Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 85711 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85711 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“I’m sitting in Nico’s BMW, wondering where I’m going to eat.” I look around, spotting a restaurant that looks a bit busy, so I turn and look across the street and spot Sullivan’s.
“Shit,” he hisses. “Are you already in Dallas?”
“Got here a couple of hours ago.” I lean my head back on the headrest.
“Wow, that fast?” he asks in disbelief.
“That fast. I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there, and Nico didn’t want me getting on the ice.” My finger taps the steering wheel. “So I got on a plane as soon as I could.”
“I don’t blame you,” he says. “If that happened to me, I would have gotten in my car and drove home.” He got drafted to Montreal, and home is New York for him, so it would have taken him six hours to be home. “I haven’t even checked the press.”
“It was a mess,” I say honestly. “I sat down with a reporter this afternoon, and he was waiting for me to shit on my coach.”
He laughs. “Idiot, like you are going to go on record saying he’s an asshole.” I laugh with him. “So what happens?”
“Now,” I say, looking around, “I’m going to get something to eat, and then I’m off tomorrow, so I hope to sleep the whole fucking day and hope they are talking about something else when I wake up.” To be in the press constantly was fucking with my head. The past five months have been mentally draining for me. “Actually, can you do me a favor?”
“Anything,” he says without skipping a beat.
“Can you fuck up someone tonight? Maybe do an illegal hit,” I say, and he just bursts out laughing.
“I’ll see what I can do.” He chuckles. “We are playing against Toronto, so who knows.” His voice goes low. “Seriously, let me know if I can do anything.”
“Yeah,” I reply, tapping the steering wheel. “It’s safe to say the worst is over.”
He groans. “Don’t fucking say that. Remember what happened when you said that two summers ago?” I roll my lips. “The worst is over. And then bang, I get stung by a jellyfish, and my foot swelled up five times its size. Alex kept taking pictures in case it exploded.”
I laugh. “I think she made it her Christmas card that year.” I shake my head.
“The headline was: If You Think You Are on Santa’s Bad List, Check Out This Chump,” he says between clenched teeth. “I didn’t talk to her.”
“For ten minutes,” I remind him, and he huffs out.
“It was for two days,” he counters. “And the only reason I caved is she bought me my favorite snacks and said sorry.”
“I don’t remember ever hearing an I’m sorry.” I laugh. “I think it was more like don’t be a pussy-ass bitch.”
“I have to go,” he huffs. “And I take back the if you need anything.”
“No, you don’t.” He doesn’t even say bye. He just hangs up, leaving me laughing. Driving over to Sullivan’s, I park and get out.
I pull the baseball hat lower on my face and look down as I walk into the restaurant. The cold air hits me right away, and I look around. A brown hostess stand is to the left. A blonde stands there and then looks up at me, smiling. “Welcome to Sullivan’s. Are we dining in or out?” she asks. I contemplate just taking the food back with me but then think of sitting on that white leather couch.
“I’ll be dining in,” I say. “For one. And can I have a table in the back corner?” I see that the bar spans the back wall of the restaurant, and they have sections on both the right and left side. All the tables are high-tops, and depending on the size of the table, they seat from two to eight.
She grabs a brown menu and smiles at me. “Please follow me,” she says, turning and walking to the right and going all the way to the corner of the restaurant. My eyes are never roaming and making eye contact because if someone recognizes me, I’ll spend the whole meal wondering if they are taking pictures of me. She stops in front of a table with four chairs. “Is this okay?”
There are two tables next to it, but none are taken. “This works,” I say, going to the corner stool that puts my back against the wall but lets me have a view of the restaurant.
“Your server will be with you shortly,” she says to me, and I just nod, grabbing the menu. The sound of people chattering fills the air, as well as the sound of plates clinking when I feel someone beside my table, and I look up.
My eyes meet the bluest eyes I have ever seen in my life. She gives me a little smile, and I can tell that she is nervous since she is wringing her hands in front of her. The girl stands there looking at me. “Sorry, are you Zander?”