Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 87181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“A touchdown,” I corrected.
She scrunched up her nose. “That’s what I meant.”
“Sure, Holly Jolly, sure.”
Her eyes darted over to me. “What did you call me?”
“Holly Jolly. Sorry. It’s corny, but you always seem so…I don’t know. Joyful. Your joyfulness shines through. It slipped out.”
“I like it.”
“Then I’ll toss it out now and again. Not too often, though. Only when it’s deserved,” I joked.
“It’s probably always deserved,” she cockily stated. “You know, once a person starts giving another a nickname, it means a friendship is budding,” Holly mentioned.
“First a meet-ugly, and now a friendship.”
“I think that’s called growth.”
“Did you see that touchdown?!” Mano exploded for the fifteen hundredth time that night after the game. Holly, Mano, and I went to the restaurant after the game for a few celebratory drinks—nonalcoholic for the young one—and we ordered pizza. Ayumu would’ve been pissed to know I brought outside food into the restaurant, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
“Oh, we saw the winning touchdown,” I told him, proud as ever. Mano played that field as if he was at the Super Bowl. People noticed, too. It was as if he was finally given a shot to prove his skills, and he ran with it.
“Coach wants me to start the next game, too,” he mentioned.
“He would be crazy not to,” Holly commented. “You’re a star, Mano.”
Mano waved a dismissal hand at her. “You know what they say. There’s no I in team…but there is an M and an E, which spells me!” he shouted, cheering himself on and flexing his muscles. He was the most dramatic kid I’d ever seen, but I loved his confidence. I wished I’d believed in myself as a kid as much as he did.
Holly’s phone dinged, and she looked down at it. A small smile fell to her lips as she picked it up to text the person back. A pool of jealousy hit my gut as I narrowed my eyes.
“Matthew?” I asked.
“Yeah. He’s just checking in.” The smile on her face was annoying because it was for someone other than me. I now understood why they called them crushes—because they crushed your soul repeatedly.
At least my heart still knew how to feel things. For a few years, I thought that organ was dead in my chest.
Holly stood from her seat. “I should get going, though. I’m feeling a bit inspired to write after that game.”
“If you write a football player romance, you have to name the hero Mano,” my brother said, pointing at Holly.
She laughed. “No promises.”
“We’ll walk you back. It’s a bit too dark for you to be walking alone,” I told Holly, shutting the pizza box and tossing our empty glasses into the sink.
“It’s one block away,” Holly said.
“What kind of men would we be if we let a pretty woman walk home alone?” Mano chimed in. He held his arm out toward Holly, and she looped her arm around his. Smooth, brother.
We headed to the apartment building, Holly’s arm linked with Mano’s, and I carried the pizza box behind them. When we reached the apartment elevator, we hopped on. Holly lifted her arms to take off Mano’s jersey, and her sweatshirt rose a little, displaying her midriff. Who knew that was enough to make my cock twitch a little.
“Good night, boys,” Holly said when we stopped at the twenty-fourth floor.
“Night, Holly. Thanks again for wearing my jersey,” Mano mentioned.
“Sleep well,” I told her. “After you write all the words.”
“Promise I will,” she replied as I stepped off the elevator.
Mano and I walked to our apartment, and as I fumbled for the keys, he smiled my way. “You know what, Kai? I think I was wrong about Matthew. Maybe you still have a shot at this thing because I catch Holly sometimes when you’re not looking.”
“Catch her what?”
“Looking at you.”
KAI
On Thanksgiving morning, I was doing my best to keep myself distracted from my loneliness, which meant I was going to deep clean the apartment and have a workout that lasted longer than it should’ve.
Before heading down to start my workout, Mano FaceTimed me, to which I answered immediately.
“Happy Thanksgiving, brother!” he sang, grinning ear to ear as he held a plate of Spam and scrambled eggs. If Mano was going to do one thing, it was calling me each holiday to ensure I wasn’t too deep into my feelings. “How are you doing?”
“I’m good, I’m good. Happy Thanksgiving. How’s Hawaii?”
He panned the camera to showcase the ocean outside their window. My parents’ house down there was ridiculous. Mano grew up in that home. I would’ve dreamed of waking up with that view. Or, better yet, surfing the waves with my father the way he did with Mano his whole life.
Whenever I saw that house, I felt resentment. I hated that fact. I wished I could get over how my parents raised me compared to my brother, but that shit stung.