Page 9 of The Goalie
“It looks bigger than the Titanic,” Norah says. She suddenly turns to Austin. “Oh! We’re going to have to do the King of the World thing, you know that, right?”
Austin is grinning. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Norah hooks her arm around his and kisses him on the cheek. I’d hate them if they weren’t so damn cute together.
We walk up the steps onto the yacht as more than a dozen staff members greet us with big smiles. One takes my empty champagne glass and offers me a fresh one.
“Holy cannoli,” Norah says as we walk onto the main deck.
This is… I don’t even have words for this.
There’s a massive pool lit up in turquoise, three bars, a dance floor, and everything looks so damn luxurious, I can’t even.
A band is playing on the stage and I do a double-take when I recognize the singer.
“That’s Rotting Porch!” I say, staring at them in shock. They were huge in the ‘90s.
“Oh, yeah,” Norah says, whipping out her phone to take a picture.
People start filling up the space and more players from the team gather around with their girls. We claim the bar in the back as our own. The view of the city lights in the distance is just spectacular.
I truly feel like the king of the world now. I’ve come so far from the little town in Minnesota I grew up in. If the boys from home could see me now they wouldn’t believe their eyes.
Harris Sutton arrives with his new wife, Fiona, and then Sebastian Kemp shows up with Alina. I start to feel a bit more comfortable surrounded by my people.
“Has anyone seen Gemini-X?” Svensson immediately asks when he arrives. He keeps looking around for the pop singer.
“Do you know her?” Alina asks.
“He thinks he has a shot with her,” Harris says with a laugh.
“I do have a shot with her,” Svensson says, puffing his chest out. “You’ll see.”
He fixes his hair and then leaves to search the yacht for his dream girl who will most likely immediately reject him.
“Is that Tucker McKinstry?” Sebastian asks with a laugh as Tucker walks over with his girl, Jane. He looks so uncomfortable in his suit. He keeps pulling on the collar. “I didn’t know they made suits that big.”
Everyone laughs, including Tucker as they come over and say hi.
It’s a festive atmosphere and everyone seems to be having a good time even though we were all grumbling about it yesterday. The women look unbelievable and the spectacular setting can’t be beat.
I spot the host of the party, Brantley VanMorgan, walking out of the yacht’s cockpit and my pulse starts racing. I want to thank him for the party and properly introduce myself before everyone else gets to him and I’ll no longer have the chance.
I come from a modest, blue-collar background and it doesn’t feel right to me that I haven’t thanked the man paying me eight million dollars a year yet.
With one last sip of champagne, I put my glass on the bar, fix my tie, and head over.
He’s speaking with the Captain on the upper deck as I make my way up the stairs.
This man looks rich. If you put him in a crowd of a thousand people, anyone would be able to pick him out as the only billionaire, even if they were all dressed the same. Maybe it’s the wavy salt and pepper hair, the easy smile, the mischievous sparkle in his blue eyes, or the big-money energy, but it’s clear that he is mega-loaded.
He shakes hands with the Captain and heads for the stairs.
“Mr. Barlowe,” he says with a jovial smile when he sees me walking up. “I was hoping to see you tonight.”
“Really?”
“The man who saved six shots in ten seconds yesterday?” he says with a grin. “Of course! I’m just upset I was in Paris and couldn’t see it in person.”