Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 140767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 469(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 469(@300wpm)
I don’t know what it is, but my arms start to feel some kind of sympathy pains or something because when the clock rounds its way into the second minute, I begin to feel the burn. My palms are also starting to get sweaty against the sun-warmed metal bar, and Reebok gets a twinkle in his eye at the signs of my weakness.
Dammit.
The bar starts to spin as I try to double over my grip, and the stress on my shoulders as it gets looser and looser is too much to handle.
I have to give in, putting my feet back to the pegs and climbing down, defeated. I couldn’t risk it, though, knowing an uncontrolled fall from the bar would be way too jarring for a baby as young as Iz.
Flynn pats me on the shoulder in consolation, and I hang my head with a shake. “I’m sorry, Iz,” I whisper down at her sweet face. “I know I’m letting the team down.”
But I swear, she tries to crack her first smile at me.
“Thanks, babe,” I tell her, grateful for the support.
Subtlety gone, Flynn and I plant ourselves there as Reebok pays his money and tries his hand. I widen my stance and put my hands to my hips, and Flynn boosts the boys higher so they can get a better view. The fish can hang out on the ground a little longer.
“No way this guy is going to do this, right?” I remark under my breath, to which Flynn replies with a snort that says, no fucking way.
I nod, confidence renewed. We got this.
Reebok climbs the pegs and grabs the bar, his cargo shorts billowing in the wind. The clock starts its count, and the longer it goes, the sicker to my stomach I start to feel.
He’s got a smirk on his face and a glimmer in his eye, and his baby boy is staring me down in a way that screams I know something you don’t.
Flynn shifts next to me as we approach the last fifteen seconds of his count, and even without him saying anything, I know he’s feeling the nerves too.
This fucker is about to tie this shit up. I can hardly believe it.
The buzzer sounds, and the dad climbs down and picks up his baby’s arm to high-five it. The attendant presents him with a big, stuffed bear, and Flynn groans, ending the sound with the words, “Fuck me.”
I nod. Tell me about it.
Steely-eyed and more determined than ever, I scoop up the fish, and we turn from the booth and head down the road to the main stage. We need something we know we can win. Something that’s a shoo-in. We need a tiebreaker and a clincher in one, and as soon as I spot the banner draped across the top of the performance platform, I know exactly what it is.
“Flynn, look.” I point. “Over there.”
He follows the line of my finger and then looks back to me, perplexed. “A hot dog eating contest?”
“It’s the perfect way to put this competition to rest.”
Flynn scoffs. “If you’re the one doing it, maybe. I suffer from far too much indigestion. Dais’ll kill me if I come home all fucked up.”
I frown. “Well, shit. I was planning on meeting Maria for dinner later, too. I can’t eat, like, fifty hot dogs.”
Right then, as if he’s been flying below the radar, Reebok appears directly in front of us, meeting our eyes over his shoulder as he adds his name to the hot dog eating sign-up list.
“Fuck, Flynn,” I mutter under my breath at the sight. “He’s throwing down the gauntlet. What are we going to do?”
“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” he says simply, shifting Roman to his shoulders, pulling out his phone, and typing resolutely. “We’re going to call in some goddamn reinforcements. There’s a reason Wendy Winslow had so many fucking kids, and we’re about to use it.”
“You’re texting Jude?” I ask, instantly understanding where he’s going with this.
“Has he ever turned down a bet? Or lost a challenge, for that matter?”
Exactly. “He’s the home run we need.”
A few seconds later, Flynn smiles, holding up the phone with Jude’s response for me to see.
Jude: Say no more. I’ll be there in ten, ready to swallow some meat sticks.
I laugh. “I’ve never been surer of two things. One, our brother is deeply disturbed. And two, we got this in the bag.”
Flynn nods. “Have to take the good with the bad.”
“The highs with the lows.”
“The outsourcing with the circumstances.”
“The win with the Jude.”
Flynn jerks up his chin. “And we can just chill with our babies.”
His casual comment makes me still, but it’s not long before I start again. Izzy may not be mine biologically, but technically, she’s not Maria’s either.
And I’ve never seen two people love a little girl as much as we do.