Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
I don’t make it but five rows into the plane before I see an empty seat next to Camden. He and Hendrix are the two I’ve hung out with the most. That started as three single guys around the same age and years of play in the league who liked to go out and have fun. Hendrix has Stevie now, so I’m not sure how much he’ll be coming out with us, but really… Stevie owns a bar. We’ll probably all just hang out there.
Slumping down into the seat with my backpack on my lap, I unzip a side pocket and pull out my earbuds. I give Camden a quick glance. “You were on fire tonight, dude.”
He lifts his chin. “Thanks. Now I just got to keep it up to that level.”
You’d think this might be an awkward conversation because Camden and I play the same position. The only thing separating us is that we play on different lines. I’m on the first, he’s on the second. When Nolan Carrier was traded for me, I went right onto the first line as my stats were better than Camden’s. It’s never something he begrudged me, though, and that’s because he’s a great guy. He is, however, making it known via his spectacular game play that he’ll never stop gunning for my spot.
And good for him. That’s what makes our team better. Because I know he’s coming for me, I’ll bust my ass to stay ahead of him.
“Everything else good?” I ask, placing my backpack on the floor and pushing it under the seat before me. All the seats are wide with plenty of legroom to accommodate hockey players. I’m the tallest on the team and my knees don’t even come close to bumping the seat in front of me.
“It’s all copacetic,” Camden says, and that’s all I think needs to be said. He missed practice last week, freaking everyone out. Coach went to his house, probably expecting the worst that he’d somehow died, but Coach was relieved—and pissed—that Camden had merely overslept.
Camden filled me in on the aftermath, which included Coach West insisting he go to a meeting of the support group that formed after the crash. I can only assume something is going on with Camden and he’s still suffering the trauma from being a survivor—guilt and all—but we didn’t specifically discuss that.
A flight attendant brings Camden a drink and he lowers his tray. She passes the glass across me and I smell bourbon. I should order a drink, but I’m not feeling it tonight. Instead, I ask her for a mint tea.
“Lame ass,” Camden teases before taking a sip from the highball glass.
“Fuck off.” I put my earbuds in so I can’t hear any reply but I do see the smirk on his face. Flipping through my music library, I choose the White Album, set it to shuffle and bop along to “Blackbird.” I lower my tray and move over to my text messages.
Glancing around, I see Camden’s engrossed in his own phone but other players are brushing by me, so I’m careful when I pull up the string I have going with Kiera. Within the various messages we’ve sent each other since I left on this extended road trip yesterday are a few sexy pictures. She’s fucking brilliant at sexting and never sends me anything outwardly obscene, plus she never shows her face. It might be just her breasts, plumped up in a sexy bra. She sent me one last night of her lying back on her bed, feet on the floor. She had on a tank top and I could just see the swell of her breasts and the skin of her lower belly, but that wasn’t the focus of the picture. Kiera had propped her phone against something on her bedside table so most of the view was of her hand down the front of her panties. Her legs were slightly spread and I couldn’t see anything explicit, but it was the message that came with it.
Thinking of you while I do this.
You can be damn sure I jerked off in the shower this morning to the image saved in my head.
What has me going to the text thread is not to look at her pictures but to reread the messages. Short little conversations, out-of-the-blue funny statements and memes. The last one came in as I was getting ready for the game tonight. It was short and sweet and dirty.
Good luck. Help my brother get a shutout and I’ll give you a blow job that will have your eyes crossing.
I grin as I reread that, especially since Drake got the shutout. Of course, the woman already has my eyes crossing every time she touches me, so it’s not like she’s promising something new. It’s more of a good reminder to both of us that while we’ve leaned into the friendship a bit, it’s still all about the benefits with us.