Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 84930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Skipper has a hot dog dangling out of her mouth.
Dear lord, it looks like she’s been raised with no manners.
“Hi, I’m Lana Macenroy.” A blonde appears out of nowhere, sashaying up with a smile on her face and a Southern accent to boot. When she extends her hand, I take it, though hesitantly. “You look lost.”
“I feel lost?” I decide to be honest because I’ll probably never see this woman again. “One moment I was sitting there, thinking I should leave to beat traffic, and another minute, I was being ushered into this room.”
“Oh, you’re from here?”
“I am.”
She tilts her head and studies me. “They don’t indiscriminately let people in here.”
Indiscriminately? Dang, Lana sounds smart.
“I’m…” Let’s see, how do I put this? “An old friend of Jack Jennings.”
“Oh!” She bobs her head with recognition. “That makes more sense.”
“My brother used to play for the Sprinters.” I have no idea why I share that random piece of information other than: I do not want her thinking I’m a fraud who doesn’t belong here even though I don’t belong here.
“The Sprinters?” She wrinkles her nose with a laugh. “We killed them last year.”
“I said used to.” I laugh too, mostly because I’m nervous and have no idea how to behave right now. I feel as if Lana has been sent over to retrieve information on me and isn’t here chatting me up for a new best friend.
“Well, my husband is Robb Macenroy—number twelve.”
Everyone with a pulse knows who Bobby Macenroy is. Quarterback and MVP, he is no longer a rookie, makes a zillion dollars a year, and is beloved by the entire US of A.
“You must be so proud.”
“I am.” Her eyes shift to the corner of the room, to Skipper and the other children. “My two are the blond kiddos.”
They look just like her. “Speaking of kiddos, I should be grabbing mine to leave. The traffic is horrible on a regular day, so I can’t imagine what it will be like trying to get out of here.” Ugh. I loathe the thought of Skipper being trapped in the back seat because she’ll be impatient for the long ride home.
Lana nods. “Well, it was nice meeting you. Maybe I’ll see you around someday.”
Probably not. “So nice meeting you.” I add, “Thank you for introducing yourself to me.”
This makes Lana smile. “I wasn’t sure if you were dating a player or whatever, and it’s never fun being the new girl in the room, so I wanted to make sure you didn’t stand here alone the whole time.”
Very thoughtful.
I like her.
Eventually, Lana and I part ways, and I’m over trying to wrangle my rambunctious child away from the fun, which would be a momentous task. Once Skipper is set on something, she’s determined to see it through—playing, taking all her time in the shower, playdates. And if she sees an animal, all bets are off.
Prying her away from a cute dog?
Impossible.
I pick up my daughter’s jacket and shoes that she’s removed and discarded on the floor, then take her plate to the trash. While I’m doing that, I lose her again to the small group of children and have to do it all over again. At this rate, I’m never getting out of here.
The door opens, and a man walks in with wet hair and a smile. Several of the kids fly toward him and squeal. Another man walks in, then another, until at least a half a dozen football players are in the room with the rest of us. One looks like a giant, more than one? A team of giants.
My heartbeat quickens.
Please do not let Jack come into the room, please do not let Jack come into the room, please do not let Jack—
He appears in the doorway, his wide frame massive, eyes scanning the room until they land on me. He smiles, then moves forward, albeit a bit hesitantly and unsure. His hands go into the pockets of his athletic pants.
“Hey, you made it.”
“Yep, didn’t have anything else going on today, so…”
He looks over at the food table. “Get enough to eat?”
“Yup, got enough to eat.” This conversation is killing me softly. It’s so awkward and stilted I’m actually embarrassed. There have to be people listening to this exchange right now wondering what the hell is going on between the two of us.
My eyes meet Lana’s, and her brows are raised. My face flushes.
“Hi, who are you?” My daughter’s face pops up from out of nowhere as she inserts herself into my conversation—it’s something she is known for. Skipper has no couth and the manners you’d expect an excited seven-year-old to have.
“I’m Jack, but my friends call me Skip.” Jack gives her his famous name with a grin. “Who are you?”
“My name is Skipper too! I’ve never met anyone with the same name ever in my life,” she declares, dancing a little jig and pulling her face into a goofy little grin. She’s being a ham, and Jack laughs.