Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
“Sorry,” he said absently. “Brayden isn’t trying much today. Gotta talk to that kid. But anyway, I got no clue. I was homeschooled for a while as a kid and it threw me off. If you ever have a kid and you even think about keeping their asses home, keep in mind some stuff doesn’t always line up when you go back to public school.”
“I never want kids so no worries on that end. But why were you homeschooled?”
“At first because my mom was always working and she wanted to know I was getting taught the way she wanted me to be taught.”
I shook my head in confusion. “This is not anything resembling the story I’d heard about you.”
Simeon snorted. “What do you think you know about me, man? I know we didn’t talk much about family when I was in the Predators.”
“The media makes it out like you had a similar upbringing to Brawley. Bounced between homes, struggled, et cetera.”
“Yeah, and that’s bullshit. My mom put herself through school and worked two jobs, but we weren’t miserable. My dad died when I was a toddler, but my family on both sides has roots generations deep in New Orleans, so I had plenty of family to help out.” Simeon took out his phone as he spoke, and I was just nosy enough to see him checking a text from his mother. He was giving me actual cavities. “My aunties watched me when my mom was at school or work, and I never had any complaints. There was a lot of love in my family.”
“So why the fuck’s the media spin it like you were in foster care? I’ve never even heard of you having a parent!”
“Makes a better story if the pretty black boy with the freckles and reddish hair had some hard-knock life instead of growing up surrounded by hardworking black women.” He slid his phone away. “Besides, my actual story isn’t as interesting. My daddy was a half-white mechanic and part-time fisherman who grew up in Cajun country. Died of cancer when I was so young I barely remember him.”
On the field, Delilah cocked her arm back and let the ball fly in an arc so gorgeous I couldn’t contain a whoop. “That’s right, Pacheco! Yeah!”
The kids all cheered for her, and I grinned broadly. From the corner of my eye, I could see Simeon watching. I pretended not to notice.
“What’s Cajun country?”
“Arcadia,” Simeon said, to make it even more obscure. “You know! The part of Louisiana where all the Cajuns live!”
“The only Cajun I ever knew was on X-Men.” At his horrified expression, I cackled. “Well, and you.”
“Half,” he said. “Man, you don’t know shit. Uncultured heathen growing up thinking about nothing but baseball and football.”
“Ball is life.”
“Damn right.”
We both opted out of making dick or ball jokes and went back to watching the kids, but my mind zoomed in that direction. I felt like an asshole for basically giving him ammo to win a round of our unnamed challenge to make each other uncomfortable. If he wasn’t inventive enough to give me the gory details about riding poles, I wasn’t supposed to go around suggesting it. Even though I’d immediately started picturing it. Which was . . . different. And interesting. And different.
“Nice catch, Brayden!” Simeon shouted, his voice booming across the field. “You’re on fire today!”
“You just said he wasn’t trying.”
“I know, but he doesn’t have to know that. I hate when coaches try to encourage a kid by tearing him down.”
That I had to agree with. Shitty coaching staff had plagued me since high school and still did, now that I was with the Predators. The defensive coach was a monster when things weren’t going his way. Shouted and cursed like he wanted to beat the shit out of us. A few times, his tantrums had been caught on camera. One clip, of him throwing his headset and destroying his own hat, had gone viral. Made for a funny-ass GIF.
But at the end of the day, it hadn’t fazed me. I was used to it from growing up with a pro baseball player for a father who’d been obsessed with winning. Without a W, I was a zero. Some slogan.
“You’re not a total asshole, Boudreaux.”
Simeon released a startled laugh. “I can’t say the same about you just yet, but I will say that even though my people skills are far superior to yours, you have the planning shit down pat.”
“Oh shit, are you saying we make a good team?” I shaded my eyes and made a big show of peering around for paparazzi. “Maybe we can call this quits since that’s a mission accomplished.”
“You’d still be suspended and sitting on your ass for six games once the season starts.”
“That’s better than overseeing children.”
“Nah, it’s not so bad.” Simeon went back to his serious survey of our tiny prodigies. “I kinda like it. The worst part is the parents.”