Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance)(42)

"She walks right up to me, starts feeling me up, and offers to blow me. Like right there in the locker room."

"Shut. Up," Aheahe says.

"I'm in total shock," Akele says with utter, serene calm. "Seriously."

"So did she, like, hint at this?" Aheahe says. "I just want to be clear. Did she wander in there sucking on a corn dog and sticking a popsicle down her bra, or did she just, like, say it?"

"She said it. She threw herself at me. It was pathetic."

"Did she say anything about anal?"

I give him a look.

"I hate you," he says. "In a brotherly way."

"You wouldn't be laughing if it happened to you."

"Yes I would," Aheahe says. "Wait, no, I wouldn't be laughing. I'd be—"

"Okay, enough," Akele says. "Can't you see this is serious? Our captain has given his heart to another. He has eyes only for her."

"Well, I mean if they're not officially dating and Grandolf just wants, like, a one-time thing, that technically—"

"Bro," Akele says.

"Okay, okay, fine."

"I need another shower," I mumble. "I feel dirty."

"It only shows me the depth of your conviction that you resisted this siren," Akele says with a slow, sage nod. "You hold the Princess Anastasia in such high esteem in your heart that her temptress ways were not enough to sway you from your course. Be proud."

He claps me on the shoulder.

"So what's the deal with the princess?" Aheahe asks.

"I talked to her. The ball is in her court. If she comes to the game on Saturday, I have a chance."

"So we're not doing the thing?"

"No, we're not doing the thing."

"I wanted to do the thing."

"Bro," Akele says.

"Tomorrow, Friday, Saturday. The game start at three in the afternoon. That's the moment of truth."

"It's going to be a hard-fought contest," Akele says. "We will need all our skill and spirit."

"If she's not there, I don't think I care anymore," I say softly.

"You saw the two paths," Akele says.

"What?" Aheahe says.

"Be quiet," Akele tells him, gently. "Jason, you have received a vision."

"Uh, yeah, I guess."

"Your true self has spoken to you. You can't deny the truth of your soul."

"The truth of my soul isn't going to pay my bills. I need my scholarship, my career, my…."

The words die in my throat.

I know what I need.

"We have undertaken a holy quest," Aheahe says gravely.

"Right, there you go," Akele agrees. "Nothing to do now but wait."

"The wait is the hardest part."

They both nod.

"This is truth,” they both say.



I have most of that day off. I know better than to text Anastasia again. I let her be. It's her choice, and I have to prepare myself. I've been studying her history and family, learning about her island. It took me some work, but I tracked down a few dusty books about the place in the library.

It's there I go, hoping maybe she'll seek me out early. I take the study nook we shared with a stack of books about Jyvaslka. Weird name for a country. It's about five hundred miles off the coast of Scandinavia, a volcanic rock about the size and roughly the shape of South Jersey. The now-dormant volcano provides geothermal power to the main and only town, Vrieshal, named for the castle that dominates it, perched on the slopes of the volcano.

Anastasia is the heir to the throne. Her mother became queen at the age of twenty-seven, when Ana's grandparents were lost at sea. Ana's great-grandpa fought in World War II.

The island was poor until the sixties, when oil was found in its territorial waters. The family's main source of income was oil until very recently. Under her mother the island has become a technology haven and the town is turning into a city.

The only problem is getting there. It's rocky on three sides, with a narrow strip of stony, cold beach to the west. The ocean currents are difficult, and Ana's ancestors were basically Vikings who got stuck there when they couldn't get back to the mainland by longship and had to scratch out a living on fish and sea mammals.

They're a tough people. The Germans bombed them in World War II and threatened to invade during the Great War.

By evening I'm lying on the couch in the study nook, falling asleep reading about a country I'll probably never see. I've worked my way backward to the Jyvaslkaic Saga, a translated poem of ponderous intensity. It's all dead kings and their exploits.

Fish stories, I guess you could say.

The last book is mostly pictures. It's more like a tour guide than anything.

Ana's mom was hot when she was younger, though Ana is prettier by far. The castle looks interesting, and the interior of the island looks pastoral. Lots of greenery. Also sheep.

I'm obsessing. I'll never set foot on this place.

What do you think they're going to do, Jason? Make you their king?

No, not king. I'd be prince consort. Anastasia would be queen regnant, and her kid, male or female, would come after her.