Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
“You figured me out. Although I believe Cara would call me a know-it-all, as well as a caretaker. And you? Any siblings?”
“Two half-sisters. They’re nine. Mom re-married and, oops, twins.”
Her eyes widen. “That’s quite an oops.”
“Sure is, but Mira and Sophie are the best. I’ll be teaching them to paddle board soon.”
When the server returns with our drinks, I lift my glass in a toast. “I’ll drink to vindictive oars and angel nurses,” I say.
She clinks back. “I’ll drink to playing well with others.”
“Goals,” I say.
Brooke sets down her glass after a swallow and points to a big red parachute high over the water, where a woman rides the air currents, pulled by a boat below. “That might be something to consider,” Brooke says. “I don’t think there are too many vindictive parachutes in the sky.”
“Noted. I’m a parasailing virgin, but it looks like fun.” I sip my iced tea.
Her brown eyes widen at my comment, sparkling with surprise. “You should try it. Parasailing is so much fun, and it’s like a cousin of paddle boarding.”
I arch a brow. “Brooke, you sure about that? One, you hang on a swing. The other, you ride over waves.”
“But you do one in the ocean and the other above it,” she says with a sassy bob of her shoulder. “Ergo, cousins.”
“Sounds like you’re trying to win on a grammatical technicality,” I tease, pressing the ice a little harder against my head. I want this bump gone, gone, gone.
Glancing away, she flicks some blonde strands off her shoulder. “Well, I’m a technicality kind of gal. It’s sort of what I do all day,” she says, and this is the part of the date where we make small talk about our jobs.
I should probably say at some point that I play pro ball. It’d be weird if I didn’t ’fess up soon since I already play-faked my name, using Andrew instead of Drew. But when I introduced myself on the sand, I didn’t feel like having the whole I’m the quarterback who nearly got concussed in the ocean conversation. Smooth, huh?
Honestly, I was stoked I hadn’t been spotted. Don’t want to end up on some podcast’s compilation list of Dumb Shit Athletes Do. Even though my contract allows stand up paddle boarding, thank you very much. It’s considered a safe sport with a low risk of injury. Lower than running.
But at least there’s some privacy here in the corner of the boardwalk bar. “You’re a technicality kind of woman, and I’m an active kind of guy,” I say, easing into telling her who I am. “That’s sort of what I do all day.”
“Then you should try parasailing. Except…it’s not active. You glide. But it is outdoors and fun,” she says.
“I’ll put it on my list of outdoor activities to try. Though I might try that first,” I say, gesturing to the boardwalk where a guy rides a unicycle, a parrot perched on his shoulder.
“Do you have a parrot?” she asks.
“No, but I figure if I take to unicycling, I could get a parrot then,” I say. “Don’t put the parrot before the unicycle.”
“As the saying goes,” she says drily, then nods toward a pack of skateboarders in low-slung shorts tearing up the concrete. “But beware of dastardly skateboards when you ride.”
“They’re the real cousins to paddle boards.” I lean back in my chair, soaking in the sun and the eclectic people. Farther down the path, someone plays the drums, beating out a hippy tune. This afternoon is everything I needed to reset. The laid-back vibe is a welcome contrast to practice this morning, which was tight and tense as our team managed to fuck up nearly every play. I was eager to get my mind off all the changes coming for me, so I came here to hit the waves.
But Brooke is a much better distraction than the Pacific. And so is that dude in a pink shirt and white shorts walking down the boardwalk on sky-high stilts.
“What do you think, Brooke? More or less daring than paddle boarding?” I ask, nodding toward the guy who’s about ten feet taller than he should be.
She shudders. “Equally. And also on the list of things I won’t ever try. I have a low tolerance for falling, splatting, or crashing onto the ground or into the sea. Hence, reading,” she says, patting the book inside her mesh bag. “But I love to people watch, so Venice is perfect for that outdoor activity.”
“Hands down. I live in Santa Monica, but there is no better place in all of Los Angeles for people watching than right here.”
“That’s why I live in this neighborhood. About ten minutes away. There’s always something to do or see.”
I study her closely, nodding a few times. “That tracks.”
She knits her brow, clearly confused. “What tracks?”
“You living in Venice.”