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)
“I can move back in with my parents or…my sister,” I say, nearly choking on that last thought since my sister, Cassie, recently went into full pregnant-zilla mode, planning her upcoming baby shower and maternity leave, while my high school sweetheart parents have suggested each day since I left Jasper that they help me find a great new guy I can settle down with and make babies too. Like, tomorrow.
No thanks. I just want to make rent. But I don’t want to inconvenience Aubrey and her anti-canine landlord. “I’m sure Cassie would let me stay in her guest room,” I offer with a wince, since of course my uber successful interior designer sister has both a fully decorated nursery in gender-neutral pale yellow colors, as well as an extra bedroom, neatly appointed with a flower bedspread and hand towels. She also has a long list of ideas for my life, since I clearly need her help to get my career going and reach my full potential as working at a bookstore can’t possibly be my endgame.
Aubrey cringes. “Wash your mouth out with soap. You will do no such thing, Trina Beaumont.”
Thank god she said that. “I don’t deserve you.”
“No one does, but I still love you. And that means…can I be the first to hold up the sign?”
Yes! The signs. “Do it.”
She reaches for the cardboard signs we made last night and hands one to me. She holds up hers, so everyone can see. I do the same.
It takes a while, but after a few minutes, fans in the stands crane their necks, point, laugh, and snap pics.
Soon enough, the jumbotron operator must notice because our signs are flashing across the big screen in the arena during a time-out.
Aubrey’s says: Hey, cheating ex.
Mine reads: How do you like your hockey tickets now?
Down by the players’ benches, Number Fourteen tugs up his helmet and stares up at our suite, then laughs deeply. Captain Bossy.
The possessive bearded guy on the other team cracks a small smile. I bet that’s rare for Mister Grumpy.
I grin, feeling a little victorious in my sweet revenge.
I’m not saying it takes the sting and the heartache away. I still feel stupid. I still have zero interest in ever getting involved with a guy ever again, pretty much for time immemorial.
But tonight? I feel good, and that has to count for something in the healing process.
When Aubrey leaves at the end of the game with the Sea Dogs winning, she gives me a big hug and whispers, “Have so much fun tonight with those hotties. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Like, what? Burp wine? Oh, wait—you did that.”
“Don’t do that. But do make them fight for you. Rawr.” She makes claws with her hands. Or tries to at least.
I’m so glad she’s taking a Lyft home. Glad, too, I only had one glass tonight.
She’s off and I’m heading to meet Gianna, who escorts me to just outside the locker room where the two hockey studs wait for me.
When I reach them, she says a quick hello and goodbye, and I just stare stupidly. They’re no longer in their uniforms. They’re both wearing tailored, trim suits that hug strong butts and snuggle firm arms.
And…whoa. Those thighs.
Chase’s are so obviously toned and muscular in those charcoal pants. And Ryker’s are bigger and thicker in his midnight blue slacks that match his eyes.
Did I just discover I’m a thighs woman? I didn’t know that about myself till just now. But hello, strong legs. I like you. Both pairs of legs.
But more importantly, why did no one tell me hockey players wear suits after games?
That is information I would have liked to know before now. Suits are kind of my thing. Well, I’ve read a lot of billionaire romances.
“Nice suits,” I say, recovering from my too-long gawk at last as I stand in the long, chilly hallway at the Sea Dogs arena.
“Are we going to your corner office in a skyscraper overlooking the city?”
Chase smirks. “We can go wherever you want.”
Is it hot in here all of a sudden or what?
4
TOTAL BALLER MOVE
Ryker
I hate this shit. More than I hate when someone writes could of instead of could have.
But there are worse things than a sloppy they’re or their.
Like, say, PR events. Followed by press interviews after games I’ve lost. And topped by fan meet-and-greets that are actually more like probation for being bad.
Don’t get me wrong—I love fans. But I detest public appearances.
I blame my ex Selena, who soured me for the press for all time. Which means I don’t like the media or anything related to it. Like…tonight.
Trouble is, my agent said I need to be nicer.
Outside the locker room before a game last month, Josh’s exact words were, “Lately, you’ve been coming across like a world-class asshole in the press. Maybe use your words once in a while rather than acting like a caveman. It helps the team. It helps the public image. It helps, gasp, you. And your family.”