Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
A couple sticks too.
Sticks…
That reminds me of Everly’s warning about Elias. We’ll have to be extra careful at work. But maybe there’s a very specific way to do that.
Jerseys.
When Athena rushes under the kitchen table batting her shiny prize, I head over to her, extract the tinfoil from her tiny but mighty paws, then scratch her chin. “You know who’s brilliant?”
Ignoring me, she stares murderously at the silvery ball in my hand, like she’s licensed to kill. Well, she is a cat.
“Me, Athena. Me,” I say, but she has no interest in my self-praise. She’s poised to vanquish tinfoil.
Like I’m going to toss the ball across the kitchen, I lift my hand and fake her out, sending the crushed ball hurtling down the hall and the other way. In a blur of gray fur and the cutest white paws ever she skids out, then spins around to chase after it. My coffee’s brewed, so I pour a cup, head to my room, and grab a couple jerseys from a drawer. I keep extra here since you never know when you might need one.
But now I need two. If Lyra can pull off a distraction ploy, so can I. I text my friends and tell them I need their help. They say yes when I ask them to bring extra jerseys to practice.
Back in the kitchen, I grab a Sharpie and sign both of mine, adding a paw print at the end of my name for fun. Then I toss them into a big canvas bag, snagging a second bag since this will be a double decoy.
But right as I’m about to leave, I get another idea about jerseys. I grin wickedly because this new idea is indeed proof that I’m brilliant. I’ve got a few extra minutes so I flop down on the couch with my tablet and do a little online recon. I’m fast and I know what I want so when I find a store that can do it, I place the order right away, even though it won’t arrive for a couple weeks.
And because I can learn, I send this gift to her house instead of to work.
A couple hours later, I’m in the locker room collecting signed jerseys from Miles, Wesley, Hugo, and Asher—two from each of my friends. “You’re a good man,” I tell Hugo as he drops his into the bag.
“No problem. You got a couple relatives who are hockey fans? That’s what I got my aunt Cindy for Christmas. She lost her mind. Actually, I should have you guys sign some pucks for her next.”
“Happy to do it,” I say, and while I don’t want to give them the details on why I need two sets of signed gear, I don’t want to lie to my friends either. But I have to protect Everly as much as I possibly can. I’ve got to do everything I can for her—including subtly trying to win Elias over. Make him think I’m on the same team as him. “These are actually for Elias. As a thank you. And Everly.”
Miles laughs. “He’s going to be your best friend. Nothing that kid likes better than giving away swag during the intermissions.”
“Seriously,” I say, then frown, which is easy for me to do since I have a master’s degree in glowering, but it helps sell the reason. “And that event earlier in the week was kind of a mess, thanks to my ex. I’m just trying to thank everybody who helped out.”
“Aww, you’re not such a dickhead after all,” Wesley says.
“And if anyone talks shit about you, I’ll say this right here is proof that you’re not a hater,” Miles adds.
As Asher puts on his watch, he looks up and asks, ever so innocently, “Where’s my football tickets, then, for helping? If memory serves, I did kind of save your ass too so I should be included in the gifting. We all should, in fact.”
Wesley seconds that with a vigorous nod. “We don’t have a game on Sunday. I hear the VIP suite at the Renegades is real nice.”
I owe them big time, so I easily say, “Consider it done.” Doesn’t matter that I won’t be there with them.
As I head to the management level a few minutes later, Asher catches up to me before I reach the stairwell. It’s just the two of us. “So, things are going well?”
I furrow my brow. It’s such a broad question, and I’m not sure which target he’s trying to hit. “Yeah. Why do you ask?”
He nods toward the stairwell. “With…”
I scratch my beard. “With the makeover?”
He points at me, like he’s caught me in the act. “Fucking knew you had a tell!”
I roll my eyes. But there’s no real point denying it. He put two and two together last week when we hit the ice before practice. I push open the door to the stairwell, and he follows me in. “One, I scratch my beard at other times too.”