Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
“Hey, di Angelo, we’re huddling here! What the fuck are you looking at?” Jonesie swiped my phone from my hand and held it above his head.
And I reacted like anyone with possibly incriminating texts on their cell would.…I lunged for his throat and held him against the locker in a chokehold. Three guys were on me in a flash. Christian grabbed my phone from Jonesie and scowled.
“Jesus, Evan!” He took a peek at my cell before handing it back to me. “What’s the big deal? You like Nicole and she doesn’t seem to think you’re a total asshole. I shoulda known this was about a girl.”
The room broke into a round of obnoxious catcalls and wolf whistles that were more about restoring order than taunting. I glanced at the screen before tossing my phone into the bag in my locker. Yep, it was Nicole. I fussed with my shoulder pads when Jonesie sidled up next to me, extending his hand in a conciliatory fist bump while Christian called the team into a huddle.
“You have a fucking rotten temper,” he huffed.
“I do. So stay the fuck away from my cell, asswipe.” I pulled my helmet over my head and fastened the strap.
“Fine! Geez! But you should be thanking me for making things happen with Nicole. I expect an invitation to your wedding,” Jonesie said sarcastically as he dealt with his own helmet.
This was what I’d meant when I told Mitch people believed what they wanted. Even if I corrected Jonesie, he wouldn’t buy that I’d been mooning over a text from another guy.
I pulled Jonesie’s face mask and gave him a lazy grin. “Don’t dry clean your tux yet, buddy. It’s not about a girl, it’s about a guy.”
Jonesie’s frown morphed into a shit-eating grin. He busted up laughing, then slapped me on the back. “Right. Maybe I should tell Nicole you’re a ’mo.”
“Tell her what you want.”
He furrowed his brow and was about to speak when Christian called us over. “Kiss and make up already, you two. Let’s go!”
“We’re coming. Evan was just coming out to me.” He dodged sideways to avoid certain retaliation.
I ignored him and smiled as the room erupted in another round of laughter. They could think what they wanted. They always would. But it occurred to me that I’d done something I never had before. I’d said the words aloud. It didn’t matter if they believed me tonight. Someday they would. I’d make sure of it.
We won by a landslide. The final score was twenty-one to three. The Mavericks were up by three on a field goal kick at the half, but the tide changed in the third quarter. Christian handed me the ball on the second play and boom…I ran forty-five yards into the end zone for our first goal. The rest was a walk in the park.
Everyone was in a celebratory mood after the game. Someone turned on a JT song, and we danced and goofed off while we cleaned up before meeting with the family and friends who’d stayed to congratulate us. I greeted my parents with big hugs, and because they caught me in a weak moment, I agreed to come home the next night for dinner. As we chatted about the game, I found myself checking the stands, wishing I’d thought to invite Mitch.
“Hey, can I get a ride with you to that party?” Christian asked, yanking at my jersey as we headed off the field.
“I wasn’t planning on going.”
“Do me a huge favor and come with me for half an hour.”
“Why?”
“I promised I’d stop by, and I was specifically asked to bring you. We don’t have to stay long. Thirty minutes, an hour, tops. I’ll get a ride from there. What do you say?”
I didn’t bother asking who requested my presence. I sighed heavily and checked the time on the giant stadium clock. Nine forty-five. Mitch wouldn’t even be home for an hour.
“Okay.”
Christian slapped my back and grinned. “Cool. I owe you one.”
Athletes seemed to roll into parties with an entourage and a lot of fanfare. Especially when they were in season. Some of the guys on my team acted like every post-win event was a personal congratulations and an occasion to celebrate to excess. Not everyone, of course. Christian might have one drink, but he’d manage to nurse it for an hour or more. Jonesie, on the other hand, would waltz into Nicole’s house with his arms in the air, then make a beeline to the keg. He’d guzzle three beers before making his rounds, flirting and goofing around with friends and teammates. By the end of the night, he’d be leaning against a wall for support with his arm over an adoring girl’s shoulder.
I was somewhere in between. I liked a good time as much as the next guy, but I didn’t like being hungover. I knew my limits and I stuck to them. But when I was twenty minutes away from home by car, I’d have to crash on someone’s couch. Not tonight. I sipped soda water from a red cup and fake smiled as one of my teammates told a lame-ass story involving super human powers that would have seemed impressive if I was drunk. I wasn’t. And after forty minutes, I was ready to go.