Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 69452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
“Um,” I said. “You’re missing a tooth.”
He chuckled. “Hockey players tend to have those go missing. I’ll have a new one put in soon.”
I shook my head. “It’s normal to be missing teeth?”
“In hockey, yes,” he confirmed, still holding on lightly to my waist. “What’s your plan for when I let you go?”
“Hope I don’t fall,” I admitted.
He let me go, and I would never admit it, but I hated every second of him doing it.
Geez, was the man gorgeous.
As in, drop dead, I could see this man causing thousands of women to drop at his feet if he only asked, gorgeous.
I luckily stayed on my feet and offered him a huge smile. “Thanks for the lift.”
He winked. “Anytime, darlin’.”
He said it in such a charming, Oklahoma accent, that it made my heart squeeze.
“Later, gator.”
Gisela caught my hand and tugged me gently, but firmly away.
“After a while, crocodile!” he called out.
I looked at him over my shoulder and promptly tripped.
Luckily, my best friend was made of stouter stuff.
“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” she gasped.
“What?” I asked.
“Do you have any idea who that was?” she breathed, looking over her shoulder with me.
I waved, then we disappeared down a hall and into a arena with a wood roller rink floor in it.
There were also some very intimidating, mean-looking women dressed in mini-skirts, crop tops, and skates.
They looked like they ate people like me for dinner.
“Are you sure about this?” I muttered.
She ignored me and said, “That was Jeremiah Jones Dixon.”
I blinked at her. “Should I know who that is?”
She shook her head at me. “Only the most eligible bachelor in the lower 48. A millionaire. Oh, and the hottest hockey player in the world.”
Well, there was one thing I could agree with.
The hottest hockey player in the world definitely fit him.
“All right, ladies,” a woman wearing a pink mini-skirt, black crop top, carrying around a bat, called out. “Are y’all ready?”
I was suddenly not ready for a single thing.
“Um, sure,” I whispered.
My best friend squeezed my hand. “It’ll be okay.”
“I sure the fuck hope so,” I said. “Because if I’m not able to work the candy counter tomorrow, my father is going to kill me.”
“I’ll make sure that you arrive in one piece,” she promised.
For some reason, I didn’t quite believe her.
And I was right not to.
By the end of the night, I had two skinned up knees, four skate wheel marks on my left thigh, a black and blue elbow, and a promise that Gisela would never take me there again.
Chapter
Two
I don’t care if my message ends up a screenshot. I said what I said.
—Jeremiah’s secret thoughts
JEREMIAH
I touched a hand to my chest as I watched the two women skate away.
Well, I watched as one was practically dragged and held up, and the other skated away.
It was apparent that one had no issues being on skates, and the other probably needed to double check to make sure she had current insurance.
“Why are you touching your chest like that?” Emrys, left defenseman, asked.
I didn’t know.
I hadn’t been aware that I was doing it.
I pulled my hand away and forced my breathing to come back under control.
“Down, boy.”
I looked at my best friend, Bryson, and narrowed my eyes. “What?”
“You look like you might start drooling any second,” Bryson teased.
I might.
I fucking might.
“She’s everything,” I found myself saying.
“And he’s sunk.” Bryson chuckled. “Let’s go get changed.”
“What are they doing in that area of the rink again?” I asked.
“I think roller derby,” another one of our teammates, Jefferson, said.
“What?” I asked. “Since when do they do roller derby?”
“Since the owner’s daughter, Calliope, started getting really into it and asked her dad if they could take over one of the practice areas since they’re not all in use at night,” Bryson explained.
I whipped my head toward him. “Why do you know that?”
Bryson shrugged, but avoided my eyes, which let me know that he had a reason for knowing that and wasn’t going to share it with me.
Truthfully, I knew what he wasn’t sharing.
He had a thing for Calliope, and he didn’t want to drag me into their mess.
I was thankful, because the last thing that I needed was another scandal.
After not one, not two, but four women came out and claimed that I’d gotten them pregnant—all allegations absolutely, positively false, seeing as I hadn’t had sex with anyone, let alone gotten them pregnant—the team wasn’t real hip on yet another scandal.
In all honesty, neither was I.
Last year, I’d gotten a brand new, three hundred-and-fifty-million-dollar contract with the Thundercats. Then, a week after that, I’d won the lottery—two hundred and fifty million. A week after that, my grandfather had died, leaving me another four hundred million.
And just like that, I’d become a billionaire in the span of a month.
Cue all of the sick fucks that saw dollar signs.