Baller: A Bad Boy Romance Read Online Free

shown up, hadn’t I? I was playing, wasn’t I? We were going to win that game. He had nothing to worry about. I didn’t appreciate him talking to me like I was his son because I was not. I didn’t care if he did it because he was worried, or because he wanted me to slow down before I crashed, because I was not going to crash. Like I said, it took a lot to take me out and a night of partying with a few girls and some shots was not it.
     
    There were three girls in the house when I got up. Three . That was a good indicator of exactly how much I had had to drink. I had never in my life needed help getting girls. Never . The fact that I had managed to get not one, not two, but three home with me was a sign that maybe I hadn’t had all that much to drink after all. We had started the night together, but they were under no obligation to come home with me and fuck. If it was rides home that they wanted, I am sure I would have had the mental presence to call them an Uber or something. Everything was a blur, but the women, maybe even more than these three… or a different three entirely had been with me the entire night. Or maybe they hadn’t. I had had a lot to drink. I didn’t know. It had been a lot, but most likely not enough to make me unappealing to chicks. I mean, really , because, how did drunk, slurring Dante manage to hook three birds at once?
     
    I knew the answer to that. It was because drunk, slurring Dante Rock was still Dante fucking Rock. I could pull anybody. Anybody . Girls wanted me. They just did. I was hot. I knew that, but a lot of guys were hot. It was not that hard to be hot. It was hard to be Dante Rock. I had never met a girl who told me I wasn’t her type. I was every woman's type. I was your married mom’s type. If they insisted on lying and pretending that I wasn’t, there was always the money.
     
    Money has been letting ugly guys pull since the beginning of time. When you had money and looks, you were like the prize stallion, everyone wanted to place their bet on you. Most, if not every single one of the broads I had ever brought home, were trying to become a WAG…wife and girlfriend. Any girl with good sense avoided athletes like the plague. We just weren’t the ones who were there to give you stability and a family you could come home to every night. Our schedules sucked, our lifestyles were high risk, and we travelled a lot. There were guys who wanted that sort of thing and there were some who even made it work. They had the wife, a stunner of course, the kids, a dog, the whole bit. I wasn’t one of those guys though.
     
    Getting girls was risky for a man in my position. You never knew with the hot ones who was batshit crazy. Good makeup and hair hid a lot of baggage. It also hid a lot of plotting and scheming. You never knew which girl was the one who would try and get pregnant by you so she could have the baby and start picking up monthly checks and gain a couple thousand more followers on her Instagram for posting the kid’s pictures.
     
    Love was a battlefield. Hooking up was a battlefield. There were so many willing women, and so few nights in a week. Sometimes, like last night, you had to team them up and take a couple down at the same time. It was just like that sometimes.
     
    One was in the shower, the other was downstairs, and the last one was still in bed with me when I woke up. As if the awkwardness of having a woman over and not remembering her name wasn’t enough. I had to do it three times. It was like hide and seek, but with one-night stands. Two blondes, well, one actual blonde, one counterfeit blonde, and a redhead. They had reminded me their names in the morning, but they were leaving anyway. I didn’t need to retain that information. Could I even if I tried ?
     
    I don’t even know whether I fucked them all, or if they just partied on their own. If they did, I hope I was conscious to see it. If they did, I was glad I could facilitate that for them. The only