Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“Uh-huh.” Tate didn’t sound convinced as the three of us walked toward the barbecue. I guessed I was doing this thing.
“Like you said, I’m a party animal.” I forced a wide grin. I hadn’t truly partied in years, but my rep had stuck and could be helpful in moments like these. “I’m not really interested in a relationship anyway.”
“Tate, Tennessee, and Caleb.” Eric greeted us, his smile as strained as mine felt. He accepted my card and Tennessee and Tate’s gift before gesturing toward the folding tables full of chips, burgers, hotdogs, and more. “You made it. Help yourselves to some food.” A group of teens came zooming by, narrowly avoiding knocking us over. Eric chuckled fondly, though, pointing at the pack of kids. “Oh, and John’s organizing a game of flag football. Rowan’s setting up the volleyball net, so pick your poison.”
“I’m not really that athletic…” I tried to find a spot for my gaze that wasn’t directly at Sean and Denver over by the nearby grill. Too damn close for my comfort.
“You? You’re ripped.” Tennessee sounded as shocked as most people when I confessed to my lack of athletic talent. “You spend more time in the gym than Tate.”
He patted Tate’s generous bicep. Tate was shorter than Tennessee, but like me, he spent plenty of hours in the weight room. Tate’s and Tennessee’s adoring gazes at each other made my stomach clench.
“Gym time doesn’t mean much,” I mumbled as I headed toward the food. Anyone could log hours on the elliptical or weight bench, but team sports required coordination I didn’t have. One of my instructors at the fire academy had speculated that since my reflexes were fine on the job, perhaps I had some sort of phobia around sports. He wasn’t that far off the mark, not that I’d ever admit it. “Think I’ll start with some food.”
I assembled my plate, already calculating how quickly I could make my escape.
“Ketchup?” Wren, Eric’s youngest teen, stood behind the condiment table, ketchup bottle at the ready.
“Sure.” Easier to agree, but as I held out my plate, the bottle gave an ominous slurping noise. No ketchup came out. “That’s okay—”
Wren gave the bottle a mighty shake, sending a large dollop of ketchup flying into the center of my shirt.
“Oh no!” Wren looked close to tears. “Sorry!”
“It’s fine,” I lied. I was getting far too good at that, which was for the best because Sean came rushing over with a stack of napkins.
“Hey, sorry about that.” He dabbed at my shirt, then abruptly dropped his hand. Yep. Awkward. “You need a place to sit? You’re welcome to join Denver and me.”
Fuck me, no. I pasted my fake smile back on as one of the teens came by with flags for football.
“Wanna play?”
“I—” I glanced over at Sean, who was waving at Denver. He’d moved from the grill to a nearby small table. Oh, hell no was I joining the happy couple. Instead, I held out my hand for a flag. “Sure. Why not?”
“Great.” The stocky teen handed me a flag. If nothing else, I needed to start learning the names of area teens for when my brother returned from camp. Scotty already complained that I sounded like a boomer. Maybe meeting potential friends for him would help Scotty love it here more. Or so I told myself as I followed the kids to the part of the green space usually used for soccer games. But after an unusually rainy June, the field was practically a swamp.
“Isn’t it a little muddy?” I asked no one in particular.
“Aren’t you a firefighter?” Johnson, a fellow firefighter and the frequent bane of my existence, shot back. Naturally, our crew’s resident dude-bro was first to line up for football with the kids. “Scared of getting dirty?”
“Of course not,” I snapped, the sound of every school bully I’d encountered ringing in my ears. Gym class had been the absolute worst, with dudes like Johnson lurking in every game of dodgeball.
Just a game. I was an adult, a trained first responder, and a valued member of my crew. Johnson was annoying, but I could suffer a few minutes of flag football, especially if it meant making some contacts for Scotty. Unlike me, he’d fit right in with all these jocks.
Of course, through the universe’s crappy sense of humor, I ended up on Johnson’s team, along with Tate. Predictably, Johnson appointed himself captain and took everything far too seriously.
“Geez, drop the ball again, and I’m asking to switch teams,” he yelled at one of the older teens.
“Calm down, Johnson.” I took a cue from Sean, who could go from calm to commanding in a single syllable. “It’s just a game.”
“That we want to win.”
“And we will.” Tate attempted to make peace. “Throw it to Caleb instead next play.”
“Oh, uh—” I didn’t have time to protest before we were lining up again. I followed Tate’s instructions on where to run as Johnson lobbed the ball in my direction. It was an ideal pass, headed right for my chest, an easy catch.