Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
His cubby sits next to mine, his own last name of ABRAMS done in chrome and subtle purple lighting designating it as his home away from home.
“That game-winner from Penn was ridiculous,” I reply, pulling on a pair of fresh boxer briefs and reaching for my suit pants. Gotta love a sweet little chip shot over the goalie’s shoulder with barely an inch all around to squeak through.
North, already half dressed, leans against his cubby that sits opposite mine, his suit jacket hanging neatly on a hook. “That guy has some sort of unicorn magic going on.”
I nod, buttoning up my shirt. “Don’t know how he does it but I’m glad he does.”
Rafferty chuckles, grabbing his comb and running it through his hair. “They didn’t know what hit them. You should’ve seen Fournier’s face. Pure shock.”
Max Fournier is the Cold Fury goalie and one of the best in the league. But that doesn’t seem to matter against a once-in-a-lifetime player like Penn Navarro.
I sit on the built-in bench in my cubby and lace up my dress shoes. “We deserved this win. We played our hearts out.”
North straightens his tie, his expression turning serious for a moment. “It’s more than that. We played like a team. Everyone gave their best, from defense to offense. And Penn… he just sealed the deal.”
We are on fucking fire.
“You guys feel it, right?” I put on my jacket, ignoring my tie.
Rafferty grins, eyes sparkling. “You mean that feeling like we’re going to go all the way this season?”
I grab my phone and wallet from the shelf in my cubby, glancing around the locker room at all of my teammates as they dress, joy on their faces and swagger in their steps. Laughter, excitement, the shuffling of gear being stowed away—all sounds of victory. Not overly cocky, but yeah… they know it too.
“Yeah,” I say as I turn back to Rafferty. “We’re going all the way this year.”
“Let’s not jinx it,” North grumbles, pocketing his phone.
“Not jinxing it,” I clarify. “Just fucking stating truth.”
“He’s a brash one, our young King,” Rafferty drawls, clapping his hand on my shoulder.
Atlas materializes, fully dressed and gear bag in hand. “Where are we going tonight? And most importantly, who’s DD since I was last time?”
“That would be me,” I reply, patting my pocket for the keys to my Macan. “And I just assumed we’d head over to Mario’s.”
As if on cue, a shrill whistle cuts through the locker room and I turn to see Hendrix standing on a bench. The chatter dies and everyone looks over to him. “I wanted to invite everyone to come out to Jerry’s tonight to celebrate. It’s Bear’s birthday and we’re going to hoist a few with him. First round’s on me.”
A cheer goes up and I turn to Atlas. “Looks like we’re going to Jerry’s.”
Jerry’s Lounge is the bar owned by Hendrix’s girlfriend, Stevie. It’s named after her grandfather who opened the place in the nineties. While it’s not as convenient as Mario’s, I have to admit, I like hanging out there more. It’s got a good neighborhood vibe, although it’s mostly filled with bikers. Still, the Titans who hang out there are treated more like normal Joes than famous athletes, and that’s more my speed.
North thumbs over his shoulder and I look to see Foster walking out of the locker room. “I guess he’s not coming.”
I shake my head. I’d asked him earlier if he was going out with us but he declined. “I think it’s still too soon after all that shit went down with Sandra. I think he wants to stick close to home.”
“Who could blame him with a hottie like Mazzy there waiting for him?” Rafferty guffaws.
“Always thinking with your dick,” North says with a shake of his head.
“Like all of you don’t think Mazzy is super hot.”
Not one of us deny it, because yeah… she’s gorgeous. But she’s also smart, funny and genuine. A triple threat. There was a time before I knew Foster was into her that I’d even considered asking her out. Probably half the team had thought to do the same.
Van walks by us wearing a dopey grin. He’s had that look ever since Simone gave birth to their daughter, Beatrice. He offers fist bumps. “Great game.”
Van is Max Fournier’s brother-in-law and I’ve always wondered what it feels like for him to play against family. Is it hard or is there some satisfaction in beating his wife’s brother? I don’t ask though. Instead, I poke a little at him. “Any new photos?”
North snickers and Rafferty elbows him. It’s been the joke all day today because Van has relentlessly bombarded the team chat thread with pictures of little Bea every fifteen minutes.
“Yeah, man,” Van says, whipping out his phone. We all gather round to see the latest photos, clearly taken by Simone and sent to him while the game was underway. We can poke fun all we want, but admittedly, she’s the cutest baby and more important, she’s the first one born to this rebuilt team. That makes her a little bit all of ours and extra special.