Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
I stretched my arms above my head and twisted my torso to loosen up a bit. “Go easy on me out there.”
“No fucking way. It’s a fight to the finish out there. I’m gonna spin you like spaghetti on a wonky fork.” He danced around me in a prize-fighter stance, fists cocked. “I’m gonna throw the ball so far over your head, you’ll be swingin’ for it like a bear swatting at a honey pot. I’m gonna run so fast, you’ll see a cloud of dust and it’ll be too late to catch up, but you’ll try. You’ll be huffin’ and puffin’ and beggin’ for mercy. Sadly, mercy ain’t coming, Coop.”
“Are you finished?” I deadpanned, my lips twitching with humor.
Silas knitted his brow as if giving the matter some serious thought. “I think so. Polarize the opponent and win, win, win. Yep…that’s the gist.”
“Very funny.” I nudged his elbow, feigning interest in something in the distance. “Hey, this is really very nice of you.”
“I’m a nice guy.”
“I’m serious. This is a larger turnout than usual, and no doubt that’s because of you,” I said.
“Who knows?” Silas snorted derisively. “I’m happy to do it. And…tonight?”
I didn’t pretend not to know what he meant. I nodded briskly and smiled. “Tonight.”
Two minutes later, Dex grabbed Silas and motioned for the coaches to join him at center field. The deejay cut Black Eyed Peas off in the middle of “I Got a Feeling,” and a minute or so later, it was mostly quiet.
Dex thanked everyone for coming, gave his usual speech about the four towns of the forest uniting for a great cause as a portion of the registration fees went toward college scholarships and our local food bank. He thanked the biggest donors, who also happened to be hockey players from Elmwood, and jokingly wondered if any of them knew how to play football.
“Yeah…I didn’t think so. Wood Hollow’s got this one in the bag!” That earned him a laugh and provided the perfect segue to introduce Silas. “You won’t believe this, but we have a real live NFL star with us today. Help me welcome our special guest, Silas Anderson!”
Everyone went wild.
Dex had a gift for gab and he was good at pumping up a crowd, but it also helped that Silas was a natural-born ham.
Silas pretended to throw a football before he took the mic and raised his arms, encouraging a little extra adulation. The kids and their friends cheered and applauded. Hell, so did my friends, who were also busy snapping pics or recording him. I would’ve thought Silas would be leery of ending up plastered on social media at a community event in a tiny forest town given his recent exposure, but he seemed to relish the spotlight here.
“Hey, everyone. Geez, I lucked out that I happened to be here for this. You guys look fierce!” The audience whooped in approval. Silas grinned and continued, “Thanks for the invite today. I won’t take up much time ’cause I know you’re anxious to get the party started. I just wanted to say a couple of things—things you might already know. Football is a tough sport that asks a lot of its players. You gotta do some running, jumping, quick thinking, and it helps if you’re good at throwing a ball…and catching it.” He paused till laughter subsided. “It can be hard work. But it’s fun work. And you might not think about it while you’re chasing a lightning-fast opponent who’s got the ball and is racing for the end zone while you’re huffing and puffing, but you’re learning out there—discipline, cooperation, mental toughness, teamwork. Sports bring communities together. That’s a fact. So have fun, and—oh, yeah…I’m supposed to remind you…no tackling.”
I clapped along with the rest of the town, then secured my flag belt around my waist and approached Wood Hollow’s new celebrity.
“Well done,” I commented, listening with half an ear as Dex explained the round-robin format.
Silas initiated a fist bump. “Thanks. I’ll see you after my team crushes yours.”
I scoffed and leveled him with my sternest dad stare. “Chirping already?”
“You know it,” he singsonged.
“Yeah, well…go easy on me. I’m old.”
Silas waggled his brows, grinning as he stooped, picked up a ball, and then ran onto the field. I made a meal out of stretching my quads, hoping my sunglasses made it less obvious that I was fixated on the visiting football hero introducing himself to his teammates—a group of track, basketball, and football coaches from Wood Hollow High. On average, most of them were in their late twenties and thirties, thanks to the influx of new jobs and affordable housing in the area.
Elmwood’s coaches, on the other hand, were former professional athletes like Silas while Pinecrest’s were personal trainers who’d probably been specifically selected by a board for their speed and agility. Fallbrook…well, think stereotypical sitcom coaches—middle-aged, balding, beer bellies.