Read Online Hooped #5 (The Hooped Interracial Romance Series #5) by Claire Adams - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Claire Adams
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spent time together, the closer I
felt to him, and the more secure I became in our relationship. “You are the
best thing that ever happened to me,” Devon told me one night as we laid around
in bed together, binge-watching the
series Breaking Bad on his computer.
“I’m not a thing,” I countered playfully. Devon
laughed, rolling his eyes.
“You know what I mean,” Devon said, pulling me close.
“Meeting you—and convincing you to hook up with me—was the best thing that ever
could have happened to me.”
“I’m pretty pleased with the results, myself.” I
kissed him lightly, for the moment not even remotely interested in the drama of
Walter White’s life. “Though I’m human enough to wish that Kelly hadn’t turned
out to be so crazy about things.”
“She was crazy long before you came on the scene,”
Devon told me soothingly. “She had already been trying to manipulate me and
control my life from afar when we met.”
“Yeah,” I had to admit that everything pointed to
that; it amazed me still that somehow, Kelly had been able to hide her
craziness from me for so long. Until I had hooked up with Devon, she had never
even really mentioned him to me. I hadn’t even been aware of the fact that she
knew him, much less that they had been involved. “I don’t miss her, exactly…but
I guess I miss having someone I’m that close to, you know?”
“If you ever feel like I’m taking you away from your
friends, you’re allowed to tell me to back off, you know,” Devon said, looking
at me with concern.
“You aren’t. I’m just not that close to anyone else. I
guess after a while I’ll have a friend like that again.” Devon kissed me
lightly on the lips, his hands beginning to wander over my body.
“Until then, I will be your best friend.” I chuckled
as he started to slip his hands under my skirt, his warm skin gliding against
my inner thighs temptingly.
“Oh no—you are not going to be my best friend. I am
not fucking my best friend; it’s against my policies.” But in spite of my
words, Devon really was—in a way, at least—like a best friend. I could and did
talk to him about everything, and I didn’t want to spend time with anyone else
as much as I wanted to spend time with him. I thought with more than a little
trepidation that eventually, from spending so much time together, we would end
up squabbling; we did have a few arguments, but Devon was so easygoing at the
most basic level that he never really got heated.
The majority of our free time was devoted to getting
Devon ready for the championship game. He made a vow—and his frat brothers held
him to it—that he would party no more until the game was won. He and I went to
bed early together, and he woke up even before I did a few times, leaving
quietly to let me sleep in until my alarm
while he went down to the gym, or to the courts, to get in another practice.
From the day of the test, Devon had only a few weeks to get ready for the big
game. He wanted to be not only at his peak — but
to set a new standard for himself. I respected the fact that Devon wanted to be
even better than before, that he wanted the championship game to be a total
lockout; he wanted to score more points, he wanted to play harder.
I loved the focus he brought to everything he did
anymore. He was just as determined to do well in his classes as he was to do
well in the final game of the season—and all this he credited to me. “You make
me a better guy,” Devon told me while we were taking a break on the courts,
sitting and drinking water.
“You make you a better guy,” I told him firmly. “I’m
just here to lend a helping hand. If you didn’t want to be a better guy in the
first place, no woman would have been enough to persuade you.”
Just as Devon was improving his own life, I was
improving mine. Studying with Devon was even better than studying on my own,
and I realized that we were exactly suited to each other. Devon had a knack
felt to him, and the more secure I became in our relationship. “You are the
best thing that ever happened to me,” Devon told me one night as we laid around
in bed together, binge-watching the
series Breaking Bad on his computer.
“I’m not a thing,” I countered playfully. Devon
laughed, rolling his eyes.
“You know what I mean,” Devon said, pulling me close.
“Meeting you—and convincing you to hook up with me—was the best thing that ever
could have happened to me.”
“I’m pretty pleased with the results, myself.” I
kissed him lightly, for the moment not even remotely interested in the drama of
Walter White’s life. “Though I’m human enough to wish that Kelly hadn’t turned
out to be so crazy about things.”
“She was crazy long before you came on the scene,”
Devon told me soothingly. “She had already been trying to manipulate me and
control my life from afar when we met.”
“Yeah,” I had to admit that everything pointed to
that; it amazed me still that somehow, Kelly had been able to hide her
craziness from me for so long. Until I had hooked up with Devon, she had never
even really mentioned him to me. I hadn’t even been aware of the fact that she
knew him, much less that they had been involved. “I don’t miss her, exactly…but
I guess I miss having someone I’m that close to, you know?”
“If you ever feel like I’m taking you away from your
friends, you’re allowed to tell me to back off, you know,” Devon said, looking
at me with concern.
“You aren’t. I’m just not that close to anyone else. I
guess after a while I’ll have a friend like that again.” Devon kissed me
lightly on the lips, his hands beginning to wander over my body.
“Until then, I will be your best friend.” I chuckled
as he started to slip his hands under my skirt, his warm skin gliding against
my inner thighs temptingly.
“Oh no—you are not going to be my best friend. I am
not fucking my best friend; it’s against my policies.” But in spite of my
words, Devon really was—in a way, at least—like a best friend. I could and did
talk to him about everything, and I didn’t want to spend time with anyone else
as much as I wanted to spend time with him. I thought with more than a little
trepidation that eventually, from spending so much time together, we would end
up squabbling; we did have a few arguments, but Devon was so easygoing at the
most basic level that he never really got heated.
The majority of our free time was devoted to getting
Devon ready for the championship game. He made a vow—and his frat brothers held
him to it—that he would party no more until the game was won. He and I went to
bed early together, and he woke up even before I did a few times, leaving
quietly to let me sleep in until my alarm
while he went down to the gym, or to the courts, to get in another practice.
From the day of the test, Devon had only a few weeks to get ready for the big
game. He wanted to be not only at his peak — but
to set a new standard for himself. I respected the fact that Devon wanted to be
even better than before, that he wanted the championship game to be a total
lockout; he wanted to score more points, he wanted to play harder.
I loved the focus he brought to everything he did
anymore. He was just as determined to do well in his classes as he was to do
well in the final game of the season—and all this he credited to me. “You make
me a better guy,” Devon told me while we were taking a break on the courts,
sitting and drinking water.
“You make you a better guy,” I told him firmly. “I’m
just here to lend a helping hand. If you didn’t want to be a better guy in the
first place, no woman would have been enough to persuade you.”
Just as Devon was improving his own life, I was
improving mine. Studying with Devon was even better than studying on my own,
and I realized that we were exactly suited to each other. Devon had a knack
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