Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 90257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
“So…did you learn anything interesting?” The question is out of my mouth before I can shove it back inside where it belongs.
A slow smile curves his lips. It’s so predatory in nature that my pulse trips.
Instead of responding, he tosses that loaded question right back at me. “Have you?”
My teeth scrape across my lower lip. “It’s definitely given me some ideas.”
“Well, we can agree on that.”
My insides contract at the idea of him trying out different scenes from the book with another girl. As soon as that thought pops into my brain, I shove it away. A heavy silence blankets us as he rises to his feet and prowls closer.
Nerves shoot to the surface of my skin, and I blurt, “Don’t you have practice this morning?”
His expression falters and his eyes lose some of their intensity as he slides the phone from his pocket and glances at the screen. His brows knit together. “Yeah. In thirty minutes.”
Thick tension ratchets up between us until it feels combustible. It’s as if we’re teetering on the precipice of something explosive.
When his gaze resettles on mine, the moment fades.
For all I know, it was never there to begin with.
“I should probably get moving,” he mutters.
As he swings toward the bedroom door, I can’t resist asking, “Do you want to borrow the book so you can read the rest?”
It’s a joke, of course.
There’s no way Ryder would actually read a romance novel.
He tosses a glance over his shoulder. “Nah, I’ll buy the e-book and finish it.”
Not expecting that response, my jaw crashes open.
“Oh, and make sure you cross drinking at a college party off your list. You were definitely lit up last night.”
A strangled sound escapes from me as I echo the word. “List?”
He yanks open the bedroom door and grinds to a halt before swinging toward me and pointing to the nightstand. Humor sparks to life in his eyes as a smile simmers around the edges of his lips. “Yeah, you showed it to me. Don’t you remember?”
Oh, the humiliation.
It’s official. I’m never drinking again.
“Can you just…” My voice trails off as I clench my hands. My fingers curl around the paperback. With a painful gulp, I force myself to continue. “Forget about that?”
The same heat filling his eyes earlier ignites in them again. But there’s something else there too.
Something darker.
“Nope.”
That one word sucks all the oxygen from my lungs, making it impossible to breathe.
With that, he saunters out of the room.
It’s only when he disappears from sight and I hear the faint click of the door in a distant part of the apartment that my knees weaken, and I nearly collapse on the floor.
CHAPTER 12
RYDER
I sweep my stick across the ice as Garret Akeman races toward me with the puck. We’re scrimmaging, and even though he’s playing defense for the other team, he’s rushing for the net. Skating backward, I lower my center of gravity and watch his hips to see which direction he’ll move.
It’s just like Shakira said—the hips don’t lie.
The game of hockey has always come naturally. It’s not something I had to overthink. I instinctively knew what would happen. I was able to anticipate how a player was going to move. The play would unfold in my head seconds before it did on the ice. Kind of like a sixth sense.
That’s no longer the case.
My ability to read the situation has been disabled.
Unlike football or baseball, hockey is fast paced. It’s constant action. You get a second or two to make a decision and commit. As soon as doubt creeps in at the edges, it’s like a snowball rolling downhill, picking up momentum. A heartbeat or two can feel like a lifetime that’s over within the blink of an eye. There are no second chances, and then you live with the consequences of your decision.
I’ve never understood just how paralyzing that knowledge can be.
Until now.
Even during practice, I’m a mess of nerves.
My gaze lifts to Garret’s face.
Goddamn motherfucker.
In that moment of distraction, he pivots. Even though I take off after him, I’m a beat too late and he manages to fly past me. As a last resort, I extend my stick and attempt to catch him, but he manages to pull out of reach.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
He drives toward the net and fires off a shot. Wolf slides to the left before falling to his knees. Just when I think he’s caught it in his glove, the puck whizzes past and hits the net.
“Better luck next time, Westerville,” Garret laughs, circling around the back of the net before skating toward me.
A smirk twists his lips.
God, but he’s loving this.
Loving my fall from grace.
My fingers clench in my gloves with the temptation to punch him in the face as he continues to glide closer like a lazy shark. Already, I know he’s going to make a smartass comment. He’s been full of them lately.