Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Finn gets to his knees and then his feet, making sure to take care with keeping Scottie propped up and sitting, and then leans down to scoop up her body with ease. She’s a petite girl, but he makes it look like she doesn’t weight anything at all.
Gallantly offering them the right of way with a swing of my arm, I follow behind them, bringing up the rear of the entire dripping group. Roman and Ryder are the first in line, ravaging at the aluminum pan lineup of food the adults have managed to pull together, and Hawk, Meadow, Emily, Izzy, Carmen, Wes Jr., Willow, Travis, and Jack aren’t far behind. Reece waits at the back door, leaning into the jamb and stepping to the side as Finn approaches with Scottie, while Jude, Ty, Remy, and Flynn all make plates, only to hand them over to their wives.
“Take note, fellas,” Remy says wisely, a smile on his face reminding me of the carefree uncle who put me first time and time again when I was just a special needs girl with a single mom. “A happy wife means a happy life, and the root of happiness is food.”
I find a place at the back of the line, my stepdad and my uncles keen on getting their own food in front of me. Balancing a plate and napkin between my fingers, I wait my turn, half listening as their conversation inevitably drifts to football.
“Mavs Kids Camp starts next week, doesn’t it, Wes?” Uncle Ty asks, grabbing a burger from the grill.
“Yep,” my stepdad replies, his tone casual as he loads his plate.
“What big stars are joining the fun?” Uncle Jude grins, already angling for something that benefits himself. “Anyone I might need you to snag an autograph from?”
“I’m not getting you any fucking autographs,” my stepdad shoots back, rolling his eyes with a chuckle. “Though, I just got word from our media department on Friday that your favorite Dickson quarterback is going to be there.”
“Boden’s going to Mavs Kids Camp this year?” Uncle Jude’s eyes widen in surprise, and at the mention of his name, my head snaps up like a rubber band.
“Yep,” my stepdad confirms, tossing a hot dog onto his plate. “Blake Boden was a late sign-up, but it worked out since Cam Mitchell backed out last minute. We needed an extra volunteer.”
“Blake Boden is going to MKC this year?” I ask, but my question goes completely ignored.
Apparently, Blake forgot to mention this little detail during our Mavericks discussion last Saturday night. And despite the fact that Mavs Kids Camp is planned almost a year in advance, he somehow managed to get a green light from the media team.
“That kid sure is talented,” Uncle Jude remarks, scooping mac and cheese onto his plate. “Tell me he’s on your draft short list.”
“I know his stats,” my stepdad replies, a dry laugh rumbling through his chest.
“Oh yeah, baby. The next Quinn Bailey incoming,” Uncle Ty crows, high-fiving Jude as I edge closer, pretending I’m just trying to grab a hot dog.
“He’s good,” Uncle Flynn cuts in, his tone unusually skeptical. “But calling him the next QB is a stretch, don’t you think?”
“His college stats are technically better than Quinn’s,” I chime in, feeling strangely defensive. Blake’s record is better than Quinn’s, but I have no idea what drove my need to say something about it.
Thankfully, no one thinks anything of it. Spouting facts and figures is nothing outside of the norm for me.
“See.” Uncle Ty grins. “Next Quinn Bailey, I’m telling you.”
My stepdad just laughs. “We’ll start with this week’s camp and go from there.” He turns to me with a smile he reserves for the people he loves most. “You’re still helping, right, Lexi Lou?”
“Yeah. I’ll be there.”
“Good. Let me know if I can do anything to help you with the highlight reels. You should have most of the footage—”
“I’m good, Dad. I had them ready months ago.”
Uncle Ty guffaws, and Uncle Jude laughs as my stepdad’s face turns into a combination of amused and contrite. “Right. Of course you did.”
The group of them splits off, coming to the end of the buffet line and joining their wives in every available nook and cranny on the deck. The cousins and pseudo-aunts and uncles have all gathered back down on the dock, plates in their laps as they scream and tease and taunt one another with full mouths. I glance inside the house, to where Finn’s propped Scottie on the couch in the living room to wait for her plate. I consider whether I want to join them but ultimately settle on a moment of solitude.
Big crowds are still overstimulating for me, even when they’re all people I know and love, so a moment with nothing but my phone and my food won’t go unappreciated.