Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
I can easily handle gloating without therapy or hypnosis. I’ve proven it this whole season of podcasting with my rival.
But as I turn off my phone, I hardly think of him as my rival anymore. He’s definitely my boyfriend, and that’s kind of terrifying and kind of awesome too.
I try to focus on the awesome part for as long as I can.
I never doubted our fans, but it’s still sweet to walk through the tunnel at the Hawks facility on Monday, head out to their field, and find Jason waiting there—stoic, chin up, ready to eat a whole plate of blackbirds.
Reese is with him, waggling her cell phone, prepped to shoot the video. “Hey, Beck,” she says, then lifts the phone and hits record.
I turn to the Hawks’ quarterback, savoring this moment. First, because our fans rock. Second, Jason loves it when I’m hard on him on-air, online, and between the sheets. Win-win-win.
“Tell me, McKay, how does it feel to know that the Renegades have five thousand more fans than the Hawks? Five thousand,” I repeat.
“It feels like it’s raining cats and dogs at the city’s shelters since my awesome, amazing, caring team is donating money to them,” Jason says with a big grin, and I laugh.
“Aww. You’re so sweet. Trying to turn the convo around. But we matched the donation, and we also beat your team at attendance.” I blow on my fingernails.
He scoffs. “This guy,” he says to the camera. “Can you believe him?”
I just shrug. “I get it, Jay. Our numbers feel pretty unbelievable.”
He laughs again. “You’re killing me, Beck.”
He’s using my first name, and I don’t even care. It feels right for this moment.
“Don’t die before we beat you in the Super Bowl,” I say.
“Better switch that up, Beck. It’s more like the other way around.”
Then, we lock eyes, and his are glimmering. Holy shit. I know that look. That’s how he stares at me in bed when he’s about to tackle me. A charge ignites inside me. We’re talking to each other like we do before we fuck.
If we go another second like this, everyone will know we screw when the cameras are off.
This is how I can be a good boyfriend to him today—by knowing when to pump the brakes for us.
I zip up my emotions and smile at Reese’s camera like the rival I’m supposed to be. “Thanks again. Go, Renegades.”
Reese stops shooting, and I blow out a relieved breath.
Jason mouths a quiet thanks, just for me.
“Anytime,” I murmur.
A few minutes later, Reese escorts me out of the facility, full of energy as she keeps glancing at her phone. “They are going wild for this video! Jason’s fans love the banter between you two. It’s just so deliciously electric.”
There’s a reason for that, but no one seems to be catching on, so I’ll take that as another win.
The next week, we both win our games. I can start to smell a playoff berth. I return home well past midnight on Sunday, so I don’t go to his place. But on Monday, I text him in the Lyft on my way to the studio.
My car is in the shop today getting an alignment, but I’ll pick it up this afternoon. I should be able to drive the fuck-me car when I come over tonight.
He writes back quickly. Good, so then I can come all over you.
I laugh. I walked right into that one.
Also, why the fuck didn’t you tell me your car was getting serviced? I’d have picked you up.
I write back as the Lyft pulls up to the building on Market Street. I would have wanted to maul you in the car.
Fair point. But I will drive you home. No car make-outs, though. I won’t be able to resist if you start one.
I reread the sexy exchange in the elevator as I head up to the twelfth floor, amazed we’re pulling this off. I didn’t ruin our thing at the bookstore, and no one has figured us out.
While we’re on the air, near the end of the show, Megan gives that impish smile that says she has something up her sleeve. “Guys, listeners are loving you. How would you feel about taking some calls from your fans when we return after Thanksgiving?”
In the last few months, I’ve learned a thing or two about what makes her tick, so I execute the roll with it play. “Would love to, Megan,” I say.
I have a play for the coming holiday too. Something I’ve wanted since Jason and I went out for boba. I didn’t act then. But I will act as soon as we leave the studio and reach his car in the parking garage.
I slide into the passenger seat, meet his gaze, and jump. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”
Jason’s blue eyes twinkle like the sea. “I usually spend it with my dad and my brother. But I want to see you too.”