Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
At any rate, for me to take home the pot in our friendly three-way bet, my cousin’s got to make four or more football references during the ceremony today. I gladly took the long-shot position—the one with the slimmest odds. Why not? Go big or go home, I always say. I’ve always loved a good challenge. Not to mention, the chance to gloat mercilessly about an unexpected underdog win to my two brothers.
At Marco’s reference to a “frozen rope”—football slang for a straight-shot rocket of a pass—I covertly hold up my index finger to Luca, signaling the current tally in our bet, and my brother subtly nods his acknowledgement. I turn around and do the same thing to my grumpier brother—“Mr. Grumpy Pants,” as my mother sometimes calls him—and Levi nods the same way Luca did before him. Then, Levi, the “evil twin” of our family—at least, according to playful family lore, thanks to his dark humor and generally dour mood—accompanies his nod with a single raised finger of his own.
A subtle tsk erupts from the front row, and all three of us Maguire boys instantly straighten up and fly right. Levi should have known our mother would notice his middle finger, no matter how cleverly he held it up to me. I swear, nothing gets past Ava Maguire. We’ve all learned that lesson time and again.
I return my eyes to my cousin. Marco’s only getting married once. There’s no doubt about that. So, the least I can do is give him and this ceremony my undivided attention.
Marco’s always been more like a big brother to me than a cousin. In fact, he’s more like my older twin—a future version of me marching down the same path three paces ahead. Yes, Marco’s always played at the tight end position, while I’ve always been a quarterback; but other than our different positions on the football field, we’re basically the same person with the same dreams, goals, and outlook. Until Marco met Nicola, that is; suddenly, he started doing and saying things I couldn’t fathom. Things like, “I can’t live without her, man” and “Nicola makes everything better.”
“Nicola,” Marco says softly, his tone awash in emotion as he gazes intently at his bride. “You’ve given me a spring in my step, both in life and on the football field.”
Ding, ding, ding! Surely, that qualifies as another football reference? I subtly flash two fingers at Luca, my eyebrows raised, but the fucker shakes his head.
I’m annoyed, but I don’t press the issue. Partly because I’m sure our mother is watching, though I’m too scared to look and confirm that hunch. But also because it’s now clear my brothers and I will likely need to hash out the final tally after the ceremony.
Still gazing into his bride’s eyes, Marco says, “We all know how proud I am of this ring here.” He holds up his hand to display the coveted Super Bowl ring on it—the one Marco jubilantly won with the San Francisco Knights last season. “But standing here today,” Marco continues, “I swear there’s no ring or trophy in the world that could possibly matter more to me than the wedding ring I’m going to wear to mark me as Nico’s husband. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Nicola Benson, and you always will be.”
Is he serious? There’s no way.
If I were forced to rank football versus Maverick, I’d put my son in the top slot, obviously. But he’s my child. My blood. My legacy. My miniature doppelganger. But ranking a romantic relationship above football? I can’t imagine it. What relationship, even a good one, could possibly feel better than the rush of a football win? Not to mention, romantic relationships consume far too much time and attention during the season. Hence, the reason I’ve always been content to be married to football. To give football—and now, Maverick, too—my undivided attention during the season.
Although . . .
Hmm.
Come to think of it, Marco did wind up having his best season last year, despite being engaged to Nicola the whole time. Could it be Marco didn’t have his best season ever last year despite Nicola being in his life, like I’ve been assuming . . . but instead, because of Nicola? Is that even a possibility?
Everyone laughs and claps, drawing me from my wandering thoughts.
Marco says, “. . . and I can’t wait to tackle life with you forever, baby.”
Tackle. That’s definitely another football reference. Which would make the tally at least three by my count, unless I’ve missed something while daydreaming again. Come on, Marco, give me one more, cuz.
As if reading my mind, Marco delivers for me. “Nicola,” he says, “I promise I’ve got your blind side covered forever, baby—through infinite overtimes.”
Jackpot!
I turn and shoot Evil Levi behind me a wink of victory, and of course, my brother rolls his eyes.