Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95393 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95393 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
“We should also,” Brittany says.
“I’m headed out also. I got her.” He looks at me and pushes back from the table, grabbing his jacket while I grab mine. As we walk to his car, we say goodbye to Brittany and Cole, along with most of the team.
He takes his keys out of his pocket, and the lights on the car blink as it unlocks. He looks around for a couple of seconds before reaching out, and instead of opening the car door for me, he pushes me against it, taking me by surprise. “I’ve waited all fucking night to do this.” His voice comes out thick as his hand flies to my face, and I have no time to prepare for his mouth hitting mine. His tongue slides into my mouth, and the kiss is hot and wet. My hands go to his chest, the kiss making the top of my head tingle to the top of my toes. It’s over faster than I want it to be. “You should get in the car.”
“I would, but you are pressing me against it.” I lean forward and kiss his neck. The action shocks me just as much as him.
“I like your lips on me,” he shares softly, “like you are claiming pieces of me.” He pushes back a bit, leaving me room to step away from the door so he can open it.
I get into the car and watch him walk around to his side of it. He starts the car and puts on his seat belt before making his way to my house. Neither of us really says anything, and when we pull up to the house, I’m nervous yet excited. He gets out of the car and walks me to the door. I have my hand on the door when I turn to him. “You going to stay?”
I can see his eyes change. “Dakota,” he says my name, and it’s almost as if he’s in pain, “I can’t touch you in his house.”
It’s as if he poured ice-cold water on me. Everything I was feeling earlier is gone, and in its place is anger. “Excuse me?” I say, giving him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe I didn’t hear it right.
“I want to, God, you know I want to, but I just can’t touch you in his house.”
I swallow down the lump that is now crawling toward my throat. “Fuck you, Christopher,” I snap, shocking him, “this isn’t his house. It’s my house.” I point at myself. “He lost this house the minute he started using drugs instead of coming home to this house.”
I quickly turn and walk into the house, closing the door behind me. The lone tear rolls down my cheek as I walk into the house toward the family room and find Morgan watching a movie, waiting for me. I wipe the tear and put a smile on my face. “Hey,” I say, “was everything okay?”
“Yeah, they went to bed before the second period.” She gets up, and I walk her to the door, holding my breath when she opens it and steps outside. I wait for her to get in her car before I close the door and walk over to the step. I sit down on the step and stupidly wait for him to come back, but after fifteen minutes, I give up. Taking off my shoes and walking upstairs, I go through the motions and try not to think about my heart that hasn’t even healed yet but is broken once again.
CHAPTER TWENTY
christopher
I skate into the neutral zone next to Cole, who passes me the puck, but I miss it, and the defenseman steals it from me. I’m so frustrated I slash his stick with mine, and I see the referee's hand go up in the air. “Motherfucker,” I mumble while I lift his stick and touch the puck with mine, stopping the play.
“Number eight Pittsburgh, minor penalty, slashing,” he says, chopping his right arm.
“Fucking bullshit call, Pete,” I bark when I skate by him.
“Dude, are you okay?” Cole asks when he skates over to me, pushing me to the box and making sure I don’t go after the referee.
“I’m fine,” I huff, going into the box and slamming the door. I remove my helmet and gloves, grabbing the green Gatorade bottle and squeezing it, squirting water into my mouth.
I watch the Jumbotron while they replay the slashing play, and all I can do is shake my head. It’s a horrible, fucking rookie mistake, and I shouldn’t be fucking taking stupid-ass penalties. It takes the team one minute and four seconds to score the goal. I put my helmet back on and my gloves, skating with my head down from the penalty box over to the bench.
“Stone,” my coach says from behind me, “cut that shit out.” He glares at me, and all I can do is nod. I look at the game, trying to hide my disgust that I let my team down. We end up losing five to two, and I barely listen to what the coach says in the locker room. This road trip has been disastrous, to say the very least. Our last game against Nashville was even worse. I got three penalties that game and even dropped the gloves to fight. Now this game, I got two. Anyone who knows me knows that isn’t the way I play. I think I got a total of eight the whole last season. Now I have six in two games. It’s been a long fucking week, to say the least.