Chapter 334 The champion mindse
Ben and Olivia were laying exhausted, panting on her large bed. They'd just gone through a series of high-intensity sexercises and even with Ben's enhanced body, he couldn't keep up after a certain amount. In fact, he was amazed Olivia was able to stand it, which showed that her tall athletic body wasn't just for show. It was also for play…
In any case, in Ben's mind, the biggest hurdle had been passed, and by that he meant the door… fr(e)ewebn(o)vel
The door nearly turned him into a paraplegic.
Becoming the world's greatest pick up artist was already a difficult enough challenge. So it made him shiver when he considered the possibility of losing function of his three legs.
Turning his head, he looked over to Olivia whose face was flushed. Her performance this time surprised him, or rather—her enthusiasm. In their previous times together, she'd been more of a passenger, into it at times but always with her mind on the end of the trip. This time, it was like she was the head of a hostile takeover for the entire f*cking train conglomerate.
Screaming, pulling, scratching. She'd showed levels of desire Ben had only seen with his more loyal girls before. Of course, Olivia still managed to do it with her own unique characteristics and flavor. At one point, she asked him if he wanted to do a 96 position…
As all these thoughts went through his head, for the first time, Ben took a close look around Olivia's room beyond a given 1x1 square foot area made up of ass or buttcheeks…
On the bedstand near the wall, he saw numerous sports magazines piled onto each other, most focused on volleyball, with one copy of The Wall Street Journal to the side that looked untouched. "I would've expected you to read more business magazines than sports magazines…"
Olivia wiped her brow. "Top athletes display the optimum drive to succeed in life. There is much that can be learned from them."
Ben nodded and noticed the wooden desk on the adjacent wall. It was sparse in books, yet support a large black canister of whey protein, something familiar to Ben as an athlete himself. For her to keep it on her desk though, it really clarified her priorities. "You really care about your athletic performance, huh?"
"A clean diet is beneficial for energy levels and the mind."
Ben continued to gaze around and noticed her walls were covered in posters with a unitary theme—volleyball; spikes, serves, receives, it was a jumble of athletes in elegant moves, mostly well-toned female athletes, a few of which even caught the attention of Ben's little brother, making him have a gander.
Seeing all this, Ben knitted his brows. 'I get it. She likes sports. Did she set this room up just to hammer in the message?'
…
Regardless of the one-sided nature of Olivia's sleeping quarters, one item managed to catch Ben's attention, a large glass frame hung up on the opposite wall to her bed, with a red and purple jersey pressed neatly inside, with numerous signatures in black marker on the outer glass. Curious, he looked at Olivia. "Is that your jersey?"
Hearing him, she suddenly went from resting from exhaustion to jumping up, her eyes wide open and her face red. "We've spent enough time here. It's time to leave."
Ben blinked. 'Why's she embarrassed now? Does she not realize her face is covered in my vanilla milkshake?'
A few drops of the worst-made milkshake of all time dripped down onto Olivia's carpet…
But her face remained stoic and absolute, as she pointed her finger to the side. Ben followed the direction to see she was pointing at the door and narrowed his eyes. 'Does she think that scares me? That door won't defeat me again…'
…
As the self-proclaimed MC in his mind, Ben knew his greatest power was that of the audience being too borrowed with similar showdowns and thus requiring the author to pull something, anything out of his ass to make Ben the victor in the next match…
Thus, Ben was fearless, his face brimming with confidence as he looked back at Olivia in challenge.
"GET OUT!" She stamped her leg.
Ben scurried to grab his clothes and run out the door.
…
On the way out, he made sure to slam the door into the wall to show it who was boss…
However, he wasn't going to stay in that room any longer. She seemed serious and Ben wasn't trying to become part of the origin story for a remake of Jack the Ripper.
Unless…
As he shook his head, he threw off any half-baked ideas of winning the Pornhub Film of the Year award based on an England-based period-piece made off a mentally retarded play on words…
Ben couldn't help entertaining the idea though. After all, he was trying to break through the heavens using his will alone. At birth, he was destined to be more of a shucker than a Shakespeare…
Ambition was the only thing keeping him successful now; that and a system that granted him a myriad of life-changing items but Ben rationalized it by reminding himself that there were of trust-fund babies in the world.
When Ben returned to Olivia's living room, he put his clothes back on, when Olivia exited her room, shutting the door behind her and approaching him. It was much later in the day now and they'd spent hours as Olivia "paid the troll toll."
…
Sitting down, Ben picked up the textbook they'd left and glanced up at her. "So, let's go ahead and study as you wanted."
Olivia blinked for a few moments. "That's all right. It's getting late. I have practice shortly so you should head back." Then, she turned around as she went to put her things together for her upcoming Volleyball practice. They'd spent too much time in carnal pleasures, throwing her plans of studying far behind.
As for Ben, his eyes flashed as he watched her leave. 'So it was the D all along…'
Whether or not it was the D, Ben's alphabet only contained one letter…
Regardless, as he looked at the time on his phone, he also prepared to leave, because he was about to run late for his lesson at Barbosa's as well, and it was one he looked forward to. He'd be learning stand up today. In Ben's mind, it was very important, especially when he thought back to that sucker punch he suffered from Nick. Ben never wanted to suffer such a despicable under-handed strike again. He wanted to be the one to deliver such a strike.
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