First Choice ✓

Chapter 9.1 T

Antonio

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There's a reason lions are called the kings of the animal kingdom. It's because of their raw power and strength. Their power is not only physical, but mental as well. As soon as they find their prey, they attack. Without fear and without hesitation. A lion behaves like royalty. Even though it's not the fastest or strongest animal there is.

Which is why it's my spirit animal.

We have a lot in common. It's the reason why I'm such a successful businessman. I don't hesitate to go for what I want. I don't fear failure. Because I rarely fail. These things not only apply to business but also in my personal life. Sara thinks she's won. But she couldn't be more wrong.

She thinks I didn't notice how she took my phone out of my back pocket. I knew exactly what she was doing the moment she asked me to dance. For a second, though, we were dancing for real. And not because she had ulterior motives. I was enjoying her arms around me and how close she was to my body that I didn't call her out on her poor scheme.

She may have gotten the pictures when I wanted to prolong sending them to her, but now that I have her number on my phone; I don't care that she's got them.

She must know that I have her number. And I can only hope she's anxiously expecting a message or  call from me. But no. I'm not going to call her for a while. I'm going to keep her on her toes for a little longer. Then I'll be calling at the least expected moment.

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My relationship with my dad is . . . strange.

When I was a kid, he was my hero. Just like everyone views their father as a hero. When I hit puberty, we became enemies.

I started smoking, which he disapproved of immensely. Said it was bad, unhealthy . . . blah blah blah.

I knew—know—smoking is bad. But I was a curious kid who wanted to try everything at least once.

Our relationship took a massive hit when I was sixteen. The year that is believed to be the best teenage year. For me though; it was the worst.

It was the year my mother passed away.

I guess I should consider myself lucky; she had made it to my sixteenth birthday. She made me a red velvet cake. Its taste is still fresh in my memory. I should be grateful I have solid memories of her and not some vague ones from my pre-teen years.

I can still remember how she looked when she smiled, the sound of her laugh. The feel of her arms around me when she hugged me.

I can still remember the frown on her face when I got a grade below a B. But even then, she'd kiss me on the cheek and tell me I did great after my dad went to his study and was out of hearing distance.

After her sudden death, my relationship with my dad took a steep downward fall. We dealt with our grief in drastically different ways. And he didn't really approve of my ways.

It was that year that I bought a second hand motorcycle for cheap. And let's just say . . . I didn't always wear a helmet, and I drove like a fucking maniac.

It was only when I almost had a near death accident that I came back to reality. It was like a slap to the face. Like a bucket of ice cold water being emptied on me.

I had realized that my mom wouldn't be proud of me if she saw me then.

Ever since, my relationship with my father fluctuates. There are days when he gets pulled back into his grief and some days it's me. It affects how he acts around me, how he talks to me. I've learned the hard way not to take it personally.