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)
Goddamn it. I knew he was interested in her. I should have set him straight at the party, but I kept my trap shut because…
Well, what was I going to say?
That we’re together?
An item?
A legit couple?
We aren’t.
I have no idea what the hell we are…if anything.
After we slept together, I decided it would be best to take a giant step back from the situation. It had been the best damn sex of my life, and everything had started to feel a little too intense.
It’s more than I’m used to.
And that had scared the shit out of me.
Ford knocks into me with his shoulder, drawing my attention back to the present and the game.
“You good, man?” His brows pinch as he searches my eyes.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
And if I’m not, then I need to get good real quick. I can’t afford any distractions. Not when any fuck-ups on the ice will make my situation even more precarious than it already is. At this particular moment, Juliette shouldn’t be a thought in my head. The girl shouldn’t even be on my radar.
That, unfortunately, is not the case.
“Let’s shut these motherfuckers down once and for all.” He pats my shoulder with a gloved hand before skating to the red line.
He’s right. That’s exactly what we need to do. We need to shut them down and make them our bitch. They’re in our house. In front of our fans. This has gone on long enough.
When Hayes glances at me from his faceoff position, I jerk my head into a nod. For just a fraction of a second, I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and refocus my attention on the moment playing out in the arena.
Nothing else matters.
My eyes fly open in time to see the puck get dropped and Hayes swipe it away before passing it off to Ford, who digs his blades into the ice as he takes off toward our opponent’s net. Defensemen swarm from both sides. He passes it back to Hayes and then Colby as they battle their way to the goal. There’s a lot of back and forth until one of them takes a shot. The goalie blocks it, and the other team’s defenseman picks it up before passing it to their right wing who races down the ice. I keep my gaze pinned to the guy rushing toward me. We’ve squared off plenty of times before. I’ve also watched enough game film to anticipate the moves he’ll make. I sweep my stick in front of me as I continue to skate backward.
From the corner of my eye, I see the asshole talking with Juliette and for some reason, I turn my head to get a better look.
That’s my first mistake.
When the right wing fakes to the left, I fall for it.
Hook, line, and sinker.
That’s my second mistake.
If I were solely focused on him the way I should have been, that never would have happened. I would have realized his intentions a couple seconds before he made the move. I would have read it on his face or intuition would have kicked in. I’ve always been able to trust my instincts.
As soon as he whizzes past, I know I won’t be able to catch him. He’s too fast and has too much momentum. But that doesn’t stop me from giving chase. My blades dig into the ice as I attempt to close the distance between us.
I can already hear Coach’s irate voice filling my head. It’s just another thing I’ll get my ass chewed out for in the locker room after the game. I can feel the disappointment of his stare boring into my back as I attempt to rectify my mistake.
It only messes with my mojo.
Although, this time it doesn’t have anything to do with me second guessing myself and everything to do with not being focused on the game.
Just as Bridger races across the ice to catch him, the guy rips off a shot. Wolf slides before dropping to his knees, attempting to block it. The puck hits the tip of his glove and ends up going in.
Fuck.
As the guy circles the ice, a smile pasted across his sweat-soaked face, I lower my shoulder and knock him into the boards. There’s a grunt as he slams against the Plexiglass. My shoulder crashes into it and for just a second, I meet Juliette’s wide gaze. Her mouth tumbles open in shock. The guy I hit whips around and plows his hands into my chest.
“You want to fucking go?” he roars. “Then let’s do it, McAdams!”
It’s so damn tempting to throw my gloves to the ice and beat the piss out of him. I’m being a dick and we both know it.
He outplayed me.
Outmaneuvered me.
It doesn’t happen often, and I fucking hate that it did now.
The sharp blast of a whistle rents the frigid air of the arena.