Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
[The video ends with the anonymous host cutting right through the middle of the eggplant cake, followed by a splash screen with the channel name and social media handles.]
Comments:
@HockeyFan101
“I’d let Jacob put his stick anywhere he wanted. I heard it’s big, hard and guaranteed to score!”
@GoalieGoddess
“Give me seven minutes and a hair tie and I’ll show Jacob’s stick the best game it’s ever seen.”
@CakeLover123
“Jacob Drayton is God’s gift to women and hockey. And if he likes cake, we’re a match made in heaven. Seriously, Jacob. Call me!”
@StraightTalker
“Why does that cake look so delicious? Must not think about cake shaped like a dick.”
@EggplantHater
I hate eggplant. It’s slimy. Jacob’s stick is a feast. Trust me, I know!”
@HockeyTalker
“Women should stay out of hockey talk if all they’re going to bring to the conversation is dick references.”
1
RILEY
“Did you catch the game last night?”
I don’t need to ask Imani which game she’s talking about. My bestie is as hockey obsessed as I am, and because her brother’s one of the best defensemen on the Eastern U team, she watches every game.
“I did. Jacob needs to enroll in anger management classes before he does something that puts him in jail.”
“I don’t often sympathize with players of the opposing team, but that hit Richardson took…” She shakes her head. “I didn’t think he was going to get up.”
“Hockey boys are tough as old boots, but Jacob needs to do something to take the edge off his temper.”
“Jacob does something most nights that’s supposed to take the edge off all men’s tempers.” Imani creates a circle with her thumb and forefinger and mimes vigorous intercourse. “That man has a revolving door of puck princesses offering to help him score again and again and again.” She rolls her eyes in mock ecstasy.
My cheeks heat, which isn’t unusual. My skin is traitorous and shows everything I’m thinking and feeling in various shades, from a soft pink flush to a full-on scarlet raging blush. Imani’s beautiful, warm brown skin never lets her down like mine.
“Yeah, well, scoring points off the ice isn’t as important as on the ice.”
The wind gusts, whipping up the fallen leaves that tumble around our feet like orange and brown confetti, and thankfully cools my complexion before Imani notices.
“Speaking of ice, did you catch Icing the Cake last night? The dick cake…” Imani splutters with laughter. “The way she sliced through it at the end like a friggin’ circumcision.”
“She’s funny, I’ll give her that.” I smile at the memory and my friend’s response. Creating content for my channel isn’t easy, but it sure is fun. Keeping it a secret from people I trust is harder, but my novelty hockey-cake content was never supposed to be as big as it’s become, and as much as I love it, I don’t want it to affect my chance at a serious sports journalism or social media career.
“I wonder if Jacob’s seen it. Do you think he winced at the dick-cake slicing?” I say.
“I think he’d probably be proud. Big dick energy and all that.”
I’m keeping two secrets from my best friend, and neither feels good. The hockey cake channel doesn’t seem so bad. What’s worse is that she has no idea Jacob, Shawn, and Hayes Drayton, the triplets who terrorize the ice for our college team, used to be my stepbrothers. Well, our parents used to cohabit back when the Drayton brothers were three angry, rebellious thirteen-year-olds with something to prove, and I was a shy, chubby ten-year-old with frizzy hair and glasses who kept her head in a book so they wouldn’t notice her. It was awkward living in a house with strangers, and when my dad finally realized their mom wasn’t the one, I was grateful to see the back of them. Not before I overheard them laughing about my appearance, though. That part still twists my insides and fills me with indignant embarrassment.
So far, I’ve avoided running into them on campus. Freshmen are basically invisible to seniors, and curvy social media journalism enthusiasts are totally invisible to hockey gods. So, other than featuring them on my secret channel and watching their games from the cheapest seats or on TV with my dad, they have no idea we attend the same university.
Clutching my long pink wool coat closer around my body, I keep pace with Imani, whose strides are longer and whose tall, lean body must be half my weight. She glances at her watch. “We’re running late.”
Despite the cold weather, I start to sweat. The Red Devil bar is off campus, and neither of us can spare money for a cab. By the time we get there, I’ll be redder than their signature cocktail and need another shower. I manage to shrug off my coat and then grimace at how ridiculously exposed I am in my clingy black dress.