Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Her childhood had been chaotic. Traveling with her dad across the country for away games, living in Florida for two years when he’d coached the Aces to a championship victory, five years in Texas, three in Oregon. It was tough, but their close relationship had made the constant upheaval bearable. Her father had always shown an interest in her life. He’d listened while she babbled about her favorite artists. Taken her to countless museums over the years.
Now that she was an adult and he was busy with the team, he no longer seemed to care about making time to connect with her outside of the hockey arena. She knew other team owners didn’t get as involved as her father did, but his background as a coach seemed to influence his new position; he had his hand in every aspect of the Warriors, from drafting players to marketing, and he thrived on it, no matter how time-consuming the work was.
That was why three years ago she decided to accept the full-time position Berkeley offered her, even though it meant relocating to the west coast. She’d hoped the old absence-makes-the-heart-grow-fonder cliché might kick in and make her father realize there was more to life than hockey. It hadn’t.
But maybe this time would be different. Maybe now that his personal life was falling apart, her father would want to lean on her. She was home not only to see him through his divorce, but also in the hopes that they could finally reconnect.
“I had an amazing time last night,” she told Brody. She gave him a sheepish look. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”
His lips quirked.
“But I wasn’t looking for anything beyond one night,” she finished awkwardly. “I have too much going on these next couple of months.”
Brody continued to watch her, his expression unreadable.
She shifted in discomfort. “What?”
“I just can’t believe you’re going to deprive us of…that.”
He pointed in the direction of the hallway, where last night’s stupidly dirty encounter began.
Hayden fought a smile. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone else who will screw you on the hallway floor and give you carpet burn on your butt.”
His eyes went molten. “I don’t want someone else. I want you.”
She wasn’t allowed to look into those eyes anymore. They were liable to shatter her resolve.
“I’m sorry,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “I had a great time, but this isn’t happening again. I hope you understand.”
“You’re really not going to give me your number?” A trace of astonishment rang in his voice, and Hayden got a feeling he wasn’t used to rejection.
“Sorry.” She shrugged again.
After a beat, Brody started to laugh. “Shit. Don’t I feel humbled.”
Still chuckling, he wandered toward the credenza against the far wall in the living room. Hayden watched warily as he picked up a pen and started scribbling something on the small notepad next to it.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving you my number.” He glanced over his shoulder. “In case you change your mind.”
He strolled back to her, running a hand through his hair and drawing her attention to his flexing biceps. God. Why was he so attractive?
“Thanks for a great night,” he said, his voice a bit gruff. Then he leaned in and pressed a light kiss to her cheek, surrounding her with his spicy, addictive scent.
Hayden forced herself not to inhale until he’d stepped back. “I’ll walk you out.”
Six
“How many?” Darcy demanded, her curious voice coming out of the rental car’s speakers.
Hayden maneuvered the rental through late-afternoon traffic. Chicago’s downtown core was surprisingly busy; tonight’s Warriors game had probably compelled more than a few people to leave work early. Hayden, on the other hand, didn’t have a choice in the matter. Whether she wanted to or not, she was about to spend the evening sitting next to her dad in the owner’s box, watching a sport she not only found dismally boring, but also one she’d resented for years.
God, she couldn’t even count how many games she’d been dragged to over the years. Hundreds? Thousands? Regardless of the final tally, she was no closer to liking hockey now, at twenty-six, than she had been at age six, when her father took her to her first game. To her, hockey meant constant uprooting. Traveling, moving, sitting behind the bench with a coloring book because her dad hadn’t felt right hiring a nanny.
A shrink would probably tell her that she was projecting, taking out her frustration with her father on an innocent little sport, but she couldn’t help it. No matter how hard she’d tried over the years, she couldn’t bring herself to appreciate or enjoy the damn game.
“I don’t kiss and tell,” she said, stopping at a red light. An El train whizzed overhead, momentarily making her deaf to anything but the thundering of the train as it tore down the tracks.