Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“Come on, Adam! You’ve got this!” Tracy yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth as she jumped like a circus performer on a pogo stick. And when Adam let in the eighth goal of the game, she added, “It’s okay. You’ll get the next one.”
Not that it would have mattered. With a minute to go in the third period, the Hawks were down two to eight. Both goals belonged to Denny Mellon and after each one, his grandmother smacked the plexiglass and blew an obnoxious horn that the ref had threatened to confiscate. I was fairly certain she told him to kiss her ass, but my ears were ringing at that point.
I blocked out the excess noise and concentrated on Smitty. I couldn’t hear him, but I had a good view of the coach’s bench, and I was impressed at his even-tempered façade. I knew he had to be frustrated with the countless missed passes and wonky shots on goal that never had a chance of landing, but he kept his cool. His body language spoke volumes—shoulders back, arms open, and constant nods of encouragement. He was there to teach, and he understood this group was a work in progress.
“Gonna be a long season for the Hawks,” someone two rows ahead of me griped.
“Cool it with the doomsday BS, Ned,” Annie replied. “No one likes a sore loser…or a booger-picker.”
Tracy caught my eye and snickered, then tugged me through the crowd toward the exit and craned her neck. “Is Jake with you?”
“No, he’ll be here next week and he’s going to help with the boys’ practice. I, uh…thought I’d swing by and give him a report,” I lied. So much for keeping it real.
“Oh, smart! The boys are going to love having another pro on the ice.”
I typed a quick text for Smitty to meet me in the parking lot and braced myself for a post-truth bomb reaction, blurting, “Actually, I’m here because I wanted to see the team and…I offered to show Smitty around Pinecrest.”
Tracy furrowed her brow. “Pinecrest? I heard he was interested in buying something, but I thought he wanted to look at the Rinaldis’ house again. I meant to ask you about that yesterday, but—oh, shoot! Gotta run. Mike and Adam are waiting for me at the car. I’ll see you Monday, Boss!”
Huh. So, I’d basically canceled out my truth bomb with a previous lie.
I was turning into a real asshole.
“This one looks fine.”
I studied the nondescript rectangular coffee table and shook my head. “No, it’s too boring.”
Smitty snorted, gamely following me to the next vignette at Pinecrest’s premiere home and furniture boutique. “It’s a coffee table, Bry. It serves two functions—a footrest and a place to leave dishes…and the remote control. Anything is fine.”
“Yeah, right,” I huffed. “Somehow I doubt the guy who couldn’t live with yellow walls and had lots of opinions about the sectional he special ordered doesn’t care about the coffee table that will go in the same room.”
Smitty darted his gaze around the store and leaned in close. “Places like this intimidate the fuck out of me. It smells like a perfume factory and everyone is smiling…but their eyes are dead. Like they’re zombies. Is this a Pinecrest thing or a bougie thing? I don’t do well with hot cotchure.”
I burst into laughter. “Haute couture?”
“Sure, whatever.”
I brushed my hand against his in a show of solidarity, then linked our pinkies for a brief moment and pointed at a handsome dark-wood coffee table with a wide base. “What about that one?”
Smitty shrugged. “Looks nice.”
“I think so too.” I clandestinely checked the tag. “Yikes. It’s pricey. Let’s keep looking.”
“Do they have a coffee table with cupholders?”
“Absolutely not, and why would anyone want a cupholder in a coffee table?”
Smitty widened his eyes comically. “Are you kidding me? Why would anyone not want a safe place to plop a cup? You never have to worry about spilling a drink or knocking it over, and you wouldn’t have to fumble for it when you’re watching a game, ’cause your cup is right where you left it.”
“Okay, that’s a whole lot of nonsense. And thankfully, a moot point.” I glanced at our surroundings as if to be sure that was true and noticed the salesperson watching us from the register. I couldn’t remember her name off the top of my head, but I was pretty sure I’d sold her and her partner a house two years ago. I lowered my voice and added, “They don’t have such a thing, but even if they did, I’d stop you from buying it.”
“How? I’m bigger than you. And I’m fast. I could whip out my credit card in a flash and shove this fucker into my truck before you could say ‘No, bad table!’ ”
I threw my head back and laughed. “I would never—”