Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“Ma tata.” I hear a small voice in the background, and then I hear her speaking French.
“Oui, ma chérie,” she says, and the way her French comes out and the tone, I stop breathing.
“Vivienne breaks this,” the little voice says again, and I look down, ignoring everything at the moment. I ignore the elevator getting there and closing without me.
“Give me a minute, and I’ll fix it for you,” she says softly, and then I hear her kiss her. “Go get ready for the movie.” She then comes back to me. “Sorry, I’m in the middle of girls’ day.”
“Where are you?” The question comes out right away.
“I’m at Matthew’s house,” she tells me, and I hear her moving. “They left to take Mini Cooper to the rink, so I’m staying with my favorite girls while the smelly boy went to hockey,” she says.
“What time are you coming back?” I ask her, knowing it’s none of my business. “I mean, the fish was asking about you this morning.” Her laughter rips through her.
“Tell Elsa I’ll be back Sunday afternoon.” She chuckles.
“Want to come over for lunch or dinner?” I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, wanting to kick myself for sounding so needy, or maybe it’s just me. “If anything, just to make sure the fish is okay.”
“What am I going to do with you, Markos?” she says softly, and I want to tell her nothing. Just be here with me.
“I can think of a few things,” I say.
“I can think of a few things also,” she says and then whispers, “and all of them end with us naked.”
“Funny you say that because that is what I was going to say,” I tell her, opening my door now. “Message me when you get back to town, and I’ll come and get you.”
“D’accord,” she says again in her French. “I’ll see you then, and we can maybe discuss New Orleans.”
“Have a great night,” I tell her and hang up. Setting my phone on the counter, I walk outside, something I do all the time. It doesn’t matter what the weather is outside. I always come out if just for a minute. I spent the night going over the things I want to do with her in New Orleans.
I walk into the rink the next day wearing almost the same thing I wore yesterday—shorts and a sweater with the team logo on it and my baseball hat backward. Carrying a shake in my hand, I bump into Matthew while I walk to the changing room.
“You’re here early,” I tell him. “I mean, earlier than usual.”
“I got kicked out of my bed,” he says, rubbing his face, and I look at him. “Vivienne is over visiting, and she spent the whole night on the couch with the girls and then decided it was a good idea to let them watch Toy Story.” I laugh. “Of terror. I got kicked in the balls twice.”
“Ouch,” I say, shaking my head and trying not to laugh.
“Then this morning, she comes upstairs all refreshed and speaking in French,” he says, and I’m jealous suddenly. “But what can I do? I love her.” I don’t say anything. “You doing okay? How are the backups?”
“Good,” I say to him. “I think one is going to work out, but I don’t want to say anything yet.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right,” he says. “I’m going to enjoy sitting in the box with you and watching you freak out because you don’t have a say in how the game is played.”
I shake my head. “I think I’ll be okay.”
“You say that. I still remember my first game as GM, and we were losing, and I swear I wanted to run downstairs and suit up.” I laugh. “Anyway, I have a meeting to get to.” I nod at him as he walks away. Going into the room, I listen to everyone talk about what they did last night. I’ve never participated, and I’m not going to start now. The day is almost the same as yesterday except when I get home, I have boxes waiting for me. All with merchandise I need to sign for the upcoming season.
I get out of bed on Sunday morning earlier than expected, and I wonder if I’m going to see Vivienne. She hasn’t called or texted since our last conversation, and I have to wonder if she will even show up. Maybe her plans have changed. When I start my espresso, my phone rings, and I press the button. “Hello,” I mumble.
“Hey, were you sleeping?” she whispers.
“No,” I tell her. “I just got up.” As soon as I say the words, I hear a soft knock on the door almost like an echo. I walk to the door and open it, and there she is, standing as if she just walked off the runway.