The Dream Nba Novels & Stories

I'm finally riding Ryan Keeler on the bleachers where I watched him play basketball for four years with my bare tits in his face, his hands on my hips, guiding me, and his mouth finding my nipple and sucking while I roll my hips and take him deep. “I scored thirty-two points against Westfield on these bleachers,” he says against my breast. “That was the best thing that ever happened to me in this gym until right now.” “Shut up and fuck me.”

“How could this be? The sedative dosage wasn’t even that high! Why hasn’t he woken up yet? Lannister, wake up now, or you’ll be cremated alive!” Quinn stared at Lannister in disbelief, shaking him violently. “I already told you he’s dead. Stop deluding yourself. Just let them take him out and cremate him!” I gently blocked her and signaled the staff to push Lannister’s "body" away quickly. Quinn struggled desperately. “No! He’s not dead! He’s really not dead!”

Not only had he failed to secure the money, but he was now under investigation for major financial fraud. David's fantasy of ditching Mom and me to play house with Miranda and Brenda? Nothing but a pipe dream. When realization hit, David shoved Brenda aside as he fumbled for his phone. Just as he began dialing, Mom's calm voice cut through the tension. "Calling your accountant? Don't waste your time. She's already turned herself in." David froze, his face draining of color. I stepped forward, pulling a crisp paternity test report from my pocket. "Oh, and by the way," I said, "Brenda Bart won't be becoming Brenda Sinclair after all. She's not your biological daughter."

"I—I saw them. The men who want to take me. They were here. They were inside the cabin." "Hey, hey," I said again, my hand steady on her arm feeling her softness. "It's just a dream, baby. You're safe now, I promise. No one can find us here. And even if they do, I would die first before they can lay a finger on you."

"Yeah, yeah, rub it in. I'm only the star because you allow me to be, you know." Trent's smile faded slightly, his gaze drifting towards the house where the faint sounds of raised voices could be heard. "I don't know, Dames. Dad's been on my case about basketball lately. Says it's a waste of time. And It's the only thing that's ever made me feel...free, you know? Like I can just forget everything else and focus on the game." "Then don't give it up, man," Damien urged, gripping Trent's shoulder. "Your dad may be tough, but you can't let him take this away from you. It's your dream, not his."

Not directly. Because I knew. The playoffs were happening the same week. His team was fighting for a spot in the finals. There was a game on graduation day. An important one. He hadn't said he couldn't come. But he hadn't said he could either. And I understood. I really did. Todd's dream had always been the NBA. He had worked for it his whole life. Missing a playoff game wasn't just missing a game—it was letting down his teammates, his coaches, his fans. It was risking everything he had built.

The word hit him harder than expected. Basketball. For a second, everything else faded. The court. The sound of sneakers against polished floors. The way his heart used to race, not out of fear, but excitement. The dream he used to talk about like it was already real. The NBA. He had told her everything back then. And now… Now it felt like something that belonged to a different person. Lance swallowed, looking away. He didn’t know how to answer that. Ylva stepped closer, her eyes locked onto his face like she could pull the truth out of him if she stared long enough.

“Elias, there’s something I’ve never told you.” “What is it?” “I’ve been having this dream for the past half-year. It’s always the same dream. I just had it just now.” The corners of her lips carried a shallow smile. It was different from the self-deprecating sneer a while ago. Now, she was recalling the beautiful scene from her dream. “In my dream, I was a high school student in the stands of a basketball court. Someone blocked a basketball that was flying toward me. I only saw his figure, and no matter how much I wanted to see his face, I couldn’t.”

I really hate Dream-Me. Suddenly, Nick/David and Dream-Me are both naked—even though moments before we had definitely been clothed. Despite myself, Subconscious-Me can’t help but note how much detail the dream has—Nick/David looks exactly as I remember him, down to the last gorgeous freckle. I’ve never had a dream be so . . . detailed. They’ve always been much more ‘impressionistic’ for me in the past.