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)
I’m just glad paddle boarding was allowed on the weekend that I got hit in the head.
I leave the locker room, looking for Stephen. The team’s EVP said he’d meet me here to give me the deets on the event he wants me to attend. I find him quickly—he’s got a Humphrey Bogart cool to him with slicked back gray hair and a chiseled jaw.
He stands across the hall, his head bent over his phone. When the door shuts with a snick, he lifts his face, slides his phone in his pocket, and strides up to me.
“Hey, Drew,” he says, parking a hand on my shoulder. His eyes match his hair—they’re almost silvery. “All set for the youth sports fundraiser tonight?”
“Absolutely,” I say. “It’s a cause near and dear.”
“Great. Really appreciate you doing this so last minute. Almost as much as I appreciate you being on our team.”
“I’m psyched for the chance,” I say. “I’ve been wanting to do some work with a local charity that supports underprivileged youth sports.”
“Great. Lots of folks from the organization will be there, so I’ll make sure you meet everyone and that they all know our new quarterback,” he says with a quick smile. “And you’ll smile for the cameras. Get some Instagram posts, make a few comments to the sports sites. You know the drill. I’ll introduce you to the press department and some of the front office people you’ll be working with.”
“Can’t wait,” I say. This is what I want in a team. A front office that gets behind its players. That supports them. That works with the community.
“I have to take care of a few things here. But I’ll meet you in the lobby of the hotel. I texted you the address.”
“I’ll be there.”
The fact that the EVP himself is looking out for me tells me all I need to know about the Mercenaries—they’re ready to take a chance this season at going the distance.
This is my chance too, and I plan to make the most of being a Mercenary in every single way.
I also plan to have some good, clean fun tonight after the event. There’s nothing wrong with seeing a woman who saved me from a deadly paddle board oar. Hell, that’s a good-guy story right there. And when we’re done with tacos and ice cream, we’ll go to her place, close the door, and leave the world behind.
Yup. My luck in football and romance is turning around.
I catch up on messages in the back of the Lyft on the way to the event. First, I click on a text from my buddy Milo in New York. The fucker sent me a link to a new dating column his girlfriend writes—The Virgin Club Alum, and the article is titled Top Five Signs You’re Doing It Wrong.
I groan, but hats off to him.
Milo: I’ve learned so much about women from this column, but maybe you need to read it more religiously. I mean, just a thought from the headline. Does seem up your alley.
Ha. Like he can pull a fast one on me. I’m the guy who figured out who his new lady was well before he did.
Drew: Bookmarking this to read tonight AFTER my smoking-hot date. Wait. Make that…a tomorrow read.
Then I toggle to Carter’s text.
Carter: Dude. Did you see this new barber shop nearby? They do shaves beachside! I’m flying to town tonight and doing this tomorrow.
Drew: Do you not know how to work a razor yourself? I can set you up with some lessons with a thirteen-year-old who’s offering them to helpless dudes.
Carter: Have you ever had a real shave? By a pro? You will NOT go back to doing it yourself. It’s like sex in self-care form.
Drew: That would be rubbing one out, buddy. It already exists.
Carter: You don’t deserve the grooming equivalent of ejaculation.
Drew: I bet the barber is just dying to have you schedule an appointment now.
Carter: Already scheduled one in your name. Thanks, man.
My friends are such dicks. Fucking love them.
Then, I shift gears into good-boy mode as I click on today’s text from my mom. She sends me the Daily Double, as she calls it. A pic of the latest antics from my twin sisters.
Mom: Today, Mira and Sophie turned into identical mermaids. Can you tell them apart?
The little sea creatures are wearing fake fishtails with their bathing suits and splashing around in the pool, red hair whipping everywhere. Good-boy mode is so easy to engage with those two cuties and my awesome mom. I reply with my best guess, but I suspect they’ll be tricking everyone, especially their parents, for a long time. They are as identical as twins come.
I send Mom another note.
Drew: You doing okay? Or are you exhausted? Let me know if you need anything.
Mom: I’ve been exhausted for twenty-eight years, but I wouldn’t change a thing.