17
Pregame Conference
Bacon.
The world’s best alarm clock.
If the whole pig were on this boat with us, his life would be forfeit under the tines of my fork.
“Morning, Hollie Porter,” Ryan says, his shadow blocking out the brilliant sunlight streaming in through the cabin’s many windows, a steaming coffee cup in his hand. “Hungry?”
I can’t even think of a snappy comeback. Too early. But he offers coffee. I mumble unintelligibly and throw my face into the creamy, sugary cup. The tiredness is still heavy in my bones.
“What time is it?”
“Nine thirty. Figured we’d have some food and then head back.”
“Do we have to?”
“Have to what?”
“Head back.”
“Uh, that’s the reason I’m out here, yes? To save your scrawny ass from being kibble for predatory mammals?”
“It’s just that … when I talke
