Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
So yeah…he was an over-the-top goofball with high-octane energy who’d weaseled his way into the fabric of my everyday life.
In the two weeks since I’d left LA, we’d talked or texted almost daily. It had started with Trinsky “checking in.”
Good flight home?
Yes.
Sunday:
How’s camp?
No camp on Sunday. I’ll let you know how it goes tomorrow.
Thumbs-up emoji.
Monday:
I texted him first. I’m coaching some talented juniors. Good group of kids…including Milo and Michael.
Who?
The brothers who got sick on our camping excursion.
The barf brothers? No way.
Way.
Our thread had devolved from there to green-faced emojis and the one with the eyes crossed out. I’d hunched forward, gaze shifting from my cell to the teenagers whizzing by on the ice, a silly smile teasing the corner of my mouth against my will.
Next day, same thing:
Are we out of the woods or do you think our agents are looking for more rival press? Trinsky typed.
I haven’t heard anything. Have you?
Yep. Marty is making noise about me going to Elmwood earlier.
My pulse had skittered out of control. I’d been sitting beside Court and Denny, watching my teens scrimmage. They were making all kinds of basic mistakes that would have gotten them benched on any team worth a damn: weak shots on goal, hogging the puck, playing too safe. I should have been yelling constructive pointers, but I’d been hopelessly distracted.
That would be awesome, I’d eventually replied.
He hadn’t mentioned it again, and I hadn’t asked.
But now, I wasn’t sure I was prepared for life in Elmwood with Trinsky here.
Geez, I’d slept with him, I’d sucked his cock, he’d sucked mine. We’d showered together, fingered each other, and—he’d fucked me. It was going to be weird to walk into the diner or the bakery and play it cool while Trinsky was his big and imposing, larger-than-life self.
I’d gone out of my way to ignore Mason Trinsky for years, and now…I didn’t want to. People would notice.
See, these couple of weeks of texting had given me a glimpse into his personal life that I didn’t think he shared with many people. There were no long, drawn-out stories about friends at home, family history, or exes. Instead Trinsky shared anecdotal side stories that hinted at his mom’s past struggles with sobriety and newfound healthy outlook.
I got the impression that she caused him more worry than Eddie. Eddie was fun and quirky. The simplest things brought him pleasure.
Eddie found the coolest shell at the beach. Check it out. Photo attached.
News flash: Eddie loves Joan Jett. I love rock and roll, baby! Gif of Joan Jett rocking out.
Eddie’s friend, Sarah, put a whoopie cushion on the bus driver’s seat today. Eddie’s still giggling. Twenty laughing emojis.
I laughed too.
On the other hand, he referred to his mom with an imperceptible note of worry.
Don’t you hate it when people tell you they’ve got a problem and you’ve already solved it?
I’d responded with a question mark, figuring he was about to embark on a tirade defending medicinal gummies or Hostess cupcakes. I was wrong.
My mom’s company is opening an office in Irvine. Terrible commute from Hermosa. She doesn’t have to work at all. I take care of her and Eddie. I bought the house, I pay the bills, but she’s convincing herself that a long drive in traffic won’t be a big deal. When did I become the adult here? I don’t like it.
I wasn’t sure what to say, so I went with a glib, Adulting sucks or something like that. He responded with a thumbs-up emoji. That was it.
The following night, the Dodgers won their third game in a row in Boston, which started a mini text war—the easy kind. Mason picked apart my team’s pitching and called out an unfortunate error at first base, and it was all the shit that usually made me want to strangle him. Now…I just laughed some more.
And it was kinda nice.
The man I’d written off as being chronically obnoxious had revealed yet another side of himself. But my change of heart didn’t feel sudden to me. It felt more like weeks of relearning someone I’d never really known.
And get this—we never talked about sex. Hell, I didn’t know if we could be lovers again, but we were friends now. The league definitely wasn’t going to know what to do with that.
“Large iced latte for Milligan!”
I snapped out of my reverie, thanking the new barista behind the counter before grabbing my drink and heading outside. I fist-bumped Denny on the sidewalk, chatting with his grandmother, Crabby Annie, a cantankerous ninety-something-year-old with signature fluffy white hair and pink lipstick.
“You should have told me you were coming by for coffee. I would have taken care of you,” I said. “That line is insane.”
Denny shrugged good-naturedly. “That’s okay. I probably don’t need more caffeine, but I need something cold. Want anything, Grams?”
“One of those propeller hats that spritzes water in your face,” she deadpanned. “Do they sell those with a cup of joe?”