Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“That wasn’t my idea, by the way.”
“Oh, I know. Your sister is pure evil. It’s why I love her.”
Damon grimaces and changes the subject. “So, you used to play football?”
“I was the punter on my high school team. Nowhere near good enough for Olmstead. Their team’s full of NFL-bound players. I like the sport but was never in love with it or anything. Nothing like you and baseball.”
“Incoming,” Damon says and takes a sip of his drink.
I turn to find my ex approaching.
“Hey, Maddy, so glad you could make it.”
“You look beautiful, Chastity.” I lean in to kiss her cheek. I’m not lying. She’s always been a beautiful girl.
“This is my husband, Christopher,” she says, pulling the guy forward. He’s a balding guy in his late twenties.
I shake his hand. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“Uh, this is Damon. My boyfriend.”
“Ah, this is the boyfriend,” she says. “I thought he was making you up. Couldn’t even tell me your name last week.”
“I was a wee bit drunk,” I say.
“Are you …” Christopher narrows his eyes at Damon. “No, wait, are you … Damon King?”
Damon stiffens.
“Holy shit. I can’t believe Damon ‘The Lion’ King is at my wedding.”
“Lion King?” I ask.
Damon rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t realize I’d be famous in these parts.”
“I’m a Newport alum,” Christopher says. “I played for the Lions, and then the year after I graduate, in comes freshman Damon King and takes the team on to win the fucking College World Series three years in a row. Almost made it four until—” Christopher’s mouth slams shut. “Oh. Sorry. That last game was brutal.”
“Don’t sweat it,” Damon says, but I think I can hear his molars grinding. “It was a few years ago.”
“Are you okay now? All healed?” Christopher asks.
“All healed. Never playing ball again though.”
I think I see the actual moment Christopher’s heart breaks. I’d find it funny if Damon didn’t look like he was about to vomit.
Chastity’s gaze ping-pongs between me and Damon. “Christopher’s running for mayor. He’s going to be a politician.” I don’t know if she can sense Damon’s discomfort too or if she’s trying to one up me on the whole my new partner is better than yours.
“Local government is a long step from the White House, honey,” Christopher says.
“Chris and Chas, come over here,” a woman calls from the table next to ours.
“Better make the rounds,” Chastity says. “Thank you for coming, Maddy.” She hugs me. “You were an important person in my life for so long, and—”
My throat does that constricting thing again. “You should get to your guests. Congrats again.”
She smiles a classic Chastity smile, and I have to admit a part of me—way, way, way deep down—has missed her, but as soon as she walks off, I sag in relief.
“Chris and Chas? Could they get any more sickeningly cutesy?” Damon says.
I turn to my pretend boyfriend who has obviously been keeping a huge secret from me. “So, Simba—”
“Fuck me,” Damon mumbles.
“You didn’t tell me you were famous.”
“Because I knew you’d call me fucking Simba.”
I laugh. “You must’ve been a big deal for someone who didn’t go to school with you to recognize you.”
Damon sighs. “I was a gay ball player with rumors of becoming the number one pick in the draft. It was big news, so I was everywhere for a while. Especially in baseball.”
“I was wondering why you went to Newport instead of Olmstead like Stacy. I mean, Jersey versus New York? No contest.”
“Newport was better for baseball back then. I wanted to get the attention of agents, but you know that saying be careful what you wish for? I didn’t get just agents’ attention. When the media caught wind that I was an openly gay player headed for the big leagues, everything exploded. More media and sporting journalists went to Newport’s games than any other school. I had people recognizing me on the street. I felt like a celebrity.”
“That’s a lot of pressure.”
“Right? It was the pressure that made me push through the pain. I never told my coaches my arm was pinching. Then a few weeks after the pain starts, I’m on the mound during the championship game for our conference.” He gulps down a mouthful of rum, and his knuckles turn white holding the glass. “We’re up by one, it’s bottom of the seventh, bases are loaded, and I just need one out. I’d kept them from scoring the whole game. The coach tries to take me out of the game and put a closer in, but I’m determined to finish the inning.” Damon’s voice cracks.
“You don’t have to tell me if it’s too hard.”
“It’s not that. I just … fuck, I’m still mad at myself for not paying attention to the signs. I threw a fastball, and then bam, I was on the ground trying not to pass out from the pain. The fucker from UMass hit it deep left field, and two of those assholes crossed home plate by the time the ball was back in our catcher’s mitt.”