Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
“Oh, good idea! And don’t forget to pick him up on your way to the arena,” she says, reminding me in that same mom tone she used when I was a kid and she’d ask me to walk Tyler to school while she went to her real estate job, pounding the pavement, trying to sell as many homes as she could and pay for our lives since Dad was having none of that. Or us.
“Don’t worry, Mom. I won’t forget Little Ty-Ty,” I tease, using a name my big, burly defenseman of a brother would hate. I bend down to scoop up Cindy, who licks my face right on cue and whimpers like she’ll miss me. Yup. Drama queen. “See you soon,” I tell her, and I’m off.
After hopping back in my electric car, I swing by Tyler’s rental home in Pacific Heights, and he’s already on the front porch, giving his daughter, Luna, a goodbye hug at the sky-blue door, then his son, Parker. Their nanny, Agatha, waves to me from the foyer, her eyes crinkling in a smile. Tyler jogs down the steps and slides into the passenger seat.
“You ready for me to school you in skills today?” he taunts, smirking.
“Why am I driving you?”
“Because you never stopped being our extra parent after Dad took off,” he replies, his tone half-teasing but pointed.
“Ouch. Way to psychoanalyze me.”
He shrugs. “You were always the helper. Into cooking, making sure our homework got done, dragging us to sports…”
No kidding. “Excuse me for being supportive,” I mutter as we merge into traffic.
“Not a criticism,” he says lightly. “I appreciated the fuck out of it. And you know you liked it,” he adds. “Being the man of the house. That’s your thing.”
I tense. Man of the house. Those were Dad’s words to me, right before he left. But I’ve never told that to Tyler. No need to dig that up now.
I change the subject. “Anyway, nice to see you too. How do you like being a Sea Dog?”
“It’s definitely nicer than playing on a team with Fletcher Bane. That guy’s a dick,” he says of his former teammate, one of the league’s supreme fuckfaces.
I still remember the fight Bane started with our goalie Max the season I joined the team. I’d wanted to punch him myself, and I had. The whole team piled onto the ice to defend Max. Along the way today, Tyler and I shoot the breeze about past fights as I pull into the players’ lot. “Sure is. So, who’s the big dick here?” I ask, curious to know what he thinks of the guys I’ve gotten to know over my three years with the Sea Dogs.
“No dicks yet, but the day’s young,” he says as I park. Then he shoots me a smirk. “Maybe it’s you.”
“And I don’t feel guilty at all for telling Mom to intervene in your dating life.”
His smirk vanishes. “Dude.”
I just shrug. “I’m not always the responsible one.”
“Sometimes you’re the troublemaker,” he mutters, as we head toward the players’ entrance, where I catch a glimpse of a city bus pulling up a few blocks away. Leighton’s a bus person. I bet she’s on it.
Impulsively, I clap my brother on the shoulder. “I’ll meet you inside,” I say, already turning toward the bus stop.
Tyler raises a brow, looking curious, but I shrug it off. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.
I jog across the parking lot and up to the arena entrance, timing it perfectly as she steps onto the sidewalk. No sign of her dad, which is good, though I feel a flicker of guilt. We’re friends, or trying to be, anyway. This is part of building our new relationship, I tell myself. I’m not pursuing a romance with her. This is fine.
Her gaze lands on me as she heads toward the entrance, slowing down, and I fall into step beside her. She doesn’t reach for her phone or fiddle with her headphones, like most people do, making me wonder if she’s the rare person who doesn’t listen to anything on her commute. Someday, I’ll ask since someday I’ll know everything about her.
No, you won’t. You’re just going to be friends with her.
“Morning,” I say, keeping it casual. “How was yesterday? First day in the big leagues?”
She gives me a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Not too bad,” she says, then sighs. “But you know…first-day nerves. I probably looked like a total rookie.”
I shake my head. “Didn’t notice,” I tell her honestly.
She laughs, raising a brow skeptically. “Really? I felt like I was trying way too hard.”
“Nah, it’s normal. There’s a lot of pressure to get it right.”
She nods, then lets out a breath. “And everyone sees me one way—as ‘Mini Mac,’ the coach’s daughter.”
I can’t argue with her there. “Yeah…I guess that started because your dad would mention his daughters sometimes. He never used your names though. Always called you Mini Mac One and Two.”