Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 51827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
I just nod and return to my seat. He couldn’t have seen them taking pictures because his back was facing their table. He’s trying to get Rachel to sleep while listening to his daughter Hallie talk without any breaks. She basks in his attention like a flower in the sun.
“Do you have a mom?” Coop, who’s five, asks me.
“Yes.”
“Give my mom her phone number so you can come over. We can play cars and I’ll show you my hiding place.”
“It’s just a closet,” his brother Eli, who’s seven, says from my other side. “And he doesn’t have to ask his mom; he’s a grown-up.”
Coop looks at me for confirmation of that, chocolate syrup about to drip from his chin. I grab my napkin and swipe up the syrup.
“Sure, I can come hang out sometime. I like playing cars.”
His smile widens. “What’s your favorite? Mine’s a dump truck.”
I’m not used to being around kids, so spending today with Carter’s girls and Blair’s boys has been a change of pace for me. I like it, though. It reminds me of being home in Sweden, where I have a niece and two nephews.
“I’m a big fan of ‘dump trucks,’” Isaac says from across the table.
I meet his gaze and shake my head. I’ve spent enough time in locker rooms—and with Isaac—to know where this is going.
“Dump truck” used to just mean a woman with a big, sexy ass. That’s not something Isaac needs to be teaching kids about, but he might be talking about the even worse modern meanings of it.
Some guys call the women they use for sex “dump trucks”—“fill her with a load and send her on the road”—but the crudest meaning of it involves people shitting on their sexual partner’s face.
That’s the kind of shit that makes me feel like I’m thirty-one going on eighty. I don’t find it funny.
“What?” Isaac grins at me. “I had one when I was a kid. I could entertain myself for hours filling it up with rocks and moving them from one side of my backyard to the other.”
Our food arrives, saving me from having to continue the conversation. Coop pays no attention to his grilled cheese, still working his way through the milkshake. Eli cuts all his chicken tenders into bite-size pieces and eats them with a fork.
Those two are like night and day. Eli is more quiet and thoughtful, and Coop is all energy and curiosity.
“You ready for this?” I ask my teammate Leo, whose wife is pregnant.
“I’m so ready.”
He gives Rachel and Carter a wistful look. She’s asleep on his shoulder now, and he’s got one arm wrapped around her while he eats with the other.
“What are you guys doing when Mara goes back to work?” I ask Leo.
“Live-in manny. We already hired him.”
“What’s a manny?” Hallie asks.
“It’s a boy nanny.”
“Suki was our nanny, but now she’s our second mom.”
“Aunt Mara won’t let a nanny as pretty as Suki into our house. But our manny’s great. He comes highly recommended.”
I already knitted one blanket for Leo and Mara’s baby, and I’m working on another one that has his sweater number and our team colors on it. Knitting is one of the things that keeps me sane when I’m stuck in my hotel room.
After our late lunch, we all go back to Carter and Suki’s house so Rachel can take a nap. They live on a cul-de-sac with only a few houses on large lots, so the rest of us play street hockey.
Darling, Carter’s massive pet pig, watches us longingly out of the sidelights by the front door. Carter said it’s too cold for him to be outside for long.
“Charlotte,” Carter calls out sternly to one of his girls. “We never hit people with hockey sticks.”
“She hit me first.”
Olivia and Charlotte’s argument intensifies, and Carter has to stop playing so he can mediate.
“You’re a good puck handler,” I tell Eli.
“I am?”
“Yeah, you’ve got good instincts, too.”
“Do I have good instincts?” Coop asks, pronouncing it in sinks.
“You’ve got good energy.”
“Want to race to the net?” he asks.
“I’ll race you,” Isaac says.
“Can I go play with the pig?” Eli asks me.
“Sure. You don’t have to stay out here.”
He grins and races off, leaving me, Bash, and Leo.
“Does this mean we can go watch football?” Bash asks.
“I think so,” Leo says.
I look at my wristwatch. “I have to go, actually.”
“Got a date tonight?” Bash asks.
“No.”
“He’s probably just tired of your shit,” Leo says.
“I have an appointment.”
“You getting your balls waxed?” Bash asks.
“Yep. Your mom’s tired of choking on my pubes.”
I glance over my shoulder, relieved to see that Coop and Isaac are having another race, so we’re out of their hearing range.
“I’ll see you guys.” I give Leo my hockey stick, waving at Carter and then at Isaac and Coop.
My six-year-old Chevy Trailblazer is slow to start after sitting out in the cold for several hours. My vehicle provides endless joke fodder for my teammates, but it gets me from here to there. Even when I was making great money during my year in Tampa, I didn’t buy a new car.