Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
And boom. I’m not debating the Backstreet Boys or Ed Sheeran anymore.
My heart’s racing, and I’m scrambling for just the right play to call when I run into the quarterback I kissed.
Because I will, and I need to be more than ready now that my one-time hookup has become my cross-town rival.
So much for luck and putting our history behind me. Seems like a life with Beck Cafferty in it is just about to kick off.
Beck and Jason’s romance continues in THE BOYFRIEND COMEBACK!
PART II
THE BOYFRIEND COMEBACK
One Year Later
1
BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME
Jason
I’m not taking any chances today.
The second I hit the gym on the first Sunday morning of football season, I tune into my pump-me-up playlist, the same one I listen to before every game.
I blast the swagger music in my earbuds throughout my workout with my buddy and teammate Nate.
When we finish, we head to our regular coffee shop for his post-workout coffee. It’s part of our routine—gym, swagger-mix, Nate getting a cup of joe, and me getting something that doesn’t taste like mud.
Except . . . check out the new menu.
Doctor Insomnia’s Tea and Coffee Emporium has finally, after months of begging from yours truly, gotten into the breakfast smoothie business with its Good Luck Morning Mango Smoothie.
I’ll have to try that smoothie tomorrow. Can’t risk changing any pre-game rituals today. Too much rides on turning things around.
Wait. Hold the fuck on. I’m doing today all wrong.
I’m giving one hundred ten percent to the old standby routine, but it’s a new season today. The team sure could use a Good Luck Morning.
I smack Nate on the shoulder. “That smoothie is calling our names.”
Nate’s as flexible with drinks as he is with a change of plays in the huddle. “Sold.”
I order two smoothies and pay for them when our drinks are ready.
That’s new too.
Nate clutches his broad chest like he’s overwhelmed. “Whatever did I do to deserve this?”
“You catch my passes, dude. Also, I’m feeling generous because I’m positive we will have a great game today,” I say, drumming up the enthusiasm the whole team needs.
The enthusiasm I haven’t felt all summer.
I don’t place too much stock in luck, but I believe in attitude. Like every guy on the Hawks, Nate’s been in a funk lately. I’ve got to change that with Nate, then the team.
Outside the shop, I take a long slurp through the straw and give a satisfied sigh. “This is now our official good luck beverage. We’re going to get this every day of the season.”
As we head up Fillmore Street, Nate takes a drink, shooting me a doubtful look. “I hate to be all logical and whatnot, but aren’t you putting the cart before the horse, Jaybird?”
I shake my head, dismissing that notion. “We lost our preseason games. We had a shitty training camp,” I say, farewelling the dark days so we can move past them. “From here on out, everything needs to be new. This smoothie will reset the order of balance in the football universe, and we’re going to destroy the Seattle Wolves on the field today.”
Nate is more pragmatic. “That’s a lot to ask of a drink.”
“It’s not a drink. It’s a mindset,” I point out. “We need to have faith and confidence and kick-ass-itude.”
Nate lifts his cup in a toast. “Now that I can get behind.”
I wiggle my brows. “You can definitely get . . . behind,” I say, then punctuate the pun with a drumroll.
My buddy groans, like he can’t believe I went there. But I need him all aboard the Good Vibes train today. As two team captains, we can set the rhythm for a game. “I’ll have to dock you a full point for that horrible pun,” Nate adds.
I’ll happily take the hit in our ongoing tally of zingers and duds. At least he’s starting to smile. The last few weeks have been miserable at the Hawks facility.
We shoot the shit until we reach the small-batch ice cream shop on the corner of my street, where we part ways. He heads to his place in the Marina, and five minutes later, I bound up the front steps to my home.
I get ready for work, shaking everything up like it’s Opposite Day.
I shave. I didn’t shave before the last few home games.
I hunt down my red college T-shirt. Didn’t wear that to those bouts.
Then, I fly downstairs and search my kitchen and living room for the cat formerly known as Bandit.
Taco thinks he could be an all-star in a Cat Hide and Seek League, but before long, I spot his furry tuxedo face from behind the books on a shelf in the living room. I march over to give him a smooch on top of his head. That’s another new routine—I didn’t kiss this wily critter before the other home games.