Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“Brice, my man. Thanks for checking in. Your commitment to your schedule is admirable,” I said, stepping forward in the queue.
“Uh…thanks.”
“Did you read the book?”
He shrugged. The gesture made his bangs cascade across his forehead. “Not yet, but it won’t take long.”
Wow. How did I put up with these knuckleheads? Let me tell you, it took the patience of a saint most days, but for some weird reason, I was good at it. I’d been told that other teachers weren’t as approachable. Not many fourteen-year-olds would have dared disturb the crabby geometry teacher, Mr. Olstrom, while he waited for a much-needed, end-of-day caffeine infusion, that was for damn sure.
The kid still had no hope of getting out of his homework. Under my “cool adult” persona, I was a hard-ass.
“Let’s see. The Great Gatsby is approximately two hundred and twenty pages. It’s four twenty now, and you’ve got practice till…what time?”
“Six.”
“Ouch, cutting it close. I hope you weren’t planning on using CliffsNotes,” I singsonged, stepping to the register. I greeted Darya with a fist bump, ordered two lattes, and reminded her that I also needed to pick up hot chocolate for the team.
“Yep! I’ve got the container ready,” Darya said. “It’s a little heavy, but you can manage it if you put your drinks in a tray or find a minion to help you carry it.”
“I got it covered.”
“Good. You don’t have far to go, so it’ll stay warm for you. Have a good one, Gus. Say hi to Rafe for me. And oh, my gosh…tell him congratulations!”
“Will do.” I thanked her and moved to the counter to wait for my drinks.
Brice followed. “I can read fast.”
“Glad to hear it,” I replied. “I’d get to it if I were you. Time’s tickin’, and you’ve got five hundred words due in less than forty-eight hours, Alvarez.”
“Let’s make a deal. Two fifty?”
I laughed as I pulled my cell from my pocket and peeked at the incoming text message. “Five hundred. See you tomorrow.”
Brice wilted. “Worth a shot. Hey, did you really buy hot chocolate for the hockey team?”
“Yeah, I lost a bet.”
“Dude, I need to switch sports. Later, Mr. L.”
I fit the lattes into a tray and hefted the large container with my free hand, rolling my eyes at the wise guy who’d offered me a high five. It was another student with a posse of his goofball friends. They chuckled like hyenas but wisely held the door open for me.
I squinted against the early October sunshine, my mind wandering to the tapes I wanted the team to watch today and the questions I’d prepared for tomorrow’s quiz in my English class, which poor Brice was probably going to bomb. Shit, and I was supposed to buy cat food too. No problem. I could do that online…as soon as my hands were free and—
“Can I help you, Coach?”
My grin was immediate and so wide, it felt like my face split in half. Some days it blew me away that this guy was mine.
I passed Rafe the latte tray, then wrapped my fingers around his nape and kissed him. He hummed into the connection, fluttering his lashes like a lovesick cartoon character. Or maybe that was me.
“You’re early,” I purred.
“Light traffic. I went home, changed, and fed Mr. Darcy. Poor guy was grumpy that I had to leave again.”
“He’s grumpy because his name is Mr. Darcy.”
Rafe snickered. “He loves it, and so do you.”
I delivered my best deadpan stare because the inside joke was the type that didn’t require a response.
See, Rafe and I had adopted the judgy feline from the shelter after he’d competed in the US Collegiate Championships three years ago. Rafe had been fresh off celebrating his triumphant silver medal in the Senior Mens’ event and in the process of finding an apartment in Syracuse. I’d mentioned that he could use my truck and that if he didn’t mind the drive, he could save rent money, and…live with me. And we could get a cat.
“A cat?” Rafe had cocked his head thoughtfully as he’d processed my invitation.
“Yeah, this guy at the shelter needs a home, and I’d like my roomie back. It could be part two of the roommate game. Only better ’cause we’d share a king-sized bed from day one.”
Rafe had smiled. “And what would we name the cat?”
“Well, something butch and fierce, of course.”
“Of course. How do you feel about Mr. Darcy?”
“I do not feel good about that at all,” I’d huffed. “How about Spike?”
“How about Dandelion?”
“The fuck? Fine. You know what…we’ll call him Mr. Fucking Darcy. Just move your shit into our new place already.”
Shocking as hell, but my powers of persuasion worked. Rafe had moved in that August, we’d adopted Mr. Darcy and started our new life together, juggling my first year as a high school teacher and coach and Rafe’s foray into the world of professional figure skating.