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I didn't listen well, apparently, because I was now sitting reading the comments.

They were mostly positive, but it made me suspicious, like I was getting praised and waiting for the "but" at the same time. Every once in a while the comments made me laugh they were so crazy. One guy had written a four-paragraph breakdown on my wrist shot and how it would never work at the playoff level, he even included diagrams he'd made. At least people were passionate about something, even if it was wrong.

My phone buzzed, and I saw a text from my mother pop up.

Mom: Your father printed the article, and I put it on the fridge. He is pretending he only printed it out for me, but I've already caught him reading it four times.

I smiled and texted back.

Marshall: Tell him I say hello and that my wrist shot is fine.

Mom: He knows your wrist shot is fine. Who said otherwise?

I heard footsteps on the stairs and turned to see Lillah walk into the kitchen in nothing but my t-shirt, her hair messy from sleep.

"What are you reading?" She asked, moving to the french press and pouring herself a coffee.

I turned my phone toward her so she could see my screen. She took the phone from me and scrolled through the article. She read it and when she was finished she looked at me and smiled.

"Marshall Hayes: Boston's breakout star!" She smiled. "Look at you."

"It's just an article, Lillah." I said.

"I've seen others, many others, and they are all saying the same thing. You're good, which I already told you because I've watched you play. You might be a big deal, Hayes." She said, smiling.

"I might be a big deal, huh?" I questioned, looking at her as she laughed, noticing the way the morning light hit her face and turned her brown eyes an amber color.

She looked sexy as hell with my t-shirt hanging off one of her shoulders as she stood there smiling at me. She held her mug with both hands and took a sip of coffee.

"Well, while I might be a big deal, you might be a lot more important."

"Shut up." She giggled, rolling her eyes.

"Come over here."

She walked over and stood between my legs. I grabbed my phone, pulled it back, and held it up.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking a picture of the sexiest woman I know."

"Oh no, I don't have makeup on and my hair is a mess." She said, spinning around to walk away.

I grabbed her, pulling her back against me, her back to my chest.

"You look beautiful, freshly fucked if I say so myself." I said, holding my phone out in front of us and taking our picture.

She stood against me as I looked at the photo. We looked so happy together, and I wrapped my arms around her stomach and kissed the side of her neck.

"I can't believe you took that." She giggled, stepping away, moving back over to her coffee.

I opened my Instagram, and posted the photo with the caption: Me and my beautiful lady.

The moment she heard the post notification, she turned and looked at me, her eyes going wide. "Don't tell me you posted that?"

I smiled and nodded. "I did."

"To what…wait, how many followers do you have?"