Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
But before I go, Ryker reaches for my hand, only he doesn’t shake it again. He surprises the hell out of me when he drops a whiskery kiss to the top of my knuckles.
“Oh,” I say as he lingers just a little bit, and I’m tingling all over again. What the hell is going on with me?
Then he lets go and holds my gaze once more with those midnight blue eyes that look even darker than they did a few minutes ago.
I do my best to not dwell on that whole interaction that ran the gamut from grumpy to cocky to bossy to flirty.
Time to focus on my mission for the night.
Photos.
I have so many more photos to take. Because revenge is the best way to get over an ex.
Even though I have to sit through a hockey game to get there.
There’s stuff happening on the ice. Like big men in bulky uniforms jumping over the boards and flying really fast on blades that look like knives.
I peer at the game from the VIP suite high above the action, where Aubrey and I are enjoying sparkling wine and stuffed mushrooms. We already devoured cauliflower tacos and mini beef wellington bites. The food is ridiculously good, but I’m still in awe of the way they wear those skates. “How do they move on those things, Aub? That is going to be at the top of my list to ask the guys tonight.”
It’s a bummer Aubrey won’t be with me for the VIP hang, but she has an “emergency blowout” tomorrow morning at the unholy hour of seven. She’s a hair stylist and one of her clients has a Saturday morning TV appearance.
My bestie lifts her wine, her brown eyes twinkling with doubt. “That’s on the top of your list?”
“Yes,” I say. “I tried figure skating once and my ankles punished me the next day by screaming in pain. I believe it was a warning that exercise is dangerous, and I do best with light strolls and long savasanas.”
“Girl, I think the top of your list of questions for tonight will be…which one of them is going to fight off the other for a piece of you?” She sets down her wine to waggle her phone at me.
“What are you talking about?”
She stabs a polished pink fingernail, decorated with silver bling hearts, on the screen. “Look at the pics we posted.”
I scoot closer and peer again at a shot of the guys and me, and hmm. She has a point. There’s a little smolder there, but still. “I bet that’s just a look they teach athletes in smile-for-the-camera school. Look hot and hot for the fans I believe is the lesson.”
“Sure, the muscles and the million-dollar contracts bump up the hotness factor. But look again.”
Fine, Chase does seem to be stealing a glance at me out of the corner of his eye. And Ryker’s hand is curled tightly around my shoulder. Possessively. “Cameras are funny,” I say, a little surprised at what it’s revealing.
“Yeah, they’re funny how they capture the animals in their native habitat, Trina. They’re both staring at you like lions.”
“So they want to devour me as prey?”
“Um, yeah,” she says.
“And rip me to shreds?” I ask, egging her on.
“To pieces of sex meat,” she says salaciously, then burps, which cracks her up to no end. She slaps her phone-covered hand to her mouth. “Oh my god. I’ve had too much sparkling wine.”
I pour her a glass of water from the table next to us and hand her the cup. “No more fancy suite wine for you. No more talk of sex meat. Water, good; sex meat, bad.”
“And hockey? Mildly okay?” she asks after she takes a sip.
Right. There’s a game going on. I should watch it. But I’ve already learned hockey is super fun in a private suite when they give you buffets of fancy food and fabulous wine.
On the ice, someone with a number fourteen Sea Dogs jersey—ooh, that’s Chase Panty-Melting-Smile Weston—races across the blue line. But when he passes the little black disc to another Sea Dog, out of nowhere, Hot Bearded Avenger flies in front of him. Whoa. He whips that puck the other way, sending it screaming down the rink.
I hoot, thrusting an arm in the air, but I don’t know who’s the good guy and who’s the bad guy. Ryker? Chase? “Go…um? Who are we rooting for, Aub?”
“The snack men,” she declares, with a salacious lick of her lips. “And also…you. A badass babe who will not be fucked with by losers like dickless Jasper.”
I sling an arm around her. “You’re the true badass babe. Thanks again for letting me stay with you. I’m going to find a place really soon.”
She waves a dismissive hand. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need,” she says, but there are real nerves in her voice. She lives in a tiny apartment in a building that isn’t entirely dog-friendly.