Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Luckily, Jackie pulls the feminine card, and the rest of the family refuses to try for her flags in case they knock her over. I guess there’s one advantage to being the only girl in the family, even if it’s a little misogynistic. I’m not going to point that out though. These guys have all been in the sporting industry for so long they probably don’t even know when they’re doing it.
The three of us huddle while Freddie and Four are off to the side, staring at their phones.
We’ve all agreed whoever scores next wins, and we have possession.
“Looks like it’s down to us,” I say.
The three of us against three ex-pro football players and two ex-hockey players. They lost some of their guys who went to man the grill and others to go watch some SEALs work out.
Brady lifts his head. “Now’s your chance to switch sides to the winning team! Anyone?”
No one moves.
“Nice try,” I say.
“We can do this.” Jackie claps, psyching herself up. “Get the ball to me. They won’t touch me.”
“And remember, if we lose this, the gloating will never end.” Brady grips my bicep. “Even if we break up, the story of ‘Hey, remember that time Brady dated those SEALs and they couldn’t even beat us in football? This proves that football players are fittest. The toughest of the tough. Tougher than navy SEALs.’”
“That’s the worst outcome that could happen?” I’d be okay with that.
Jackie laughs. “He really is new. Competition is taken very seriously in this family.”
“Got it. Let’s beat them, then. Will that mean I will get gloating rights forever and ever?”
They both shake their heads.
“So new,” Jackie mutters.
“No. If you do that, then you’re a sore winner,” Brady adds.
“So, basically, if we lose, we have to deal with the gloating, but if we win, we have to be humble. Are your dads’ egos really that fragile?”
Brady stares at me sympathetically. “Oh, honey, sweetie, no. Not Pop’s anyway. Dad’s, definitely. And under no circumstance should you ever utter the name Tom Brady to him.”
“Even though you’re named after him?”
“That’s a whole other story. One we don’t have time for now. Let’s kick their asses.”
Brady takes quarterback position this time, and I face off with Brady’s pop. Brady makes the call, and I snap the ball back to him. I’m fairly evenly matched with Miller, but only one-on-one. Everyone else has no one blocking them, and they’re all running for Brady, who’s backing up and waiting while Jackie runs to our end zone.
Brady throws the football as one of his uncles reaches him. Despite agreeing to no tackling, they fall to the ground, but the throw is glorious—something worthy of a Talon—and Jackie’s underneath it at the other end.
Brady gets to his feet. “Suck it. In your face. We win.”
So much for not gloating.
That’s followed by a round of accusations about it being a fluke and not talent.
Is this what it’s like to have a family? All snarky smack talk and games? Because I want in.
Brady bounds up to me. “We did it.”
“You did it. Nice throw.”
He leans in and kisses me softly. “I’m going to go gloat to Prescott.”
I watch him run off.
Talon approaches me and holds out his hand to shake. “Good game.”
Okay, despite Brady insisting his dad is all drama, at least he can be a good sport.
“It was fun,” I say.
He claps my shoulder. “Let’s get some food. I’m starving.”
Brady’s uncles Damon and Jet are manning the grill and refuse help when I offer. It’s a team effort to get all the different foods everyone brought prepared, and then there’s nowhere to sit and eat it, but apparently, that doesn’t stop the ravenous appetites of athletes. Everyone starts digging in, and the food basically disappears before it hits the plates anyway.
I approach Brady and Prescott where Brady’s still telling his tale of how we beat all the old guys at football.
Prescott smiles over Brady’s shoulder at me. “Hey, that’s a bonus about hanging out with Brady’s family. We’re no longer the old guys.”
“Oh, you’re still old. Just not as old as them.” He waves a finger in the direction of his parents.
“Did I hear Brady ask for me to pass the potato salad?” his dad asks. “I can’t be sure because of my old, old age and my terrible hearing.”
Brady glares. “Don’t you dare.”
But it’s too late. Talon’s already dumping a huge scoop of salad on Brady’s head.
Miller sighs. “This is why we always need to bring extra food.”
Brady picks up the bowl of slaw and flings the contents at his dad.
“I’m guessing if I want to eat, I should’ve done that a few minutes ago,” I say.
“Yep,” nearly everyone answers at the same time.
“Can you get me out of the line of fire?” Prescott asks, and I grab his crutches. I help him hobble over to a safety zone, and I can’t believe my eyes as I watch a group of grown-ass men and one woman throw food at each other. Peyton grabs the ketchup and sprays the group like it’s a champagne bottle.