Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
He casts his eyes down, looking guilty. “I know. I’ll behave. Weddings make me think of mine, though. When I said ‘I do,’ I meant it.”
Ouch. Eriksson’s wife left him just before the playoffs. “I’m sorry, man. But this shit is totally survivable. It’s like any kind of pain. Like a rough check to the gut. Feels awful for a while, but then it recedes.”
“What would you know about it?” Eriksson grunts.
More than he thinks. “Did you ever hear about the time I almost got married?”
He lifts his chin and smiles at me. “Let me guess—it was in Vegas with a showgirl? I can totally see it.”
“Nope. You’re way off.” I puff on my cigar and think back. “This was almost five years ago, during my rookie season. My college girlfriend and I were together three years by that point. I loved her more than I thought possible.”
Eriksson raises a brow in surprise.
“Seriously, I would’ve laid down in the road for her. We had a wedding date set. Three hundred people were invited to our shindig at the Toronto Zoo…”
“Oh man.” He snorts. “That really is perfect for you. The gorilla cage, right?”
“By the lions’ exhibit, actually. But I called it off two months before.”
“What happened?” He looks stunned by this plot twist.
I take a sip of scotch and wonder what I’m willing to admit to my teammate. “She did something unforgivable. A real betrayal, like Young and the Restless type of shit. So I knew it was over before it began, you know? Anyone who can lie to my face is not someone I need to marry.”
Beside us, Jamie’s brother Scott winces. If I’m not mistaken, he’s had a recent breakup too. “Sorry, bro,” he offers. “But you’re better off knowing.”
“No kidding. And I don’t want to be a Donny Downer, ’cause these two”—I wave my glass at Grooms One and Two—“have what it takes to go the distance.”
“Yeah!” Scott’s twin, Brady, raises his glass.
Their older brother, Joe, puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles.
Heads turn, because we’re the loud crew in this establishment. But fuck ’em. We’re celebrating true love here.
“Kiss!” I yell, banging my glass on the table. “Come on. Let’s see a practice kiss.”
Wes rolls his eyes, but Jamie laughs. Then he gets up and sits right on Wes’s lap, grabs his face, and plants one on him.
We all howl our approval, and it’s a miracle I hear my phone over the din. I fish it out of the pocket of the suit jacket I’d tossed over the back of my armchair. Kind of a dick move to answer your phone when you’re celebrating the deep eternal love of two of your closest buds, but I’ve been waiting for this call all day.
“’Scuse me,” I tell the boys. “My date’s checking in.”
I duck into a nearby corner and swipe my index finger on the screen. It takes a few swipes because I’ve got big fingers and they never click what I want ’em to click. “Angie, honey!” I say after the phone blessedly unlocks. “You get in okay? All in one piece?”
Her hesitant voice tickles my ear. “I just got to the hotel.” There’s a pause. “Are you sure it’s all right that I take your room?”
“’S all good. I made other arrangements.” And I did, thanks to a saint named Cindy Canning. Jamie’s mom is far beyond da bomb dot com. She’s like…da bomb dot gov.
“I’m nervous,” she admits. “I won’t know anyone there.”
I grin into the phone even though she can’t see me. “You know the most important person there, Ang.”
“How many times have I told you not to call me that?” She sounds exasperated.
“How many times did I tell you I don’t listen?” I counter. “Anyway, check in and get some sleep. Have a nice, relaxing morning. I’ll pick you up tomorrow after lunch.”
I hang up before she can protest, because it already took some serious effort to twist her arm into being my date. I’m not sure Jess is gonna like it, but hey, Jess isn’t the boss of me, now is she?
***
Jess
I juggle my phone, day planner, and steaming mug of decaffeinated tea as I leave my tiny kitchen and enter my tiny living room. My friend Dyson is babbling in my ear, giving a long-winded response about everything from the weather to the color of his tie, when all I asked was whether he plans to show up early to help me out.
I set my mug on the coffee table and cut him off midsentence. “Babe, I adore you. You know I adore you. But for the love of God, can you ever answer anything with a simple yes or no?”
“What was the question again?”
I almost hurl the phone against the wall but stop myself at the last second. “Are you coming early to help with the setup, or are you showing up at three?” I ask through gritted teeth.