Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Just as I’m about to put the phone down, Karlsson’s comment from the game comes back to me. Maybe Maeve should know what he’d said to upset me, after all. I don’t want to keep important things from her, and we’re in this together.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I shoot her a quick text.
Asher: Karlsson made some stupid comment about our viral post, something about all the kissing.
Her reply comes almost instantly.
Maeve: Fuck him. I’ll kiss you a thousand more times.
I can’t help but smile. It’s the kind of response only Maeve would give, and in that moment, Karlsson’s chirps don’t bother me anymore.
Friday night, we beat Boston in their barn, and after the game, Wesley appears at my door, riding a post-game high, insisting we go out to celebrate the victory. We don’t travel again till tomorrow, so there’s time.
“There’s this place called Gin Joint that Josie told me about. Her librarian friends go there. And librarians know how to party,” he says.
“I’m gonna trust you on that.” I grab a jacket and follow him out.
Something nags at me as the door closes—the annoying feeling that I forgot to do something important.
We gather Miles and Max, who’s joining us tonight since Everly’s out with the Boston team’s PR woman. Hugo’s turning in early. We walk to the nearby lounge, and usually, I’d be all in for the casual strategy session, trading tips, and shop talk. But the nagging feeling is like there’s a mosquito buzzing around my head that I can’t swat away.
“What do you think? Is Boston tougher this year since they acquired Jorgen?” Max asks. “You’re our stats guy.”
I blink, realizing I’ve been zoning out as we walk in the cold February air. “Sorry, what were we talking about?”
Wesley laughs. “The time you stopped paying attention.”
Miles gives me a curious look. “You all right, man?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” I say, scratching my head. “But…what’s today?”
“The day after yesterday and the day before tomorrow,” Miles says, adopting a deeply philosophical tone.
“No, seriously. The date.”
“Is your phone broken?” Miles retorts.
“I mean, is it like a holiday?”
“Yes, it’s National Calendar Celebration Day,” Max says. “Want to go calendar shopping?”
I wave them off, check my phone, and…it hits me. “I’m a dumbass.”
Miles grins and spreads his arms wide as we reach Gin Joint. “Yes, he finally gets it!”
Wesley smirks. “Honestly, we all kind of knew you were just the pretty one. But why are you just realizing it now?”
I flip him the bird, grinning. “Pretty and smart, thanks. It’s my two-week anniversary with Maeve tomorrow, and I need to get her something—something good.”
Cue the jeers. Dear god, the jeers. They’re worse than expected, and they don’t stop as we head inside and order. But I don’t care. Maeve will love a two-week gift for our fake marriage, especially after the one-week one. It’ll show her what a good temporary husband I am. Besides, she deserves gifts. But what to get her?
After the server leaves, Wesley points to me. “This is going on the DickNose board.”
“We don’t need a top-five list,” Max chimes in, stabbing the table with a finger. “This, tonight? You remembering a two-week anniversary? It’s all we need on the whiteboard of Asher’s Obsession with Maeve.”
I stare him down. “Says the guy obsessed with Everly.”
Max nods proudly. “As it should be.” Then, he levels a no-bullshit stare at me. “What’s the story, Callahan? You’ve had it bad for her for a while. You just went out and got married?”
His tone says he’s not buying the story I was selling the other week at morning skate. He’s waited almost two weeks for me to ’fess up on my own. I can’t say I didn’t see this line of questioning coming.
“The whole spur-of-the-moment thing did make me wonder if it was so spur of the moment,” Miles puts in, tone curious, maybe a little skeptical too.
I scratch my jaw. “Yeah, the thing is…” But where to start? I don’t want to get into the marriage pact. I definitely don’t want to get into how Maeve was in a funk in Vegas and I wanted to cheer her up. But saying we got drunk-married does a disservice to the situation too. I try again. “It’s complicated.”
Miles’s eyebrows shoot up. “As in the nine-month variety of complication?”
“Fuck no,” I say, faster than I can shoot on an empty net.
“So what’s up then?” Max asks again, never one to mince words.
These guys deserve the truth. “Look, the wedding just sort of happened. We were hanging out, having fun, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Wesley tilts his head, pauses, then cuts through the vagueness. “But you stayed married. And don’t give us that whole kisses-equals-kindness bit.” He rolls his eyes. “You seem way too into the two-fucking-week anniversary for this to be anything but something that maybe you want to keep happening.”