Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
“I will,” I say.
He returns to the counter. As the fans fill the seats in front of the dais, I snag a chair off to the side. Miles and Ian take the seats on the stage in front of two standing mics set on a table. Once the interview begins, I answer emails quietly on my tablet but keep my ears trained on the conversation as Ian chats affably with Miles about playing in his hometown. It’s an easy conversation and after twenty minutes, Ian asks him his five fun places to go in the area—the question he also wanted to ask Max. I grit my teeth. Would it be that hard to answer those?
After a thoughtful pause, Miles rattles off a hiking trail he likes, the Hello Robin cookie shop in Capitol Hill, anywhere at all in the entire region but The Gum Wall in Pike Place Market, Snoqualmie Falls, and then, with a happy sigh, he says, “And Dick’s.”
I sit up straighter, my ears pricked.
Ian nods, a friendly grin coasting across his weathered ebony complexion. “Right on. Love that place. You all do too, don’t you?” he asks the audience, and they hoot in agreement, nodding heads, shouting hell yeah.
Oh, right. Dick’s is the drive-in fast-food chain here that the locals love to drop into casual convo. From the stage, Miles looks to me, sliding a hand through his floppy hair to push it off his forehead. “Everly, you ever had them? Their fries are next level. Back me up here, Ian.”
A stocky guy in a ball cap jerks his gaze to me, then shouts at me from the front row. “Falcon is right. You gotta eat a bag of dicks, lady.”
Lady. It’s such an annoying thing men can say, but I fasten on a brighter smile. “I will take that under advisement.”
Miles turns back to Ian, intensity in his eyes. “When they opened one up in Bellevue, the local paper said, The town welcomes Dick’s with open mouths.”
Another guy, this one with a Seattle jersey, barks out, “Fact: dick jokes never go out of style.”
I might beg to differ. But since Ian has the crowd under control, I keep my head down as they wrap up with zero heckles. I seriously don’t get why Max can’t do this. It was…painless. Miles and Ian chat briefly, then Miles hops off the dais, shakes some hands, signs some autographs, and finds me a few minutes later. He points his thumb toward the door. “Thanks for setting that up. I should hit the weight room for some cardio before morning skate.”
“I’ll stick around to talk to Ian and Joe, but thank you again for doing this,” I say.
“Thank you again for the opportunity,” Miles says, then takes off, and I join Ian at the dais as he breaks down his podcast gear, folding up the legs of the mic stands.
“I’ll post that interview before the game. We get the best traction then,” Ian says as the crowd thins, most of them filtering out.
“Awesome. I appreciate that.”
“Nah, I appreciate you making this happen. Shame we couldn’t get Max, but maybe next time,” he says, as he tucks the mics into a sturdy silver case.
I don’t have the heart to say maybe never so I reply, “I hope so.”
As he rolls up the cables, he stops suddenly mid-roll. “Oh, did you hear?”
The words did you hear never lead anywhere positive. I glance around, making sure no one’s within earshot. “Did I hear what?” I ask with false bravado, pretending this will be good news when my gut already tells me it’s not.
Ian flashes an apologetic smile. “Lyra Raine’s in town.”
My smile takes a dive straight into the Puget Sound. “She is?” I scratch out.
A sigh of resignation comes from the podcaster. “She’s here for a surprise show tonight. Although I guess her concert’s not a surprise anymore,” he says. “She dropped it on social this morning.”
This is bad. This is really bad. The entertainment press will leach onto Max after the game, trying to corner him, to find out if this means he’s back together with the pop star who broke his heart more than a year ago. The press loves a second-chance romance, and they won’t stop until they get a response or a rise out of him.
I’ll have to run some serious interference for the goalie who hates me. “Appreciate the heads-up, Ian,” I say, grateful for the tip and ready to track down Max and warn him. “I should get out of here. I’ll find Joe and let him know I have to take off.”
The tour will have to wait.
“Take care, Everly,” Ian says, then snaps his podcast case closed.
“And hey, be sure to eat a bag of dicks,” I say as he heads to the door.
With a chuckle, like he can’t believe what he’s saying, he calls out, “And you…eat a bag of dicks yourself.”