Whispered Desires

Chapter 30: Payback

KILIAN

"Man, I'm sorry."

"Fuck you," I mutter, taking a sip of the scotch in my hands. Hayden's laugh at the other end of the line contradicts his apology, but I can't even be mad at the idiot.

"Dude, for real though, you should've seen your face." He snorts. "You're such a dumbass."

"Fuck you." I can only repeat my earlier statement. "I looked like an idiot! You could've just told me."

"It wasn't me making you look like an idiot, man. You are an idiot."

His laughter is so contagious that I can't help but join in. "Why are you my bestie again?"

"Because I put up with your dumb ass," he retorts, the statement making me chuckle. "Now, are you ready for tonight?"

I take a look at the mirror in my hallway, letting his question run through my mind. I certainly look ready; the tailored tuxedo still fits, even more so now that those damn splints are gone. The doc gave the okay yesterday, and I can't deny I was glad as fuck it got done before this damn award show. I wouldn't have wanted to show up there with those plastic fuckers.

"Yeah, I guess I am."

"Good, because you really need to get out of your head."

His statement makes me look at my phone before I bring it back to my ear. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you have a woman dressing up to go to this ceremony with you, and instead of being the persistent and cocky motherfucker you usually are, you're calling me to slap my wrist for not telling you Cooper is gay."

Like on cue, the bedroom door opens, and I almost drop the phone in my hands when Jasmine steps into view. Wearing a dark red silk dress that perfectly hugs her curves, she could easily be the devil herself. Her scarlet hair falls over her left shoulder, the messy braid decorated with silver flecks that sparkle in the dim light.

"She just came out, didn't she?" Hayden's voice makes me focus on reality for a moment.

"I...I gotta go."

"Yup, thought so. Have a great night."

I hang up the phone without another word, still stunned by my fire girl in front of me.

"What?" she asks, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I'm not changing again."

Her words make me laugh, but I stretch out a hand in response. "Come here."

She rolls her eyes but approaches me and takes my hand, a thin smile on her lips when I pull her in front of me and turn us to face the mirror.

I look at the two of us, the arrogant wide receiver with this fiery woman in his arms.

Jasmine is far from any beauty standard you find in the magazines. She's not slim or petite, she doesn't have silky blonde hair or long legs, and she surely doesn't look like someone who'd willingly go to an event like the one we're attending tonight. Jasmine is messy. Her curly red hair is all over the place usually, and that she's exceptionally tall for a woman only slightly distracts from her freckled skin. She's not dolled up; Even in this designer dress she's not smooth around the edges.

But if there's one thing this woman made me realize, it's that it doesn't matter how dressed up you are; It doesn't matter what you have. It's how you use it. She caught my eye the first time I saw her, and not because she's as beautiful as they come, but because she makes herself worthy. She's rough around the edges, and she carries that with confidence and pride.