Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
I laugh. “Liking free food is so…not weird.”
But I file that nugget away, thank them, then leave. Their support is the fuel I need to march into work tomorrow and execute Project Plus-One.
6
CUPCAKE PAYMENT
LAKE
After a long road trip, I’m more eager than I usually am to get to work. Because I want to get on my skates? Sure, I always want that. But maybe I’ll finally run into Remy again. Haven’t seen her since that night. Haven’t heard from her since the plant delivery when she sent me a thank you text.
I grab my phone from the kitchen counter and swing into the living room to find my dad where I almost always find him—at the puzzle table.
“Do you need anything before I go down to the city? I’ve got time if you want to go into town and get a sandwich or something,” I say, asking gently as I pose the same question my brother and sister ask him nearly every day too.
Sliding his reading glasses down his nose, he scrunches his brow, like he’s really considering it. I wish he were considering leaving the house. But then he shakes his head.
“I’ve got one thousand problems, and not one of them is getting a sandwich,” he says, pushing up the glasses and sorting through a pile of pieces in the corner of his puzzle table. “Gavin and Mira picked up the groceries for me.”
“Let me know if there’s anything else you need.” I’m half tempted to say we could go back to that puzzle store in the city, but there’s no point.
Maybe he even knows it since he whips off his glasses, and a smile spreads across his weathered face. “Don’t worry about me, kid. Just get to work. You’re having a great season. I’ll be watching the game tonight.”
My heart twists. It’d be selfish of me to say I wish you could watch it in person. I pat his shoulder. “I’ll see you during warmups,” I say, then tap my left shoulder twice on my midnight blue suit jacket. It’s the sign I always flash to the broadcast booth, but really to him.
He taps his shoulder, too, mirroring me.
I take off, heading through the front door and outside the home, sprawling on several acres at the edge of Cozy Valley. I have an apartment in the city too—sometimes it’s just easier to crash there after games. But I’m here as much as I can to help with Big Steps Ranch. It was my dad’s passion—he’s a retired physical therapist, and he specialized in equine therapy and adaptive riding. My brother and his wife—also therapists—do the hard work of running it. I help out sometimes with the bird sanctuary on the edge of the property, though mostly I help by making sure we have enough funds to run it when times are tough.
I hop into my car, then swing by Miller’s house a few miles away to pick him up. “Picture this,” he says, the second he slides in. “A giga-coaster.”
He chats the whole way about a magazine story he listened to about extreme experiences at theme parks, and the race now to unleash scarier and steeper and faster roller coasters. I don’t have to say much, since Miller can hold a lot of conversations solo.
I just offer a word here or there as my thoughts drift to Remy. Will she be working today? Did that prick and a half ask her to make his dating profile?
I stew on that till we reach the arena. As we’re heading down the corridor toward the locker room, Miller regales me with a tale of an exa-coaster that’s taller than the Statue of Liberty when my phone buzzes.
Her name flashes on the screen. Heat shoots down my spine. So annoying.
Remy: Hi!! Do you have a few minutes to talk before you start warmups? I have an idea I’d love to run past you. Maybe we could meet by the plant wall on the concourse? I have something for you too!
The plant wall—a section of the concourse covered in foliage native to Northern California—is out of the way. Which tells me this idea of hers probably doesn’t involve a promo event. Is it about the dating profile? The fuck it better not be. She should just, I don’t know, not ever date again. Or date me.
Except…no. She’s too good, too kind, too upbeat.
I’d ruin her.
“Catch up with you in a minute,” I mutter to Miller, but he’s already joined up with Riggs as they turn into the locker room, telling him about the one-hundred-twenty-miles-per-hour speeds on the coaster.
I hustle down the corridor as I try to think of a response that doesn’t reveal I’m scheming to halt her access to all dating apps. Is that possible?
Not without being a morally gray dickhead.
If the shoe fits.