Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
I keep watching. Marissa starts crying. Shit-head looks upset. Lyla is still expressionless. This goes on for an hour. Lyla’s expression is the only one that never wavers. Shit-head is the only one who gets a real meal and eats it all. Marissa eats a bagel. Lyla orders the same thing, which surprises me since she only eats the “everything” side of bagels and ignores the bottom portion. I watch her take a bite and set it down. She takes another and sets it down. That’s all she eats.
When they finish, Marissa hugs Lyla and gives her a kiss on the cheek. Whatever she says makes Lyla’s ghost of a smile appear. Marissa hugs Shit-head next and takes off in the opposite direction. Probably to her smoothie or flower business. Lyla and Shit-head start walking. She picks her hair up into a ponytail as he speaks. His eyes drop to her lips a little too often for my liking. He starts moving his hands like he’s trying to convince her of something. Probably not to leave with me. If he is, he’s wasting his breath. There’s no reality in which that happens. She’ll leave willingly or I’ll be forced to take extreme measures, and I’m trying to avoid that. Besides, I’m making her life better. When it’s all said and done, she’ll be a millionaire. Who wouldn’t want that?
We end up on one of the soccer fields behind Tackle. They disappear into the building and walk out with nets and cones that they set up promptly. Once that’s done, Shit-head walks back into the building and brings out a bucket full of soccer balls. He kicks one to Lyla, who stops it from rolling past her. I don’t even think she was looking; her reaction is pure instinct. She immediately starts doing tricks with it. It’s enthralling. I’ve never seen her play. Not in person, anyway. I’ve seen videos of some of her games, but I’ve never seen her do this in person. She’s fully focused on what she’s doing — serious, even though she’s goofing off.
Shit-head joins her on the field and tries to steal the ball. The ease with which they play one-on-one pisses me off. I don’t know shit about soccer, but it seems similar enough to hockey. I’d learn to maneuver the ball if it meant getting to play her one-on-one. She’d kick my ass, but I’d do it anyway. She fakes him out, her body moving one way as she holds the ball with her other foot, kicks it right under his legs, and runs after it. It happens fast; blink and you miss it, but the entire play is a thing of beauty, if you’re paying attention. That smile — my smile — spreads on her face, but her back is facing him so he doesn’t get it.
She’s running fast down the field as he tries to catch up. When he realizes he has no chance to take the ball away from her, he goes for a different tactic and wraps his arms around her to keep her from running. I push off the tree trunk I’m leaning against. I swear this guy has a death wish. Lyla squeals as he lifts her up, and I’m a millisecond from running over there and yanking her out of his grip when he sets her down. The moment her feet touch the ground, she pushes him hard and walks away to pick up the discarded ball. His expression falls. I smile, but now I’m left wondering what she’d do if I picked her up like that right now. Probably find something to stab me with.
People start arriving shortly after — parents with lawn chairs and coolers, and little kids wearing their uniforms to run onto the field. I’m done ordering food to be delivered when I see a group of moms walk up to Shit-head. Two of them start openly flirting with him. Instead of taking a clue and accepting an offer from one of them, he glances over at Lyla. If he was just her friend, I wouldn’t even care (as much), but he’s a friend who wants to fuck her, and that automatically puts him on my shit list. I don’t know how much more of him I can take.
At least, Lyla’s not paying attention. She’s crouched down, tying a little boy’s shoes, and has four more standing behind him, waiting for her to do the same for them. As soon as she finishes knotting the laces, each one of them leaps forward, giving her a tight hug. Her face breaks into a smile as she ruffles their hair. It’s not my smile, but it’s a smile nonetheless and all of hers are incredible, so they eat it up. Seeing the way she interacts with them makes my stomach feel hollow. A vision of her playing with our children crosses my mind. I push it down and bury it.