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)
If I were holding a drink, it’d fall out of my grip and crash on the floor.
The no-show from the blow job bet has just become the rival quarterback for the city’s better, more decorated, much more popular team.
Today can suck all the mango smoothies in the city.
2
READING THE CARDS
Beck
I didn’t want to leave my hometown. But if I’m being analytical, San Francisco suits my personality. Los Angeles was too sunny. Too warm. The skies were too blue.
Fog is more my style.
And I’m hoping this one-bedroom furnished apartment will be my style too. This ground-floor place in the Hayes Valley hood is the sixth rental I’ve seen today. Focusing on the necessities of relocating keeps me from obsessing over the enormity of my new job. I’m still shocked over the trade, but if I dwell too long on the massive change, I’ll be up in my head way more than usual.
Good thing I have a long to-do list, starting with picking a new place to live.
Portia, the landlady, shows me around the ground-floor apartment. First, she ferries me into the living room, outfitted with a faux fur bean-bag-style chair. Next, she ushers me to the bedroom, home to a king-size bed, right under a massive window.
She flicks her long, curly brown hair off her shoulder, then waves me closer to the glass. “Come, come. Do you like birds?”
Well, besides Hawks . . .
But I don’t know her football allegiances, and I like the furnished pad so far. “I do,” I say.
“Take a look.” She beckons me again, the swishy sleeves of her maroon dress flowing as she moves.
I cross the room and peer outside at the birdhouses hung on trees and wooden posts in the yard. Finches and sparrows dine on their afternoon snacks. It’s a surprisingly rustic sight in the middle of the city—a homey touch—and it makes me feel welcome.
Something I’ve been looking for.
“But they do sing in the morning,” she adds with a frown. “So if you like to sleep in, that might be an issue. I just wanted you to be aware.” She sounds like she’ll be sad if that’s a deal-breaker for me, but like she couldn’t sleep at night if she didn’t tell me.
“I don’t mind. I’m an early riser,” I say as I gaze at a yellow bird hanging out on top of a mini red barn-style birdhouse.
“Oh, good. I wouldn’t feel right if you were surprised by the chirping one morning,” she says.
“I wouldn’t feel right about myself if I hated the sound of birds singing,” I say drily, appreciating her candor.
“Also, birds are auspicious. We all need a little auspiciousness in our lives, don’t you think?”
“Definitely.” I could use a touch of fortune as I step into my new job.
Since the news hit on Sunday, I’ve been living outside my body, as if I’m watching all these wild events happen to someone else.
You’ve been traded!
You’re moving!
You’re running the offense on the Super Bowl winner!
It’s mind-boggling—this chance—so I laser in on my to-do list. Finding a new home. I step away from the window. “Could you show me the kitchen, please?”
“Absolutely.” As she heads down the hall, she turns and glances, a sneaky smile on her lips. “You have big shoes to fill, Beck. Cooper Armstrong was our city’s GOAT.”
Her team loyalties are quite clear now. “I take it you’re a football fan,” I say evenly. I don’t assume her fangirling of Cooper means she’ll fangirl over me. Cooper’s beloved. I have earned nothing in this town.
“Every Sunday, I host a wine and cheese football party with my friends, and we watch the Renegades. We light candles to bring good fortune to the team. And we read the Tarot cards for the game.”
Wow. That’s a new level of fandom—the candles and the cards, that is.
“I guess they’ve been working,” I say.
She wags a finger at me playfully. “And they better keep working. I have the candles ready for this Sunday.”
Her excitement starts to kick me out of the daze I’ve been in since my agent tracked me down three days ago at the Mercenaries stadium.
Mere minutes after we’d won our first game of the season, I headed through the tunnel, riding the high of the victory, congratulating Ángel, the kicker, on his two field goals, when I bumped into my agent, waiting for me in the corridor.
Vaughn hauled me a few feet away, all spiffy in tailored slacks and a dress shirt. “Are you sitting down?”
I snort-laughed. “Dude. I’m right here. Standing in front of you. Are you high?”
“Honestly, a little bit. And you will be too.”
He was giddy to tell me the news. I didn’t believe it.
I still don’t quite believe it. I’ve pinched myself five hundred times in the last three days as I packed up my meager possessions, flew to San Francisco, and checked into a hotel for the first few nights. But picking out a new home makes the change start to feel real.