Page 105 of The Shake Off

On the plus side, none of them had played last season’sThe Show.

While these guys might not have a vested interest in sports, the good thing about sports was their relatability to any situation.

Pressure, for example. Something I knew all about.

“How well did the first book sell?” I asked.

“Best seller.New York Times, Sunday Times. Did very well globally. Translated into forty languages.”

I nodded, like I was seriously considering my answer. “Is the second book out yet?”

“No, next month.”

“So it’s like a sophomore season, following an MVP award. There’s always going to be added pressure to meet the expectations set in the first year. It can go one of two ways – you can crumble, or you can block out the noise and keep doing what you’re doing. It’s a matter of mental strength,” I added, like I’d done exactly that.

I’d crumbled at the first hurdle.

Crumbled until Payton saved me, and I’d long concluded she’d saved me in more ways than one.

“But sometimes,” I continued, “the follow up is better than the debut. Same goes for music. Look at Nirvana, or Oasis, or Blondie. Their sophomore albums were all hailed as better than the first.”

George, a guy wearing a spotty bow-tie, and sporting an impressively long handle-bar moustache that made me want to grow mine back, narrowed his already narrowed eyes, “Interesting, very interesting perspective, Ace.”

“Thank you.”

I took a sip of the soda water I’d been holding. Yep, nailed that one.

Thankfully, we all became distracted by the tray of a passing waiter. One good thing about this party, aside from being able to watch Payton in her natural environment, was the food. It was proper food, like sliders and fried chicken, mac and cheese, and I swiped another burger.

George was still talking, and I bit down while I tried to figure out exactly what he was talking about, but this one had me stumped. I doubted even Lux would know.

“…evolutionary structures of culture and forced scripts woven within the chapters. Fascinating book.”

I stifled a yawn, even though my mouth was full, and resisted telling him the last book I read was Harry Potter.

“Ace,” called a voice from my right, and I turned to see Blake Johnson, Nathalie Cheung’s husband, whom I’d met when we first arrived. The guy must have been forty-five, but he was the most handsome son-of-a-bitch I’d ever seen, and was walking toward our group with his hand on the shoulder of a little dude, who was basically his mini-me.

“Hey, man. Great party.”

“Yeah?” he grinned and squinted in the way that we both knew I’d needed saving. He looked around at the group. “George, you’re not talking about that book again, are you? I read it, by the way, knocked me out like a baby every single night.” Blake snorted loudly with a guffaw which had his head falling back and he slapped a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Come on, guys, you’re in the presence of greatness right here. He’s come straight from The Lions stadium where he fired off fastball after fastball.”

Everyone looked at me again, and I found myself shuffling uncomfortably, especially when they all looked confused.

“Daaaad.”

Blake looked down at the little guy tugging him on the arm, “Sorry, buddy. Ace, meet my son, Chester. He’s your biggest fan.”

I knelt down so I was closer to Chester, and grinned at him. “No way, I’ve always wanted to meet my biggest fan. This is awesome.”

He smiled wide, showing off a big gap where his front two teeth were missing. “Yeah. I’ve seen you in every game this season – and last season. I play in Little League.”

“You do? What position?”

“Pitcher, like you.”

“Great choice, bud.” I held my hand up for a high five, which he slapped hard, and his grin widened.

“Chester had something he wanted to say,” interrupted Blake.

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