Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
“Go ahead,” he dared on another shrug, pushing off the counter and heading toward the bedroom part of the suite. “Maybe a Boston Bunny will see it and find me after the game.”
“Pig,” I called after him, and his deep laugh was the last thing I heard before he was running the shower.
True to my word, I tried to be invisible as Vince ran through his pre-game routine. The only question I asked was what he did before I got there, to which he told me he had a big pre-game meal — which apparently was the same for him every game, a huge heaping pile of some sort of pasta — and a long nap with the air conditioning turned down to sixty degrees. I’d wondered why I had been freezing when I first walked in, and now I had my answer.
That little tidbit of knowledge along with what I observed him do had me smiling to myself.
Vince Cool was superstitious.
He didn’t shave on game days, and he also brushed his teeth not once but twice — once after he finished his coffee and another time after he had his pre-game snack, which was a piece of wheat toast slathered in peanut butter and topped with bananas.
He got dressed in a very particularly order, and he packed his bag to take to the stadium in a very particular way, too. When we were getting close to ready to leave, he dropped to the ground and did four pushups. Only four. Then, he surprised me further by calling his little sister.
Her bright blue eyes filled the screen, and she looked so much like Vince I wondered if they were twins. But a quick Google search told me she was a year-and-a-half younger than him.
“Hey, big bro,” she sang, her smile wide, teeth like the ones you saw on orthodontist billboards. “You ready to kick ass?”
“Almost.”
She sighed on a laugh. “You know, I might be getting too old for this.”
“You’re not allowed to. Ever. You know the rules.”
“Yeah, yeah, pre-game ritual,” she said with a grin. She perked up when she saw me standing behind her brother. “Oh! You’re Maven King!”
Vince held the phone at a better angle for her to see me. “I am,” I said with an awkward wave. “Hello.”
“Hi! I’m Grace, Vinny’s sister. Nice to meet you. I’m so excited for this piece you’re doing on my brother.” She paused, her nose wrinkling. “I could do with you showing him with more clothes on, though.”
I laughed, and Vince pointed the phone back at himself. “Come on, sis. Gotta give the people what they want.”
“Isn’t what they want supposed to be you scoring goals?”
“Yes,” he said. “And making them cream their panties.”
“Ew!” she screamed at the same time I said, “Gross!”
Vince smiled victoriously. “Alright, we need to get downstairs for the bus. Let’s go.”
“Fine,” she sang again, and then she propped her phone up so she could stand in the middle of the room. I didn’t know where she was, but it looked like a college dorm, and she swung a leg out like she was testing the space around her.
I pulled out my phone and recorded Vince from behind, arching a brow at him and then the screen.
Then, Grace started singing.
Well, it wasn’t really singing as much as it was half-cheering, half-squawking like a bird. She did the most ridiculous dance, her hair flying about as she chirped something about forty one, best under the sun, forty one, let’s have some fun, Vinny, Vinny, you’re so cool, you’re so cool you rule the school and then she ended it all with a back tuck into a split.
Vince held up his fist when she finished. “Perfect ten.”
“I know,” she said, climbing to her feet. “Go get ’em, big bro.”
“Later, sis.”
The call ended as abruptly as it had begun, and I turned off my own video, momentarily stunned.
“Um…” I laughed. “What was that?”
Vince shrugged, and I noticed he’d slipped out of his usual goofy demeanor into one more serious. The transition had been slow, starting from the moment I’d walked in the door and getting more severe as the hours ticked on.
He was mentally preparing himself for the game, that much was easy to see.
“Just a little tradition,” he said.
I couldn’t help but laugh again. “What — your little sister doing a bizarre dance and backflip?”
“Yes,” he said, snapping his eyes to mine. “Is there an issue?”
I swallowed under his gaze, which was harder than it ever had been when it was on me. “No,” I said. “I just wasn’t aware you needed someone to squawk like a bird to feel game ready.”
He narrowed his gaze, standing from where he had been on the couch. It always took my breath away, how tall and broad he was. “It was something she did to cheer me up before a game in high school when I was on a shit streak. I got a hat trick that game, and so now it’s routine.”