Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 104498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
“And spoil the surprise? Hell no. I just wanted to give you this.” He leans in to kiss me, but I pull back.
“I’m all sweaty.”
“What do you say every time I leave the stage and warn you about my perspiration?”
“That I don’t care.”
“Exactly. Now kiss me, then go kick some ass. I’ll be waiting for you after the game.”
“What … I mean what are you even doing here? How are you here? Not that I’m complaining, but—”
“Soren,” Coach Wexler says. “Stop socializing and get your ass in the locker room.”
“After the game.” Jet kisses me quickly. “We’ll talk.”
I hurry into the locker room where I’m welcomed with a round of ribbing and a stern warning from the coaches.
For the rest of the game, all I’m focused on is getting shit done so I can be with Jet, even if it’s only for a few hours. We have to hold on to everything we can get.
I get one more goal in the second but come up short of a hat trick in the third.
Still, three points and taking home a win for the team is still a good night.
I’m down the chute and in the shower before any of my other teammates, and I curse not being able to get dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and leave when I’m done.
Instead, I stand at my cubby, tackling my tie and trying to look presentable.
“Soren, they want you for the press conference.”
My face falls, and I turn to my coach. “Why? I mean … why? Pratt scored more points than me.” I want to get to Jet.
Coach’s face breaks into a grin. “I’m messing with you. Go, get out of here.”
A relieved whoosh leaves my lungs, and I’m out of the locker room before most of my teammates are out of the showers.
I push my way through the reporters waiting outside the locker room to get their post-game interviews before the press conference. They throw questions at me about my boyfriend’s performance and I answer something about it being a great surprise. If I give them a soundbite, they should leave me alone.
I move like lightning down the hall, but I don’t know where Jet will be. As I pull out my phone to text him, three figures step into the corridor, and we almost collide as we cross paths.
My gear bag drops to the ground, and a smile spreads across Jet’s face.
He goes to say something, but I cut him off by pulling him to me, our bodies slamming against each other, and then I ravish his mouth before he gets the chance to even get a word out.
His tongue keeps up with my demanding one, and if I wasn’t positive we were being filmed or watched by the reporters down at the other end of the hall, I’d push Jet against the nearest surface and just keep doing this.
When Ollie and Lennon clear their throats and one of them, not sure which one and don’t really care, singsongs, “Awkward,” I finally pull away.
“Hi,” I say.
Jet lets out a little laugh. “Hey.”
“You’re here. Like, here, here.”
“Great power of observation you got there.”
“Thanks. Hockey players are known for their smarts.”
Jet’s hand runs down my cheek.
“How long are you here for?” I ask.
The grin that takes over his face is blinding. “Until the album and or your season’s done.”
My heart skips a beat, but I tell myself not to get my hopes up. “What? How?”
“Harley blackballed the band from all the recording studios in L.A.”
“He what? I’ll kill him. Those ten ways are about to come in handy.”
Jet’s still grinning.
“Wait … we’re happy about this?”
“He did it for us.”
“I’m confused.”
“He gave me the opportunity to come to New York to record the album. I’m staying.”
Jet’s staying.
“Staying. In New York.”
Jet’s staying in New York.
“Please tell me you’re not fucking with me?”
Jet shakes his head. “Not fucking with you. The band is here until we record the album and release our next single. And then we’ll talk touring, but then during the off-season you can be with us on the road, and next year we can try to record in New York again, or—”
“Next year won’t matter.”
“Why not? You’ve been killing it. They’ll offer you an extension for sure.”
“I already decided I’m not taking it even if they do.”
“Whoa, you’re retiring?” Ollie butts in.
I turn to him and Lennon. “Can you guys give us a minute?”
They take their exit but glance back at us with matching concerned expressions.
“You’re quitting hockey?” Jet’s voice is small but so full of hope.
“No, I’m retiring. Not quitting. There’s a difference. Not only that, I’ll be retiring on a high. If things keep going the way they’re going, I could have the highest-scoring season of my entire career.”
“Exactly. Which means you should keep doing it. You can’t retire for me. What if it’s too soon? You’ll hate me in the end.”