Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Dad loiters at my door, glancing at me behind his shoulder, like he wants to say something.
“Dad, I’m naked.” I point at my duvet, arching an eyebrow.
“So?” He arches an eyebrow. “Nothing I haven’t seen, you know.”
“Not after I grew pubic hair, you didn’t. Kindly evacuate yourself from my personal space.”
“Do you want to talk about anything?” he insists.
Giving him a blank stare, I reply, “Like what?”
“Football? College?” he asks anxiously. But he doesn’t have to be anxious at all.
I already fucked up my one and only chance at happiness. “Wanna show me that aviation-stimulator thingy upstairs?”
“Simulator,” I correct. “And no.” It is only after he leaves when I allow myself to grab a pillow, press it against my face, and let out a scream.
I missed my deadline.
The dream is gone. The Air Force Academy is a dud.
I’ve never felt so empty in my life, and I’m starting to understand Bailey for going to extreme lengths to chase her dream.
Eighteen fucking years of love, devotion, laser focus, and an RC jet hobby that had me spending all my pocket money since I was three—down the goddamn drain.
When I was five, my dad’s friend from college came to visit us. He flew a fighter jet and had all these videos on his phone. The jaw-dropping stunts and maneuvers.
He was supercool, super chill, super…I don’t know, content.
By the end of his visit—which lasted four days in which I pestered him with a thousand questions a day—he asked my dad to subscribe me to all those YouTube channels where I could learn more about aviation. Left me his aviator glasses too.
I’ve been an addict since.
I’m so destroyed, I don’t even bother to be angry at Thalia for avoiding my ass when I came knocking on her door yesterday.
She was there. I saw her ducking and rushing into an inner room through the window.
She looked like a mess, and I’m beginning to think there’s more to her weird behavior than she lets on.
I drag myself to school. The only thing keeping me on my feet is the memory of Saturday night.
I make it just to the tail end of football practice, when Coach Taylor gathers everyone around in a circle.
He tips his baseball cap down. “Got an important announcement for y’all.”
“Ballsy’s getting a nut-shrinking surgery?” Finn shrieks. “Is he donating the rest to the Nut Growers Association?”
“It’s a medical issue!” Todd kicks the grass, fists curled tight.
Grim spots me from the corner of his eye and jerks his chin my way. “Lookie here. Sleeping Beauty’s awake.”
Coach turns around, pinning me with a frosty look before going back to his clipboard. “As I said, I have an announcement. It’s been a long time coming.”
Thankfully, no one makes an orgasm joke. I stand next to Grim. He ignores me.
He’s about to have his little victory dance, though. I know because even though I wasn’t here for the head count when they reelected the captain, I know he annihilated me in votes.
“For the past few weeks, we’ve shown resilience, excellence, and longevity as a team. Our game is good—but our morale is weak. To make this team invincible, I decided democracy isn’t best after all.”
Everyone looks at me, shifting uncomfortably. Coach soldiers on. “Lev Cole has outperformed on the field as a player. As a captain, however, he’s shown zero enthusiasm and scored minus ten on commitment.”
If this is the part where I’m supposed to get offended, it misses its target by a few states.
“He and I both agreed we need someone with boots on the ground who will be here ten minutes early for every practice and stay the extra time afterwards. Someone who will take the time to talk to each player individually, offer encouragement and guidance. Someone who doesn’t have players looking like they got into a fistfight with a backhoe under his watch.”
Taylor’s eyes land on Austin, who still looks like a slapped ass with a wig.
“The backhoe was about to put out,” Austin mumbles. “But someone threw a hissy fit. Not naming names or anything.”
“He deserved to get his ass kicked,” I grit out, folding my arms over my chest.
“Problem is, it’s his face you wrecked.” Coach Taylor sighs.
“My bad. They look the same.”
Coach Taylor pretends he didn’t hear that and smacks his clipboard over his assistant’s chest. “In short, we reelected the captain, and the person you chose is Grim Kwon. He won the majority of votes, so I trust you’ll be happy with the decision. Congratulations are in order, buddy, it wasn’t even a competition.”
Keep rubbing it in, ass face.
Grim stiffens. His Adam’s apple rolls before his mouth cracks into a hesitant smile.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile with teeth. Or emotions. Prior to today, I wasn’t sure he possessed either.
“Holy shit, Coach. Are you serious?” His ears darken with a blush.