Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
His eyes sparkled behind the shield of his helmet, and he skated over so fluidly to where I sat, it was like he’d been born on those blades. I took my phone out and focused the video camera on him, and a little smirk climbed on his lips.
“Sick celly, Pigeon,” a player yelled from the bench beside me, and Vince lifted his head in a little nod of acknowledgement before hopping over the boards.
But he didn’t sit on the bench.
Instead, he sat right there on the ledge, right in front of me, all padded up and sweaty and hot as hell as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. I had the camera trained on him, but he wasn’t looking at the lens.
He was looking directly at me.
Vince didn’t say a word, just sat there, smirking, his eyes zeroed in on mine with some sort of challenge lying behind them. Slowly, I dropped the camera, meeting his gaze with my own instead of watching him through the screen.
His smile climbed higher.
“Alright, Tanev,” Coach McCabe said from where he stood against the glass. “There’s still a game going on. Ass on the bench.”
Vince kept his eyes on me as he stood, and then he winked, wetting his lips a little as he strode to the end of the bench to take a seat.
My heart was hammering in my chest when the puck was dropped, and my phone buzzed so hard in my hand I jumped. When I checked the text, it was from Livia.
Livia: Ohhhh, girl. You are in trouble.
Me: What? What happened?
Livia: They just showed that whole exchange between you and Vince on TV, that’s what happened.
I swallowed.
Me: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Livia: Sure. Let’s go with that.
Livia: But be honest… you need to change your underwear, don’t you?
Me: You’re disgusting.
Livia: And YOU are lying to yourself.
Me: This is an assignment, Liv. Nothing more.
Livia: Uh-huh. Looks to me like you might have an extra credit opportunity. ;)
Me: Goodbye.
I couldn’t help the little laugh that left me when I saw the string of emojis my best friend responded with, but I exited the conversation and pulled up my video camera just in time to catch the last ten seconds of play. Our team celebrated on the ice while the home team skated off silently, and only a handful of fans cheered in the crowd while the rest were hanging their heads on the exit.
After a quick celebratory skate around the rink where all the guys hammed it up, I followed them back to the locker room — the very, very smelly locker room — halfway listening to their celebrations while I posted Vince’s goal and the final score.
Just because I was curious, I refreshed the app after thirty seconds.
And the post already had more than ten-thousand likes and hundreds of comments.
I shook my head. It was just… ludicrous, the amount of people who were invested in him, in his life, in his body. I absentmindedly wondered what kind of pressure that would put on a person as I tucked my phone into my purse.
Once it was put away, I kneaded my temples with my fingers. So much screen time was giving me a headache, along with the insanity of the past week and wearing a helmet not made for me. And we still had to pack and fly home.
I understood the appeal of flying after the game, of being able to go to sleep in your own bed back in your own city, especially since we had a home game in a couple days. But I hoped it wouldn’t be too loud on the flight. All I wanted was to catch some Zs.
“Aw, come on, it can’t be that bad.”
I opened my eyes to find Vince standing over me. His hair was soaking wet, sticking to his forehead and neck just like his t-shirt was sticking to his chest. I assumed he wore that under his pads, because it was completely drenched. He also wore a pair of equally wet shorts and still had his shin pads on.
“Oh, are you talking to me again?”
“For now.”
I smiled, my skin still buzzing from our earlier exchange. But that menacing gaze of his was gone, and he was the Vince Tanev I knew again. Playful. Charming. Annoyingly so.
“Congratulations on the win,” I offered.
“Thank you. Still think my pre-game rituals are stupid?”
“I never said they were stupid,” I defended. “But… does this mean we have to fight before every game now? Because we did, and you won, so…”
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw with a devilish grin.
“Sounds like fun to me,” he said, his eyes following the line of my necklace where it dipped under my blouse. “But only if we get to kiss and make up afterward.”
He waggled his brows as I flattened my lips.