Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 94300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“Yeah, I know. Still, would be nice.”
But niceties and wishing don’t always come true, because life isn’t always fair.
When Vegas sinks a third in the third period, Jersey can’t recover. And when the final buzzer sounds, we remain seated in a depressed heap of loserdom. When the team you root for loses, you take it as if the loss is on your shoulders. It’s one of the things I love about sports. Even if you can’t play, you live the wins through your team but also experience the losses.
Tonight is doubly sucky.
“At least Soren can come out with us,” Ollie says. “If they’d won, he’d be out celebrating with the team.”
“Are you sure he won’t want to commiserate with his team instead?” I ask.
“Maybe, but I doubt it. When you lose, you kinda want to be far away from the people who want to point fingers and blame. Do you still have a press pass? Maybe you can go back to the locker rooms and ask him.”
“No sweat.” I stand.
Jet jumps up to let me past. “Can I come?”
“Okay, fine. You can be my assistant if they ask.”
Jet and I break away from the group, but as soon as we’re let into the back corridors, we’re aware we’ve overlooked one very important detail.
“Lennon Hawkins,” other reporters call out. Some I know, but most I don’t. They’re on us before either me or Jet can blink, and they don’t seem to care about leaving their spot outside the locker room as they come after me.
I turn to Jet, who looks as scared as I feel. “Gonna have to get used to this type of attention, rock star.”
“What’s your relationship with Ollie Strömberg?” someone yells.
“How long have you been together?” someone else asks.
All this from one little kiss Ollie was publicly dared to do? Then I realize that our seats were behind the players and right in the press box’s line of sight. We probably had eyes on us the whole game.
Ollie’s and my normal shyness over public affection wasn’t there tonight, and even though I’d hoped this wouldn’t happen, I know I can handle it. My family, on the other hand …
Mom’s gonna kill me. I already know how that conversation will go. I’ll emphasize nothing bad will happen, and she’ll say “You don’t know that!” The argument that I don’t know if I’ll be hit by a bus either is pretty thin by now with how many times I’ve used it. I understand she worries, but she also has to know I’m a grown man and don’t want to hide for the rest of my life because I had bad experiences as a teenager.
Ollie won’t hurt me. I’m certain of it.
“Can you get Soren on your own?” I ask Jet.
“Sure. I mean, I haven’t met him yet, so he’ll think some weird, scrawny dude is asking him out but …” Jet shrugs.
“Thanks. We owe you.” I throw him my press pass and then hightail it out of there and mutter no comment to anyone who catches up to me. I’m outside and meeting up with the others before I can even register I’m referring to Ollie and me as a “we” now.
I see Ollie waiting for me when it does sink in, and I can’t help smiling.
I’m a we person now.
If I wasn’t so damn happy, I’d hate myself.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
OLLIE
Lennon gave up his dream job for me. I still can’t comprehend that even as I stare at him from across the crowded bar.
As soon as we got here, Jet dragged me onto the dance floor seeing as it’s a rite of passage or whatever to get sweaty with half-naked men. With Lennon’s big fat no stance on dancing, Jet’s taken pity on me and vowed to show me the way.
And while the dance floor is proving to be an awesome experience—to freely admire the bodies around me, the porn-like make-out sessions from others, and all-round freedom of everyone in here—I don’t like being away from my man.
The only thing making me take my eyes off him is the wicked harsh scowl Soren’s sending my way.
Jet leans back against my chest and reaches up behind him to wrap his hands around my neck. He turns his head and whispers in my ear, “What’s your friend’s deal?”
“My friend?”
“Caleb. Soren. Whatever his name is.”
Soren’s now standing, arms crossed, and looks like he’s about to murder me. Or maybe Jet.
“What happened?” I ask.
Jet turns in my arms, and his lithe body continues to move against mine. “Dunno. It was weird. When I asked him to come here, he was all ‘It’s you.’ But then he looked me over and almost looked disgusted with me. Or himself. I’m not sure.”
That is weird. “I have no idea what that’s about. Unless you’re already famous and didn’t know. You’re gonna have to get used to randoms recognizing you.”