Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 93683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Awe – I don’t think I could ever get tired of seeing – expands in her gaze leaving me no choice but to blush.
I swear to Sawchuk, if she slapshots anymore looks like that at me, the boys are gonna be askin’ me all afternoon how I got sunburned so quick.
Our arrival to the music space is the first time our hands momentarily separate, only done to allow me to properly greet DJ R3VERS3 – who I paid out of pocket to be here.
“Groffee T,” we briefly embrace one another with a one hand pull and pat, “always bringin’ the flava that be.”
“R3VERS3, rewind, and play that shit one more time,” I chime back alongside our splitting.
He immediately lets his dark gaze drift over to the beauty beside me and hungrily strokes the black scruff on his tiramisu shaded face. “And who’s the dime?”
“Mine,” leaves my lips in tandem with me winding an arm around the small of her back.
His hands fly up in surrender. “Understood.”
“Good.” Resuming my carefree nature effortlessly occurs. “Mind if I borrow the mic for a min?”
“Make it do what it do, Groffee,” R3VERS3 cheerfully states, abruptly shorting out the music.
With Gilly still in my grasp, I grab the object, rotate us around to the face the group, and enthusiastically grunt our team war cry, “Ra.”
Everyone in attendance echoes the sentiment.
“Jus’ pausin’ the tuneskies to let everyone know the fajita buffet is set up back by the outdoor open bar for all of the Dragon fam in attendance. Eat and drink as much as you want, the tabs for both are on me.”
“Es-tu honnête?” Matej “Matty” Horák, our Czech forward, questions from the pool stairs he’s occupying with what I’m assuming is his older brother.
“Yup,” I cheerfully answer, proud I know enough of his native language to answer, “total truthskeis, bud.” Returning my focus back to the congregated crowd occurs next. “DJ R3VERS3,” my thumb kicks backward, “is up for playin’ any music from anywhere,” an extra welcoming grin is presented for those from other countries, “as long as it wasn’t made in the last decade.”
“Boooooo,” chirps one of the Lagunas brothers aka the Goonie Tunes.
“I also had our latest rookie who I witnessed firsthand dominate camp – Corbin Hale – get me in touch with his sister’s travelin’ hula company – Hula At Your Girl – and hired them to host some teachin’ seshes from now ‘til five. You can find ‘em set up to the left underneath some of the taller palms next to Sal Seashell – my favorite ukulele player who strums a meannnnnn Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin.” Light chuckles encourage me to wrap up the announcement. “Whatever you do today, jus’ do it the Dragon Way. Work hard.”
“Ra!” they chant in return with a pound to their chest.
“Play hard.”
“Ra!”
“F…inish that phrase when there aren’t hatchlings around, aye?”
Loud laughs act as an easy segue for R3VERS3 to resume playing music, this time dropping the beat of “Summertime” much to my approval.
“Classic,” I praise during my returning of the mic. “Maybe throw in a little Mungo Jerry ‘In the Summertime’ or Otis Redding ‘(Sittin' On) The Dock Of The Bay’ jus’ for funskies.”
“Those are two very different vibes, man,” R3VERS3 openly chortles while nodding. “Mad respect for both.”
My grin of appreciation continues when Gilly beams up at me, “I honestly don’t know what impresses me the most. The fact you can understand a bit of Czech, that you went out of your way to make Hale as much as his family feel welcomed, that you have a favorite ukulele player, or that you know who Mungo Jerry is.”
“Can’t be the last one.” I teasingly wink. “That’s jus’ me livin’ up to the amazin’ nickname you gave me.”
Giggles gracing my ears again convinces me to lean over to capture them with my mouth only to unfortunately be interrupted by Jazon “Hedgie” Hedgecomb investigating, “You really organized and paid for all the extra shit?”
Masking my disappointment over our interrupted kiss is done by simply gripping her waist tighter. “Yeah.”
“Pochemu?” Grunts Igor Alexeyev, our team captain, in Russian, large pale arms folding firmly across his chest. “You lose a bet?”
“No.”
“Need better press?”
“No.”
“In arbitration?”
“No.”
“Dude can’t just be doing something nice to be nice, Cap?” Patrick Peck, our black hair and blue-eyed center, I feel will someday where the C on his chest, cautiously questions, fingers tangled with his long-legged, golden caramel-skinned, fiancée, Neena Stiles.
“Nyet,” grumps the man we often answer to on the ice as well as off.
“There’s that famous Cap expression,” Lummy unexpectedly states in tandem with snapping a photo. “Oh! And the listening to our fearless leader one.” She clicks another – this shot aimed at Peck. “These make the best promo shots for rookies and potential draft candidates.”
“I just got this part time gig to start assisting with event photography for a local catering company, but eventually, I’m thinking I wanna move onto people,” announces Neena, frame moving closer to Lummy’s. “Mind if I shadow you for a bit?”