Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
“Makes sense. I’ll need you in the stands to counteract whatever lame-ass ideas Gus comes up with.”
Braden chuckled. “Ignore him or…come up with your own lame-ass ideas.”
I assured him all of my ideas were sophisticated and intelligent before I lunged on top of him, straddling his thighs and tickling him until he threw me off the futon.
In retrospect, I should have paid attention to Gus’s lame-ass ideas.
A few days later, Gus renewed his quest to bring a little sizzle into our game by bringing on a new guy who supposedly excelled in brand management. Whatever the fuck that meant. Craig Holtmeier was a hotshot recent USC-grad with an MBA in business…and he also happened to play volleyball in college. He seemed cool. He was a good-looking guy in his midtwenties with curly dark-blond hair and a huge smile. If we met at a bar to discuss strategy, I probably would have taken his expertise into account and tried seriously to consider the whole “sizzle” aspect of our image. But his sudden presence on the court bugged me.
It seemed like Gus was in the midst of devising a secret behind-the-scene plan, and since I couldn’t figure out what it might be, I immediately went to the paranoid option. What could I say? I had trust issues. Partners were supposed to communicate, and we didn’t seem to do that well. I wanted to perfect my game, and he wanted to grow his posse of bikini-clad admirers.
To be fair, it had already been a long week. My brain was fried, and my patience was waning. I glanced at Dave, silently willing him to call practice. No such luck. Dave called out instructions to Tucker and Craig, who were scrimmaging with us on the other side of the net. Gus had the ball. He spun it between his fingers, then tossed it in the air and sent it flying.
“I have some good news, man. Sophie got back to me. Craig and I were talking about some of her ideas. We’re in business,” Gus hooted, holding out his hand for a high five.
I slapped his outstretched hand, but I didn’t bother hiding my confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“We’re going the Gay Pride route.”
“Oh, are you coming out?” I snarked, bumping the ball to him when Tucker hit to us.
Gus passed it to me and chuckled. “And disappoint all the babes on the beach, no can do. But I can support my queer friend…while I date his ex. How fucking perfect is that?”
“Unreal.”
Apparently, Gus didn’t read sarcasm well. He nodded enthusiastically and pumped his fist in the air when he nailed the ball in the far left corner and scored.
“I know, right? Glad Anna wasn’t into your roommate. She said she’d come by today after practice to make sure you’re cool with it. But I’m warning you, don’t try to talk her out of this and don’t get jelly if she runs her hands all over my bod. I told you the ladies dig me.”
“Whoa! Why do we need Anna to pretend to be into you?” I gestured to a group of fangirls on a nearby blanket angrily. “Choose them. All of them if you want. Leave my ex and my friends out of your fucked-up ideas. We don’t need pizzazz, Gus. We need to fuckin’ win.”
Gus caught the ball, tucked it under his arm, and huffed impatiently.
“We need to do it all, Elliot. We have to please our sponsors, rack up interest, get a vocal squad who’ll show up to our games, rain or shine. And yes, we need to fuckin’ win. The game is bigger than the ball and a net, bud. It’s a business. We’re selling ourselves as much as we’re advocates for our sport. You can’t have one without the other in this day and age. The competition is too fierce. Welcome to the big time,” he sneered. “If you have a better idea, let me know. Otherwise, put a smile on your face and find a hot guy to be your date for the Burtons Beach Bash. But do it soon. Craig is gonna need deets on him.”
I frowned. “Is this a joke?”
Gus pulled his sunglasses from his nose and shook his head. “I’m not even close to joking. We need happy sponsors to make a fucking living here. We do what they say. If Burtons wants a story, I’m gonna make one up.”
“You already did it, didn’t you? You asked them to print a bunch of Pride T-shirts because you’re going with the queer angle.”
“Yeah. It’s genius. Admit it.”
“Fuck you.”
He shoved the ball at me irritably. “Why are you pissed? I didn’t out you. You’re already out. What’s the big deal?”
I threw the ball in the sand and pushed at his chest. “My sexuality has nothing to do with my game, asshole. Nothing! And if you planned on using any part of my life, including my ex-girlfriend, you should have cleared it with me first.”