Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
The rookie player in me wants to hang back.
See how the two of them interact while I appear to be occupied with this phone call but the veteran in me is pushing me to walk away. Show him some respect. Trust. Afterall, he’s yet to give me a reason to prove he doesn’t deserve it.
Stepping outside into the scorching summer heat to take my assistant’s phone call is a dumb, wise decision. While I don’t love sweating my tits off, it’s easier to have a censor free conversation away from those inside the store. As much as I like to entertain the idea that everyone minds their own fucking shit in there, I know that chicks like Hill would sell a rumor they heard the instant they were offered anything free. I mean anything. Free drink. Free dinner. Free chance to meet one of the broadcasters for ESPN or STN—married or single. I always reminded Dad not to do any business outside of gear shopping within those walls for that very fucking reason. I’d be an idiot not to take the advice myself.
And while I may be messy as well as unconventional along with savage at times, I know I’m not balls out stupid.
Post one long call in which I advocate letting Brendan cook and bartend and cohost the pending event like I’m captain of the ice girls and he’s the one rocking a C on his chest, I linger outside a bit longer to discuss some pre-season concerns Blanc—who calls right after Margot—has come across. That conversation ends when his wife interrupts with a family emergency which just so happens to be around the same time Winslow calls to interrogate me about my current living situation before asking me if I finished coping healthily with going to The Draft without my dad.
Don’t know if eating and crying into an extra-large bag of gourmet cheese popcorn is healthy, but it’s what happened.
I ate and cried and listened to Brendan do his best to comfort me about being in over my head.
That too honestly made me wish I had brought him with me.
Ending the call with Winslow reveals to me the time, a sight that causes my eyes to widen in fear.
Shit!
I didn’t intend to be gone this fucking long!
Rushing back inside for the private dressing room is done in tandem with me bracing myself for hearing a bitch fit about what an awful wife I am.
Er…girlfriend.
Girlfriend wife?
Is that a fucking thing?
Tapping gently on the door is followed by a quiet, “You still in here?”
Brendan opens the door and showcases me a surprise.
A smile.
A huge fucking smile.
“You think these fit right?” He casually asks at the same time he steps back to let me inside the spacious fitting area.
“The shirt or the pants?”
“Both?”
Inching towards the nearest wall is done while he shuts the door behind me. “They feel tight?”
“Yeah, but comfortable.”
“Breathable? Moveable?”
“Yeah.”
“Then yeah.”
“Guess I do know how to shop for my big boy clothes.” Brendan offers me a proud smile prior to asking, “Everything on your end good?”
“Yeah, Margot’s switching gears—expect to hear from her first thing tomorrow regarding menu and itinerary—and then Blanc called to discuss a couple conditioning ideas for mental prep which is just as important as physical prep which is something so many players and coaches fail to see in the bigger picture of things when really you gotta get the win up here,” my finger taps the side of my head, “before you can ever get one on the ice.” My back braces itself against the space beside the mirror. “And then Winslow called to see how the end of The Draft went. Sorry the shit took so long. Girlfriend penalty on me, right?”
“Wife.” Playfulness pierces his bright brown gaze. “I mean you are wearing your ring.”
He gets another point for being observant and then another for not bringing it up sooner.
However, I am not adding those verbally out loud.
He’s gotta start tallying his own shit eventually.
After a small chuckle, Brendan’s head cocks to one side in genuine confusion. “What’s your penalty for? Working? Having friends? Are those things against the rules now?”
I slightly shift my weight between my feet. “Fuck, I don’t know. I don’t know how this whole couple thing works. I’m probably newer at this shit than you are. Like since we’re out on a date-”
“Is this a date?” he lightly laughs again. “I thought this was work.”
“Kinda? I mean we could’ve done this shit on the clock or with Blanc or some of the callups, but I wanted it to just be us for your first time-”
“Low bones for not taking my v-card in front of an audience.”
Holding in a snigger is almost impossible as our fists meet in the middle of the space to bump. “I also figured we shop and then go eat or to a movie—nothing that could ever be put in the romance category—or throw darts or do sports trivia night a few blocks over at The Net.” The shoulder shrug that escapes is mindless. “Anyway, I just…I don’t know a lot about dating, but I know enough to know that it’s fucking rude to take a really long call—or fucking three—right in the middle of it.”