Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
I don’t have the right words.
“Who the fuck are you glaring at?”
I look away from my phone and focus on the man sitting beside me. We are at a club—I forget the name—in New Orleans, where we just had our first game. Which we won, surprisingly. Courtesy of our strong strikers, Ledger and Riot. I didn’t manage to score anything, but I wasn’t also the dumb fucker who kept missing every pass like I used to at the beginning of this season’s practices. And you know what, I’m proud of my boys, even though they’ve been annoying me ever since the news of our family’s two new additions broke out. I’m proud they picked up the slack when I wasn’t in top form.
But most of all, the reason I am in a better form than before, even if remotely, is because of her. So as much as I’m proud, I’m also so fucking… lonely. Without her. To celebrate. Or cheering me from the stands like so many of these boys’ girls do. I’m pathetically sad and lonely and instead of celebrating our hard-earned but also miraculous victory, I want to see her. I want to talk to her. I want to somehow convince her to wear my jersey and send me a picture of it so I can carry it with me into the next game. I mean, she shouldn’t, not after how I recorded her that night, seemingly for revenge but not really, but when has doing the right thing stopped me?
See my dilemma? Born to be an asshole, but somehow it’s fucking with my head that I can’t be anything else.
Anyway, back to the man who just asked me the question: his name is Byron Bradshaw and he’s one of my oldest friends from Bardstown. We went to high school together, but now he’s the captain of the New Orleans team that we won our game against. Not to mention he also happens to be my new sister’s favorite player. When Snow found out we were playing New Orleans, she couldn’t hide her excitement. Not going to lie, it hurt a little. I thought I was her favorite. Plus, Byron isn’t the kind of a guy I’d imagine straitlaced and shy Snow ever liking, but it’s okay. I let it slide. In fact, I’m surprising her with his autograph and I’ve extracted a promise from him to visit Bardstown in a couple of months so Snow can personally meet him. And of course, we’ve had the ‘stay away from my sister’ talk already. Not that he would, but still, you never know. Men are assholes. Like me.
In any case, before I can reply to him, about the phone thing I mean, another guy sitting in our corner speaks for me. “Must be girl trouble.”
It’s Ark Reinhardt. He’s also one of my oldest friends, but no, he isn’t a soccer player. He used to play in high school but never really had any aspirations to go pro. Instead, he owns one of the most respected security companies east of the Mississippi, based out of New York City and Bardstown. He was in town for business and decided to stop by for the game and, of course, the activities after.
All three of us are huddled in our own corner, away from the crowd. While I admit I’m not being very good company right now, I also don’t want them hassling me about things. So I pocket my phone, pick up my beer from the glass table in front of me and say, “I never have any trouble with girls. You’re probably thinking about yourself.”
Ark smirks, sipping from his own beer. “Nah, it’s you. Because you’re usually the one to fuck around with them.”
“I’m not fucking around,” I snap, my chest going tight. I know it was a joke, but I don’t even want to hear any jokes about me fucking with her. Although that’s exactly what I did and am doing. Will probably continue to do.
“Ah,” says Byron, sipping his beer before tipping the bottle toward me and guessing correctly. “There’s your problem. He did fuck around. He just doesn’t want to admit it.”
My chest grows even tighter, and since these days the urge to punch people isn’t far behind, I crack my knuckles, imagining jamming them into his bearded jaw. “I’d keep my mouth shut if I were you.”
My pissed-off tone might have penetrated, because both my friends lose their amusement and sit straight. Ark’s the first to check in. “Is it about the engagement?”
Byron is next. “Are you still—”
“I don’t want to talk about her,” I cut him off.
First because that’s my default reaction. I never want to talk about her with anyone. I don’t even want to say her name, if I can avoid it. It makes everything even more real and painful than it already is. Or at least, it used to be.