Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 97767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
G: Eye-candy?
Austin: Hockey players tend to be ridiculously good-looking. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.
G: Can’t say I have.
Austin: Have you told your sister you gave her tickets away to some random woman you met at a bar?
G: Yup. She totally approves. And they’re her tickets by proxy…
Austin: I have no idea what that means but I’ll take your word for it. Did she ask you a million questions about me??
G: Of course she did—she’s my sister. Asking a million questions is practically her job.
Austin: And? What did you tell her?
G: The truth.
Austin: Which is…? (this is like pulling teeth, my God)
G: I told her I gave the tickets to a random woman I met at a bar because she seems like a nice person who REALLY loves hockey.
Austin: Oh.
G: LOL why do you sound disappointed???
Austin: I don’t sound disappointed! I’m processing my feelings about that sad, basic description of myself.
G: How is that basic?
Austin: The fact that “nice person who really loves hockey” is apparently my entire personality now.
G: Would you rather I told her you’re a glitter enthusiast who plans on savagely roasting a goalie who sucks at his job?
Austin: You know what? YES DEAR GOD YES. It’s entirely more accurate.
Austin: Also. I’m still stuck on the fact that your sister was cool with this. Mine would’ve interrogated me for hours.
G: Mine tried. I told her not to push her luck.
Austin: Ah, classic. Is she older or younger?
G: Neither. We’re twins
Austin: WHAT?! Twins? That’s awesome. Are you the good one or the evil one?
G: Depends who you ask.
Austin: I’m asking YOU.
G: In that case, yes—I am the good one. My sister is way more diabolical than I am, as most sisters are…
Austin: Oh, come on. What’s the most diabolical thing she’s ever done?
G: Once when we were teenagers, she hid under my bed for an hour while I was reading. And then when I shut off my light, she scared the shit out of me.
Austin: Did you scream?
G: Like a damn banshee.
Austin: So—like a girl?
G: Totally.
Austin: I’m dying. That’s incredible. Did she at least feel bad afterward?
G: Nope. She laughed so hard she fell and hit her head on my nightstand.
Austin: Karma.
G: You’d think so. But then she blamed me for it and got out of trouble.
Austin: I want to be her when I grow up.
G: You’re uninvited from sibling stories now.
Austin: Fair. But for real, thanks again for the ticket—please tell her I appreciate it. I feel like I owe you a favor.
G: You don’t owe me anything. Just enjoy the game.
Austin: That’s too easy. There’s gotta be something I can do to repay you.
G: You already promised to make a glitter sign, remember???
Austin: I’m serious, though.
G: So am I. The glitter sign will be legendary. If I were a player, I’d skate right up to it and kiss the glass to show my appreciation.
Austin: You’d kiss the glass? What if I made a sign that said, “STOP PUCKS + STOP BREAKING MY HEART” or something equally dramatic?
G: If you actually did that, I would find you and kiss you on the lips.
Austin: STOP! I’m blushing. Seriously.
G: If you’re going to go that hard with a sign like that, it deserves a proper thank you.
Austin: Well it’s too bad you won’t be there.
5
austin
Holy.
Crap.
These seats. Are. Ah-mazing.
Armed with a sign that says BETTER LUCK THIS TIME, GIO—and one of my best friends, Dolly—the arena is buzzing.
“These seats,” I say, sinking into the plush cushion of my chair, “are the most incredible thing to ever happen to me.”
Dolly rolls her eyes, her lips curling into a smirk as she unwraps a pretzel. “I mean, other than me, obviously.”
“Obviously,” I echo, not even bothering to argue.
“You know,” she says, waving her pretzel at the ice, “if you scream loud enough, Gio might actually notice your sign. Then again, I doubt he’ll be able to read it with how fast you’ll be waving it.”
I laugh, holding up the bright blue poster board for emphasis.
“That’s the plan.” I lift it from the spot where I’ve tucked it. “I want him to know the fans haven’t forgotten about his last game. Better luck this time, buddy!” I shout, lifting it.
Bright yellow paper.
Bold lettering.
Blue glitter.
Team colors.
There isn’t a chance Montagalo will miss this sign.
Dolly snickers as I wave it over my head like a maniac, even though the players haven’t taken the ice yet.
“You’re going to throw out your shoulder before the game even starts,” she says, biting into her pretzel.
“Worth it,” I say, lowering it cause she’s right; my arm is beginning to hurt and I need to save my energy. The team will be out soon— after the lights dim and the Jumbotron explodes with graphics and loud music, of course.
It’s all part of the show, and I am HERE FOR IT!
Hell yeah!