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)
Tomorrow, on Iris’s actual birthday, I’m throwing her a dinner party with close friends, family, and teammates at a famous sushi restaurant in Malibu. Today, in advance of the official party, however, we’re celebrating Iris’s big day in a much quieter way: by enjoying a relaxing horseback ride and picnic with Maverick. Or so Iris thinks. Little does Iris know, today’s also the day she’s finally going to become my fiancée. Assuming she says yes. God help me if she doesn’t.
Like I told my Council of Advisors at my housewarming party six weeks ago, I’m a new man this season. Happy and relaxed, not a dick at all. I’m still as competitive as ever on the field—as the Thunderbolts’ four-and-one record thus far undeniably proves—but the difference this time around is I’ve managed that winning record without flogging and torturing myself, like I’ve always done in the past.
Even after that one loss a few weeks ago, I bounced back fairly quickly and didn’t take things out on myself or anyone else, including Iris. Am I determined never to lose again this season? Hell yes. But the point is I didn’t lose my fucking mind, as usual, and make myself and everyone else around me miserable in the wake of that loss. I simply put the bad week and my contributing mistakes behind me and looked ahead, productively, to our next game, like all the sport psychologists who’ve ever tried to crack my stubborn walnut have always harped on me to do.
“It’s perfect weather for a picnic,” Iris murmurs as we get situated on our thick blanket.
When Maverick struggles to unwrap his sandwich, Iris deftly handles the task for him, at which point Maverick takes it back and attacks his lunch with gusto.
“I love it!” Maverick blurts after his first bite, prompting both Iris and me to chuckle and exchange a look of shared adoration for the kid. I’ve always been more than a little bit jealous that Vanessa’s husband, Jay, gets to spend so much quality time with my son. And now, here I am, experiencing fatherhood the way I’ve always imagined and envied. Actually, sitting here now, I’d bet my entire bank account my life with Maverick and Iris is better than anything Jay’s ever experienced in his entire damned life.
Not that I’m keeping score.
Except that I am.
Maverick takes another huge bite. “What is dis?”
“Turkey pesto,” Iris supplies. “Isn’t it fun eating something yummy after you’ve worked up an appetite?” The three of us just finished a long trail ride on a fifty-acre horse property in Malibu—a beach-adjacent oasis that’s only five miles from our house. As in Orchard Blossom, Iris led the way like the pro she is, this time on a mare named Trixie, while I rode behind on a gentle gelding named Cheerio, with Maverick nestled safely between my thighs.
When the winding trail reached the beach, Iris galloped on Trixie for a bit, while Maverick and I stayed behind and cheered her on. Given how much Iris has been cheering me on this season, it felt good to be able to return the favor, especially in front of Maverick. I want my son growing up admiring his future stepmom’s superpowers every bit as much as he admires mine. My smart momma taught me that.
“What’s ‘apple tight’?” Maverick asks, tilting his little head and cinching his eyebrows.
As Iris and I laugh together, she murmurs to me, “Another one for your momma’s journal.” To Maverick, she says, “I said ‘appetite,’ buddy. If you’ve got an ‘app-e-tite’, it means you’re hungry.”
“Oh, I’ve got lots and lots of apple tights!” Maverick bellows proudly. To emphasize his point, he fist-pumps the air with his sandwich in hand, prompting its turkey-pesto insides to flop unceremoniously onto the plaid blanket below.
“Uh oh,” Maverick says, looking forlorn. “My samich got messed up.”
“It’s okay,” Iris coos gently. “I’ll fix it for you, buddy. No worries.”
God, I love this woman. She’s Superwoman, as far as I’m concerned. And I know Maverick feels the same way.
Reflexively, I touch the outer pocket on my backpack to make sure the ring box is still there, and when it is, I breathe a sigh of relief. In light of what Nicola told me six weeks ago, I settled for proposing to Iris today, the day before her actual birthday. But contrary to what Nicola told me, I’m going to give Iris both her birthday present and the ring today.
I would have preferred to give Iris her birthday gift tomorrow night, frankly, at her birthday dinner. But what I wound up getting as her gift isn’t something that can be wrapped up, tied in a bow, and handed over in a restaurant. Not to mention, I’d much rather get to see Iris’s reaction to my over-the-top gift in private.
I touch Iris’s leg next to me on the picnic blanket. “You liked riding Trixie today?”