All Chapters of 90 Days In My Bestfriend's Stepbrother's Bed : Chapter 91 - Chapter 99

ASHLEY This is so frustrating. Again, he's a pro player and I'm not even a newbie. My shoulders slump as I hold the ball. I look at the hoop that's more than ten feet away from me. I'm not even sure I can hit the backboard from this distance, let alone pass it through the net. I stretch out my hand, my fingers pressed against the ball. “It's your turn, isn't it?”André's eyes drop to the ball, then move back to me. He takes it from me, holding it lazily.He doesn't even look at the net as he tosses it, yet, he makes a perfect, clean shot as the ball passes through the net. He keeps his eyes locked on mine the entire time, his expression light. “Do you want me to keep making shots?” he asks, his voice plain. “Or are you gonna try scoring now? We could do this all day, Marià.”I roll my eyes. A show off. A frustratingly smooth show off. He goes to retrieve the ball again, and hands it to me. I take it from him, sighing.“Step back, smarty,” he says, looking down at my legs. I do

JEREMÍAS The squeaking of my sneakers against the polished hardwood is the only sound I like right now. My hair drops near my eyes as I run, threatening to distract me. But I don't push it away. Mark is already in front of me, his sneakers squeaking as he tries to dribble past me while protecting the ball he's bouncing.His elbow brushes against my ribs as he runs towards the hoop. He tries to pass the ball to his teammates, but my teammates are already guarded, blocking every aim. Just as he sees no ray of hope, he jumps, his hand gripping the ball, then tosses it towards the net. His aim isn't even good. I saw the hesitation in his body movements as he threw the ball. He still plays like a rookie and I'm not sure if he'll be able to replace Carl, the injured player. I lunge, my hands snapping out, and slap the ball away easily before it can reach the net. I don't wait for him to run after me. I'm already moving, bouncing the ball and dribbling past opponents, making my way for

JEREMÍAS The doctor’s gaze moves down to my hand again and lingers there for minutes, watching the way my fingers twitch against his desk. He finally lifts his head, moving his gaze back to me. His expression is laced with pity—an emotion I genuinely hate. It always feels like I'm helpless when I'm absolutely not. But there's nothing I can do. Doctor Henry has been my personal doctor since I was seventeen years old. Then, I only had minor issues, but now it's gotten worse and he's the only one I can go to for help. He doesn't look at me like a man who is tired of always having to see me; he looks at me like I'm someone he's trying desperately to help to let go of a wreckage I'm not willing to let go of. “The sessions can be okay,” he begins, his voice calm. “But I don't think that's what you still need. You've been trying it for years, Jeremías, and it hasn't worked completely. I think it's time you considered my other option. It can fully help you.”I inhale sharply, then releas

ASHLEY I frown, confusion laced in my features as I look at Jeremías. He can't be serious; only except he is serious. His tone is firm and without a crack, leaving no room for doubt. His expression is also neutral, and there's a flicker of remorse, but it quickly disappears.I search his eyes for a hint of a facade, but there's none. He's dead beat serious.I had asked him this question before, back when we were just friends with nothing real, and he had blantly refused. I thought it was because we weren't in a relationship yet. But now? We're more than that. And he's still maintaining his answer. “No? Really, no?” I ask, my tone laced with a mix of disbelief and confusion. “Why? It's not too far away if that's an issue.”It's roughly eight hours in total, but he can manage. “I might still have matches to play, then,” he replies, his tone still firm on his refusal.“What about when you're on a break? Surely, you guys can be on a break. You have off-seasons and recovery weeks, rig

ASHLEY The engine of André's Sedan hums softly as he drives. I lean back against the cool leather, resting and slightly dazed. Just as I had subconsciously thought, I haven't seen Jeremías again. Not since that night he had dropped me off at his parents' house. It was like I was certain that after his game the next day, we wouldn’t get to see each other again. Except through voice calls, texts and video calls—which Jeremías rarely agreed to, we didn't talk. And now, I'm going back to New York. And I have an early flight to catch so that I can reach home early. I would have thought that Jeremías was intentionally avoiding me, but André had told me that they would have barely won their last game if not for the foul that the opponent caused. They were a point below their opponent, so the free throw they had increased their points. But because of that, Jeremías and his team had to practice extremely hard for the next game. With barely manageable breaks and leisure time, they