Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Let’s not count.
“This isn’t bad,” I say of the wine. I went above my usual price point, splurging on a twenty-dollar bottle. “Let’s drink every drop. Otherwise, I’ve squandered my last twenty bucks.”
Blake cocks his head like a puppy. “Money troubles?”
“Always. I came to Toronto because nursing school cost only thirty-five grand a year instead of fifty. My parents kicked in ten. I took out loans for ten. And the last fifteen are from a scholarship that I have to reapply for every year. If I don’t get at least a C-plus on today’s exam, I probably won’t be eligible next year.” Ugh. The wine sours in my stomach. I shouldn’t be worrying about this until my grades come back, but it’s hard not to. “If I don’t get the scholarship, I won’t be able to continue.”
And then where will I be? I’ll owe back the money I borrowed from the bank. And my parents will be out ten grand for another one of my failures. I’ll be back in Cali living in my old bedroom, in debt and looking for a job.
Shoot me.
Blake puts a hand on my knee. “I’ll bet you aced your test.”
I shake my head. Hard. “I didn’t, though. Whatever my superpower is, pathophysiology isn’t it.”
“You’re still awesome, Jessie. I refuse to believe that you won’t make it in nursing school.”
I give him a tired smile, because I appreciate how loyal that sounds. “Now let’s talk about your thing. What’s the matter, champ?”
He takes a gulp of wine and then pats the place on the couch right next to him. I scoot over, and he wraps an arm around me. And I lay my head on his chest, because it’s irresistible. He smells good too. Like clean flannel and sandalwood.
“I’m just off my game, ’s all,” he rumbles. “My superpowers are a little wobbly right now too.”
“No, really? I’m sorry, sweetie.” I pat his thick wrist with my free hand. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
He’s quiet for so long that I wonder if he even heard me. Then he says, “I just like seeing your pretty face.”
I get an odd lump in my throat hearing it. But it’s nothing that a little more wine won’t wash down.
A few minutes later, our food arrives. We eat sitting in comfortable dining chairs at Blake’s small but sleek table in front of the windows. The lights of Toronto’s waterfront twinkle on one side of the view, while the blackness of Lake Ontario coats the other. I ask Blake about the team’s travel schedule and then listen while he tells me which rinks and cities he enjoys visiting and which ones are less fun.
The mood is a little subdued, but I tell myself it’s just because we both had shitty days.
After we eat, I do our dishes and put away the leftovers in Blake’s immaculate fridge. I pause in front of the freezer and ask which ice cream he wants first. “I don’t know if these really go together,” I admit. “Which one do you want to taste first?”
“You pick.” He stands beside me at the counter.
I choose the mocha and pry the top off. My hands are a little sticky, and I don’t have a spoon. So I use my hip to open Blake’s magical cutlery drawer, and this makes him grin.
When he finally smiles, something relaxes inside me that I didn’t even know I’d been clenching.
I grab a spoon and dip it into the chocolaty surface. To keep his good humor, I fly the spoon toward his mouth until he opens for me.
At the last second, my in-flight spoon banks sharply and flies toward my own mouth instead.
But—learn from me—never try to deke a professional hockey player. His hand moves so fast I don’t see it until it grabs mine. With a playful shriek, I fight back. The spoon is almost mine. In fact, I manage to smear chocolate on my lip before Blake gets control and sweeps the bite of ice cream into his own mouth.
His eyes gleam as he cleans the spoon. “That’s a nice look for you,” he says, lifting his chin to indicate the sticky smear on my lip. His eyes focus and then fill with heat.
Slowly and with great deliberation, I sweep my tongue across the spot. “Did I get it?” I’m teasing him mercilessly right now, but at least he doesn’t look sad.
“No,” he says, his voice pure gravel. “It’s… Allow me.” He takes a step closer. Now he’s looking down at me, his lips mere inches from mine. I quiver with expectation as he lifts a hand to cup my chin. “Jess…” he whispers.
And then Blake swipes his thumb across my lip and takes a step backward, sighing.
A beat goes by while my body says Really? I feel inordinately bereft. I’m used to Blake trying to get into my pants. Now he’s not, and it’s so confusing.