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)
I grit my teeth, pissed I didn’t see it sooner.
Fans are going to assume I’m straight. The team is going to assume the same. Or, on the flip side, they’ll think I’m closeted.
Whether I like it or not, I’m in the public eye, and the public will try to tell my personal story.
If they tell it the way they see it, I look like a liar. Like someone ashamed.
I need to say something and to say it soon.
Just like that, that weirdly unfinished feeling that’s chased me these past few days starts to fade.
Thirty minutes later, I’m getting dressed at my stall, weighing what to say and how to say it when Carter jumps onto a bench in the locker room. He cups his mouth, making a megaphone. “And now, in the time-honored tradition of the best damn football team this city has ever seen, we’re taking our new QB out for . . . wait for it . . . the city’s best-kept secret!”
Isaiah groans, tossing a jersey at Carter. “No way, man. Can’t we go to a bar to celebrate Caff?”
“Or a restaurant?” Hayden suggests, patting his stomach. “I’m so hungry I could eat . . . ten seared salmons.”
“Dude, you kick,” Isaiah says to Hayden with a scoff as the kicker buttons his dress shirt. “Try tackling and blocking.”
Hayden arches a how-dare-you brow. “I kick well, and I rarely miss. Is that what you meant to say?”
Isaiah waves a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah. You score the most points. But the job doesn’t make you hungry enough to eat ten salmons. Also, what the fuck? Who craves seared salmon?”
“There’s a new fish place I want to try,” Hayden grumbles defensively as he reaches for his tie in his stall.
Their conversation is like a good tennis match. As I slide on my suit jacket, I can’t tear my gaze away from their need to one-up each other. It’s, admittedly, a welcome distraction from the plans rattling through my head.
“Ah, the truth comes out,” Isaiah taunts. “Hayden the Foodie wants to try another one of the fancy-ass restaurants that he researches when he’s on the sidelines most of the game.”
Carter blows out an annoyed breath, then whistles. The shrill sound breaks up the rhythm of their argument. “We’re getting ice cream. And anyone who doesn’t like ice cream is officially a monster. Plus, they have burgers, you numbnuts. Now, who’s a monster here?”
Carter pins his gaze to Hayden, then Isaiah, then Miles, the center, then Evan, the left tackle, daring them to defy his ice cream plans.
I like Carter. He’s made me feel welcome on the team. If I say yes to ice cream and burgers, everyone else will go along. They won’t give Carter a hard time, even in jest.
“I’m not a monster,” I put in.
Carter punches the air. “Boom!”
About ten or fifteen starters pile into cars, and we caravan to the shop. Carter claims me, so we cruise through the city in his Audi, blasting a Taylor Swift breakup anthem, an odd choice post-game. But hey, he likes what he likes, so I don’t give him hell as he sings along at the top of his lungs.
We turn onto Fillmore, and he points to a small-batch ice cream shop on the corner—The Sweetest Spot. Looks like we’re the first guys here. He pulls over and cuts the engine.
“This place is my church, and I need it after today,” Carter says, stepping out of the car.
That doesn’t sound like a dude who’s thrilled we won. As we hit the sidewalk, I turn to him, worried he’s not doing okay. “What do you mean? Why do you need it?”
He frowns. “My girlfriend dumped me Friday night. Only a bucket of ice cream will soothe my broken heart.”
“Then we’ll get you the bucket of your dreams,” I say, and I give him a sympathetic smile as we head to the door. “Sorry to hear about the split, man.”
“Yeah, me too. I was seeing her for the whole summer. But it’s her loss. I am a stellar boyfriend.” He lifts his chin defiantly. “So there. But still, I need some burgers, fries, and two scoops of chocolate popcorn potato chip fiesta to make it all better.”
“Sounds like if anything will do the trick, that will.” But when we reach The Sweetest Spot, the sign says closed, and the lights are dim.
“Um, Carter, I hate to break it to you . . .”
“Watch this, bro! It’s magic!”
A bespectacled man in a leather apron scurries through the shop, flicks on lights, and unlocks the door. Abracadabra indeed. The man swings open the door and gestures like a butler inviting guests. “Welcome! Free ice cream anytime for Renegades,” he says.
Holy shit. This town is the motherfucking best.
Carter winks at me. “Stick with me, QB.” Then to the man, he says, “And thank you, Shep.”