Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
I reached into the bag and took out one of the doughnuts. They were fresh and still warm. My mouth watered at the thought of eating it. I held it up to Weston; he smiled and politely declined.
“I shouldn’t eat this, but I tend to eat my feelings.”
“I have a home gym in my garage if you ever want to work out.”
“Really?”
Weston leaned forward and held my gaze. His dark, slightly wavy hair had some hints of gray around his temples. It made him look distinguished and charming. His eyes were a warm brown and full of kindness and empathy. He smiled, and the corners crinkled.
“The gym here is very expensive,” he said quietly. “Even with my status, they wouldn’t give me a discount.”
“Your status?”
He looked taken aback by me questioning him. “Remember, I told you I was a former professional baseball player?”
I mouthed “Oh” and nodded.
“Early in my career, people rolled out the proverbial red carpet for me, but then I retired, and I thought they’d do the same, especially here, but nope.”
“Are you on social media?”
He nodded.
“Okay, so the next time you want something, you tell them you’ll post about using their facility or drinking in their coffee shop. It takes some negotiating, and you don’t do it before you walk up to the counter. You set a meeting.”
Weston sat back and grinned. “Or you make friends with the café owner and get her to love you, and build your own home gym so you don’t have to watch the gym bros take selfies or videotape their workouts.”
I leaned back and matched his grin. “Okay, very valid.” I paused and then said, “Why do men do that?”
Weston laughed. “I have no idea. Anytime I ever worked out, I had state-of-the-art facilities, either in high school, college, and then the pros. I went into the place here and wondered what I had walked in on.”
“Well, I might take you up on the offer.”
“Gym’s open twenty-four seven.”
“Wow, such great hours.”
“I even have a sauna,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.
I hid my laughter behind my hand and cleared my throat. “Thank you.”
“For what?” he asked as he took a drink of his coffee.
“For making me laugh, for being an ear.”
Weston winked, and I tried not to think anything of it or look too deeply into his facial expressions. He was just being friendly.
My phone vibrated, and Miri’s name popped up on my screen. I read her text, told her where I was, and said that I would be there soon. “Miri’s awake; I should get back.”
“Let’s go.” He stood, reached for Scout’s leash, and then hollered to Samira that we were leaving.
On our walk back, I asked, “Is there anything I need to know about Cutter’s basketball or baseball schedule?”
Weston thought for a moment. “I don’t believe so, but I’ll go through the emails I’ve sent to the parents and make sure you get a copy.”
“Thanks.”
“Has he mentioned the travel teams?”
“I know of them because he’s been in Boston playing before, but that’s about it.”
“It’s fairly convoluted, so how about I come over tonight and explain everything? I think that might be the best way instead of asking him and reading it all in an email.”
“Okay, yeah, that’ll work. We don’t have any plans later.”
We stopped in front of the driveway.
“I’ll see you at the game,” he said and continued toward his house. His words caught me off guard. He would see all of us at the game, but he’d singled me out. Why?
Chapter 17
Cutter
It was game day, and normally, I felt stoked about playing. Nothing compared to the exhilaration of being out on the court, knowing the other team had to do whatever they could to stop us.
To stop me.
I wanted twenty-five points today—a career high. I had come close twice but never managed to break past twenty-four. Maybe if I had taken one more three or driven harder to the basket for an and-one, I could’ve made it.
Although all of that depended on how I played and whether Coach pulled me out early.
If we ran up the score, some of us would have to sit. I hated the bench. It made me antsy. My legs bounced while I sat there, watching my teammates. I wanted to be out there with them all the time. How fun would it be if basketball were an eight- or ten-man sport?
“It’d be wild,” I muttered, tossing the basketball in the air. I always practiced my form in my bedroom before I’d head downstairs for my power breakfast.
My mind drifted to my mom. She always made my Saturday morning game day breakfast, but who would do it when she was gone? My stomach twisted at the thought of her not being here. She was all I knew. All I had ever known. Sure, Toni had been around forever, but she wasn’t my mom and never would be.