Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“Not much. We have meetings, and some of the more popular players have PR gigs and whatnot. Nothing really mandatory until training camp.”
“When does that start?”
“Mid-July.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Yes, and no,” he answers. “I love the game. It’s my life at this point. But it’s also nice to get a break, eat things the nutritionist would raise her brow at, and get some downtime. The season is a lot. Practices and game travel take a lot out of you.”
“I can imagine how that would be, having to be on the road all the time. And it’s not like you can say you’re not feeling it and change your plans. Your job depends on it.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “The guys, they struggled at first, having families and being gone, but they all seem to have found a rhythm. It was harder on Baker, being a single dad. Knox and Landry have it made because their wives work for the team, so they get to go with us. Although, I don’t think Corie has to; she chooses to. I’m sure that’s going to change now that Alexander is here.”
“That’s their son, right?”
“Yeah, he’s a cutie. He’s about two months old now, I guess. Or will be soon,” he muses.
“So, there’s Alexander, Camden, and Coral, right?”
“Look at you, paying attention,” he teases. “Well, I listen, too,” he tells me. “Carrie and her husband, Nick. Daisy and Summer are their daughters.”
“Handsome, athletic, and he listens? What a catch,” I say in a sugary sweet voice.
He chuckles as he parks his SUV just down from the taco truck. “What can I say? When a pretty girl tells you about her life, you listen.” He reaches over the console, taps my nose with his index finger, which is accompanied by a wink, before grabbing his phone and keys and climbing out of the SUV, leaving me to scramble to catch up with him.
“I was getting your door,” he says, not really scolding me, but a soft reprimand in a way.
I wiggle my fingers in the air. “These things, hands and fingers, all working properly,” I tease.
“Come on, you.” He loops his arm around my shoulders, and together we walk to the taco truck.
Fifteen minutes later, tacos in hand, and two bottles of water shoved into the back pockets of his jeans, one in each side, we’re walking toward the stadium. “What’s it like inside?” I ask him.
He stops walking and turns to look at me. “The stadium?”
“Yeah.”
“Eden, have you never been in the stadium?” He points behind him.
“Nope.”
“You’ve never been to a football game?”
“Nope.”
“What about high school?”
“Nah, not many people wanted to be friends with the kid with no family. Carrie was pretty much my only friend. And I didn’t meet her until my eighteenth birthday, but you already knew that.”
“When is your birthday?”
“Next week. Friday.” I take another bite of my taco and look away.
“Your birthday is next week? When were you going to tell me?”
Is it just me, or is there a hint of hurt in his tone? “I didn’t think it mattered.”
“Eden, babe, it’s your birthday. Of course, it matters.”
“You know how it is, Foster. We didn’t have celebrations in foster homes.” I shrug. “My birthday has never been a big deal.”
“It’s a big fucking deal, Eden,” he counters.
“It’s not, but thank you for saying so.”
“It’s the small things in life. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that we have to take our wins, our smiles, and our chances for laughter when we can.”
“Carrie is having me over for dinner. The girls will have made me a present, and it’s a nice time. That’s how I’ve been spending my birthdays since I met Carrie.”
“We should have a party for you.”
I chuckle. “Well, I don’t really have a lot of friends—one plus her family, to be exact—so that would be a wasted effort.”
“What am I, chopped liver?” he asks.
“Fine, I have two friends.” I smile at him. My heart feels full just by spending this time with him. “No party.”
“No party,” he concedes. “But there will be presents. You can’t stop me from buying my friend a present.”
“That’s not necessary, Foster.”
“Oh, it’s necessary,” he says, tossing his empty wrapper into the trash can near the entrance of the stadium.
I quickly polish off the rest of mine and do the same as he hands me my bottle of water.
“Do you have anywhere that you need to be?” he asks.
“Here with you,” I say. The words slip out before I can comprehend what I said. “I just mean that I knew we were going to the home today, and I didn’t know how long we would stay, so I kept the rest of the day open.” Not that I have a packed social calendar or anything.
“Good. Come on.” Reaching out, he grabs my hand, lacing his fingers through mine, and leads me to the door of the stadium. He tries the door, and it’s locked, so he pulls out his phone with one hand, taps the screen, and places it to his ear. “Vaughn here. Want to let me in?” He laughs and listens. “Yeah, southside entrance. Thanks, Harry,” he says, sliding his phone back into his pocket.