Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“You can have sex with him, and then you can know if it’s something or just an itch you need to scratch.”
I look up. “That is the best thing you’ve said in a while. I should just call him, fuck him, then forget him.” I tap my chin. “I don’t know why I just didn’t do that from the beginning. It’s been two years.”
“Or maybe you haven’t done it because you know you like him,” she says, and I hear the car door slam.
“Karrie, how can one person have the best idea one minute and then fall flat in the next?” I ask her. “Seriously, I’m not a woman who commits. It’s just not me.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” she says, and I’m switched to Bluetooth. “Have you not pursued him because of this thing?”
“There is no thing,” I say, my voice getting loud. “Now I have to let you go so I can call him and go have sex with him.”
“Notice you didn’t say fuck him,” she says, laughing. I hang up on her, but she gets the last laugh when she texts me
Karrie: You hate when I’m right.
I open my contacts and scroll down to M and click his name. My finger lingers on the call button. My heart starts to speed up, and my mouth suddenly goes dry. My leg starts to bounce up and down. I just press his number, and then hold my breath. Not one single breath. One ring, two rings, three rings. I take the phone from my ear and hold it out to make sure that I got the right number. Then I hear his voice.
“You’ve reached Mark, leave a message.” His husky voice makes my nipples peak against the cold silk kimono. I contemplate hanging up, but then he has caller ID, so he’ll know it’s me anyway.
“The one time I call you, and I get your voice mail. Is this a sign that I shouldn’t call you?” I laugh, looking down at the card. “I got your package,” I say. “I mean, not your package package, but the coffee package.” I close my eyes and cringe. “Anyway, this is me calling you. Your move, Private Mark,” I say and hang up.
What the fuck was that? I think to myself. Where was the sassy girl? It’s like I got stage fright. I look down at the phone and expect it to ring, but it doesn’t. It also doesn’t ring after lunch, and when I go to bed that night, it still hasn’t rung. I check my outgoing calls to make sure I actually called, and when I see that I did, I wonder why he hasn’t called me back. Should I call him again, or should I wait? I’ve never had to go through this, and this moment right here reminds me why I don’t do these things. “Just forget him,” I tell myself, turning off the light and falling asleep. Except my dreams don’t forget him. Instead, they torture me.
Chapter Six
Mark
“You need to come out more in the crease,” the goalie coach, Pierre, tells me. “You can block more angles like that.” I nod at him and skate back to the net, pulling my mask back down on my face. My eyes watch the puck the whole time—right, left, right, left, right—and I know he’s going to shoot it. I’m expecting it, but he doesn’t, and just like that, I know he’s going to wind it up and try to slap it in. I move over to the other side where I see the puck aiming for, and I block it with my blocker. The sounds of it bouncing fills the arena.
I’m at practice. Everyone else already left the ice, but I stayed behind with my trainer to go over a couple of things. Getting back on the ice after four months is always a little shaky. I’ve kept up with weights and cardio and have skated for the past two weeks. I pick up my mask and grab the squirt bottle and squirt water into my mouth. “Want to go for a bit more?” Pierre asks. I just nod and put my mask back on, and for the next hour, I block shot after shot. Right, left, and center from behind the net—we practice every single angle.
I skate off the ice and head down to the locker room, seeing it half empty already. Viktor and Evan are sitting there talking. I walk to my corner and put my mask on my shelf above my name. I sit down and start to untie my pads. I hear them talking, but being me, I keep to myself. “I swear you look like you stayed in the sun all summer,” Evan says, and I laugh at him.
“I’m European. We tan easily,” I say, putting my pads to the side of my bench. Because of the size of my equipment, I have my own bench facing the doorway and everyone else. It’s also the closest to the shower.