Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
They beg her and she gives in, then snaps a pic of me holding them on the edge of the field.
Then, I take them all out for ice cream.
Yeah, I’m glad I was traded across town. I am lucky. I don’t want to give this up.
When I post the shot on social that night, captioning it Celebrating with my faves, it hardly feels like a good-guy routine. I just love these little stinkers.
The fact that Stephen texts me in the morning to say Great game, and great shot is the icing on the cake.
And I do like icing in the form of making him happy.
I’m happy, too, that night when I return home, flop my exhausted body on my couch, and grab the remote to find a movie to watch.
Right when I’m about to click on my Webflix queue, my phone dings with a text.
Brooke: Nice game!
Not gonna lie. I was hoping she’d say something. Truthfully, I was hoping I’d have seen her at the stadium.
Drew: Thanks! Felt good to win the first game. Now I just need to win, oh, say, sixteen more.
Brooke: Um, hello. How about winning all three or four in the post-season too?
Drew: You and your technicalities.
Brooke: Gotta stay on top of details ☺
Ah, hell. That’s too tempting.
Drew: I know what I’d like to stay on top of.
That earns me an eye-rolling emoticon.
Drew: I walked right into that. I know. Anyway, were you at the game?
Brooke: I was. I was in the team suite.
Drew: Ooh, fancy!
Brooke: Yes, I wore a suit. So fancy.
Drew: Wait. For real? Also, pics or it didn’t happen.
Brooke: I think you have a thing for a sharp-dressed woman.
Drew: You don’t have to think that. You should know that. That whole boss-lady look from the other night worked for me big time.
Drew: But wait. Hold on. So did your bikini when I met you.
Drew: And the sundress when we got drinks. And the T-shirt after I made you come so hard you saw stars.
Brooke: Cocky much?
Drew: Just all the time.
Drew: But admit it. There were stars?
Brooke: Maybe cosmic dust?
Drew: Well, I better try again then ☺
Brooke: I mean, it’s not a bad idea…But seriously, I wore jeans and a nice blouse. And everyone was excited about your performance.
Drew: Did you tell anyone I’m an excellent performer in other ways too?
Brooke: No, Drew. I kept that delicious tidbit to myself.
Drew: If you must.
Brooke: I must.
Drew: I know, but I’m psyched you were there. Too bad you aren’t here though.
Brooke: Yes, it is too bad. But I was proud of you. What a great game.
Drew: Thanks! Not gonna lie—it feels good to start the season this way. I really want to impress the team and the fans.
Brooke: You absolutely will.
We text a little longer, then we do it again a few days later, then she wishes me luck before I fly to Seattle for an away game. Before I board the flight, I do some interviews with the local media, as per Stephen’s request, then do some more in Seattle before the game there. He’s keeping me busy, but the chance to talk about the game I love is one I relish.
And I’m happy on Sunday when we win that game in Seattle. As we head off the field, helmets in hand, Gabe hoists the red hacky sack high. “Streak. Don’t mess with a streak,” he says.
“As if I would.”
When I board the plane home a couple of hours later, I text Brooke with Two in a row!
And when I land in Los Angeles, my phone serves up her reply.
Brooke: Two in a row! Much better than two-a-day ☺
Drew: Well, not all two-a-days.
Brooke: You couldn’t resist that either?
Drew: Nope. I could not.
Brooke: I walked into your hardship.
Drew: You could walk right onto my hardship too.
Brooke: Drew!
Drew: I meant sit on it. My bad.
Drew: Fuck it. Run over and sit on my face. Then on my hardship.
Brooke: You are the naughtiest.
Drew: Yes, and you’re still not sitting on my face or my hardship. But maybe my doorbell will ring when I get home in an hour.
Brooke: I wish I were ringing it…
Drew: And then? Work with me here, woman.
She’s quiet for a beat as I make my way past security at the airport, Gabe by my side. His head’s bent over his phone. The smile on his face tells me he’s likely texting a woman too.
When he looks up, I catch his eye. “Who is she?” I ask.
He just laughs. “Just someone.”
“Oh well, thanks for that deep insight.”
He shrugs, but his dark eyes are playful. That signature take-no-prisoners look has vanished. “Someone I knew long ago.”
“Is she the one who got away?” I ask as we reach the street.
“Long ago we never would have been a thing,” he says.
“And now?”
His curious look says yes before his mouth says you never know.