Free Unbroken (Fighter Erotic Romance #4) by Scott Hildreth Page B

screamin’.”
    I looked at A-Train and shook my head as I rolled my eyes, “Damn, Ripp too much information. That’s gross.”
    “It ain’t gross, bro. It’s when Jessie had enough. She wanted out. So anyway, Vee turns to me and says Ripp my water broke . And she just stands still lookin’ at the floor, like she’s in shock. Hell I went runnin’ over there and I slipped in this shit and fell on my ass. Now, I stand up, and I’m covered in baby water. So I get up, pick her up, and fuck…you know me, I’m all excited. I take off for the door, screaming. I slip again, and drop her to the floor. Just bam! Vee hits the floor and starts moaning. And we ain’t even in the clear yet. I’m still swimming in this puddle of slimy shit, and trying to get her to the car. So, I pick her up again, and the entire bowling alley is holding their hands over their mouth, lookin’ at me like I’m some drunk that can’t walk.”
    I looked up at Ripp and began to laugh, thinkin of him excited and covered in Vee’s baby water.
    “Now, I step to the side, get me some good solid ground, and I take off for the door like I’m a runnin’ back for the Dallas Cowboys. After I got her in the car, we hauled ass for the hospital, and the rest of that story you know. But here’s the rest of the story, ” he paused and raised his eyebrows in an exaggerated fashion.
    “So there’s more?” A-Train chuckled.
    “Oh hell yeah. Fucking cocksuckers. Listen to this,” he nodded his head and reached for his beer bottle.
    After drinking the remaining beer from the bottle, he waived at the waitress and raised two fingers in the air, ordering another round of beers.
    “Okay, so this entire time, I ain’t got time to think about checking out or turning in my shoes. Or payin’ for that matter. I’m worried about Vee and Jessie. So, we haul ass outta there, and we have the baby. A week passes. Now I got these chicken-shit five dollar vinyl tri-color bowling shoes I wore out of there. And I got the ones Vee was wearin’. You know, even preggo she wears Jimmy Choo’s or whatever. So, I go to the bowling alley to take the shoes back, and this little prick says thank you Mr. Ripton for returning the shoes, we’ll waive the cost of the bowling, but we don’t have your shoes any longer ,” he placed his hands on his hips as if preparing us for the punchline.
    “So I look at this little prick, and I say, Mr. Ripton is my father, who you tryin’ to impress peewee? Now give me the fucking shoes before I snatch your skinny ass over the counter . See, they got my best Ed Hardy’s, and I ain’t havin’ that shit,” he paused as the waitress dropped two more beers off at the table.
    “And he says we don’t have them . And I look over the counter and say you said ‘any longer’. Where’d they go? ” he reached for his beer, shrugged his shoulders, and took a drink.
    “Now, to make a long story short, I pull this little fucker over the counter, and he tells me they decided to snatch our shit and sell it on Ebay. On motherfuckin’ Ebay. Some shit for brains fucker in Japan or Malaysia or Great god damned Britain is gonna be wearin’ our shoes. Wanna know why?” he raised his eyebrows again and took a drink of his beer as he focused on me.
    I shrugged my shoulder, “Why?”
    “Because of you ,” he snapped as he nodded his head sharply toward me.
    He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, “Those fucktards sold my shoes under the claim I was the future Heavyweight Champion of the World’s sparring partner and best friend. Can you fucking believe that shit?”
    I picked up my water and took a sip from the cup, somewhat annoyed. I have spent the majority of my life attempting to fly under the radar of the public. Keeping to myself and living a life without the influence of outsiders has always been my intent. Being under the watchful eyes of the general public, and living with their scrutiny of me and my lifestyle choices isn’t