More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
No player would be thrilled about being traded from a team that did well in the playoffs last season to one that hasn’t qualified for the past three years. It’s not ideal and I have mixed feelings about it, but the thing is, the Vipers are my team. They’re the first team I ever loved. The first team I rooted for. The team that changed my life, my physiology, and made my heart pump ice.
Ant Decker. Number eight. The Vipers’ first-line right-wing and asshole extraordinaire. And when I say asshole extraordinaire, you better believe I mean it. The man is a total dick who, for reasons I’ve always struggled to understand, decided to make me his archrival when we were little more than kids.
Some people feel close to God at church or in nature. For me, it’s an enclosed space with boards, bright spotlights, and water you can walk on.
The chatter slowly dies and a couple dozen pairs of eyes settle on me. My throat dries when it occurs to me that I probably should have thought of something to say. Something witty, maybe, ideally intelligent, or at least intelligent adjacent.
“Talk to him, but be nice ’cause he’s the babiest babygirl in the whole wide world, so make sure he gets special babygirl treatment.”
Umm… right…
I’m grinning manically and holding my boner in one hand like it’s a pet rodent or something. I look exactly like any one of a hundred problematic porn stars from the seventies or eighties. I hate it. I hate everything about what happens to me in this guy’s presence. Still, my pet rodent is heavily invested in his response.
This is so cringey I can’t even.
