, I met her at the dinner where I also found out she was going to be my stepmother, and so the summer between my sophomore and junior year, I got a stepbrother, too. Of course, I already knew who Kevin Matthews was.

Everyone knew who Kevin Matthews was.

A year older than me. Football captain. Basketball captain. Track captain. He was on the Student Council—and I’m ashamed to admit I never paid attention to what he did for them. I didn’t really care. He was so much more. He was the guy all the guys respected and all the girls wanted, including me and his rotation of six-month girlfriends. He’d date a girl for six months. Then they’d break up because he’d fallen in love with another girl, and she’d last the next six months.

Despite all my knowledge of him, before he joined my family, Kevin didn’t know who I was. I wasn’t anyone special. I mean, I wasn’t unpopular. I was just…average, I guess. I’d been told I was beautiful, but that was by all the people who were supposed to tell me that. My mom told me every day, then my dad every month or so, and finally Sheila did once we moved in. She said it every two weeks. It was nice to hear, but come on. That’s what parents are supposed to do. All three of my parent-like figures did their job well, and so did my two best friends, May and Clarissa.

May was a feisty little Asian who got asked out on a weekly basis, even when she had a boyfriend. And Clarissa was a few inches taller than me with a body like Britney Spears circa “Oops!...I Did It Again.” I had long, dark brown hair and a slim-enough body. I’d never thought I was anything great, but both May and Clarissa had made enough comments about how they’d kill to look like me that I began to feel more confident.

My mom always told me I had perfect lips and almond eyes with long eyelashes that I’d inherited from my father’s side. My grandmother had been gorgeous. I never met her, but in photographs she had dark eyes, dark hair, a heart-shaped face, and an alluring air to her. May and Clarissa saw a picture of her once and fell back on the bed, groaning at how much I took after her—something I hadn’t realized until then.

So yeah, none of us were hurting, but we never really made it into the popular and exclusive high school social circles. Maybe it was because the three of us had our own exclusive clique, or maybe it was because none of us passed out at parties, slept around, or joined the cheerleaders. Nothing against anyone who did that. It just wasn’t us.

We were almost boring.

We got good grades. We went to a few parties, but not every weekend. Bowling, slumber parties, shopping trips, and regular old going out for dinner were our social activities. I could’ve lived at the local bookstore too, so I think that’s why we weren’t at the top of the food chain where Kevin and most his girlfriends were. And not that we wanted to be. Well, May might’ve wanted it, but Clarissa and I were content.

Every now and then, Kevin would date someone at the social level below. Once he dated a girl who was two levels below, and pandemonium hit the hallways. Girls wore skimpier clothes. The hallways smelled like a professional salon, and I heard that the makeup aisle at the local department store sold out.

“Kevin,” the girl moaned now, drawing me back to the trainwreck. She lifted one of her toned legs to wrap around him, pulling him more tightly against her.

I wrinkled my nose. Good God. I needed to look away, but I couldn’t, not while his hand traced down her side. He lifted her leg higher to press against her, and they both moaned from the friction.

They were still dressed. That was one blessing, but they were barely dressed. Kevin’s jeans looked loosened, like they were already unzipped, and the girl’s skirt had been pushed high. Lacy pink underwear peeked out, and the way it moved…like something was going on in there…and yeah, that was his hand.

Time to reverse it.

They’d found their spot in the back room of the basement, which was close to Kevin’s room at his fraternity. They just hadn’t gotten all the way in there. I should’ve realized what was happening when I saw the basement door had a rubber band on the handle.