Fifty Seven

Sam and I booked a front row seat at the bleachers, snacks stacked on our laps as the Ballers warmed up for their last game of the season. They were up against the Doodles, which Sam and I agreed was a pretty dumb name for a basketball team, but apparently they were the reigning champs for three years straight.

Toby had his arms crossed, a wide scowl on his face as he led the team through the warm ups. To his defence, the guys seemed dejected at best and uncaring at worst.

"Yikes. He seems to be having a hard time with them," I spoke, but when I didn't get a catty response in return, I turned to Sam. Only to find her chatting animatedly with some redhead girl in glasses, a cashmere sweater and washed-out jeans.

"I know right?! Doodle number 69 has douchebag written all over him. He probably doesn't even eat pussy, but his jawline kinda makes up for it."