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)
You know, collegy things.
Fun things.
It’s not like I couldn’t have been going out on dates and getting to know more people, but I focused on my classes in an effort to make sure I could get into my choice of med schools. I’m graduating with a near perfect GPA. Honors up the ass. Every Greek organization that looked good on a resume—other than the social ones—I joined and presided over.
There’s something to be said about setting yourself up for future success, isn’t there?
But still…it’s hard to believe that absolutely nothing has been ticked off this list.
Other than studying, what else did I do with my time?
I’ve been to a handful of parties but never drank more than a cup of beer. And even that was a struggle. I mean, it’s not like it tastes very good.
My gaze gets snagged by number six, and I huff out a breath.
I’ve attempted to cross that one off my list several times.
With a couple different guys.
Most of whom didn’t seem too concerned if I got off or not. In fact, one actually tried to tell me when I mentioned my lack of…release, that girls don’t come as often as guys and that’s just the way it was.
Yeah, right. Keep telling yourself that, buddy.
Especially when I have no problem achieving the big O on my own.
Self-absorbed jerk.
I almost hate to think about it, but Carina and I have lived together for three years, and I’ve heard her get it on with guys on more than one occasion. The walls in the apartments we’ve shared have been, unfortunately, paper thin. If the moaning that kept me up a few times could be believed, she was able to get off with no problem.
Or she’s one hell of an actress.
Trust me, the last thing I’m trying to do is eavesdrop on a private moment, but that girl can be loud as fuck. I had a difficult time looking either of them in the eye the next morning without feeling like my cheeks had been set on fire.
Can you say awkward?
Exactly.
My brows draw together as I refocus my attention on the list. It seems kind of pathetic that I’ve been at college, living on my own, for the past three years and have barely experienced anything life has to offer.
But there’s no way I’m going to do these things now.
I’m mean, come on.
Skinny dip?
Karaoke?
Sex in a public place?
No way.
I’ve got more important things to focus on—like my future.
It’s carefully that I fold up the worn piece of paper and set it on my nightstand before delving back into my studies.
CHAPTER 4
RYDER
“What the hell are you doing, McAdams? Learn to play defense or get the hell off my ice!”
I lock my jaw and clench my teeth until it feels like my molars are being ground to dust.
His ice?
Not a fucking chance. This has always been my ice.
This guy is the interloper.
Not me.
I’m the one who belongs here.
It’s so damn tempting to fire back, but I keep my trap firmly shut.
Are you kidding me?
Of course I do. I’d actually like to get some play time during our next game. With the way things are looking, that might not happen.
Can you even fucking imagine it?
Me riding the pine while everyone else is on the ice?
Even the thought is enough to twist my gut into a series of painful little knots, which only sets my nerves further on edge and makes me question every damn move I make. It’s a vicious cycle that’s never ending.
If I’d known Coach K would leave us high and dry, I would have skipped this bullshit and gone straight to play for Chicago, since they picked me up during the draft after my sophomore season. No contracts were signed, so I was still eligible to play the next two years for Western. At the end of my junior season, I had a convo with Brody McKinnon and my parents. We discussed the pros and cons of making a move to the next level. In the end, we all agreed that one more year dominating in college would do me good. It would allow me time to sharpen my skills and build more muscle, so I’d be a force to be reckoned with in the pros.
Every time you level up—be it from house to travel, travel to college or juniors, college to the NHL—it’s a transition and there’s a learning curve. You have to work harder because the competition is that much better.
The game moves at a faster pace.
Some guys thrive on the challenge, while others get chewed up and spit out, never to be heard from again. They end up coaching a high school team in bumfuck nowhere. I don’t plan on being dropkicked into the latter category. I’ve been working toward the NHL my entire life.
So, to have this prick come along in the final hours and fuck with my mojo as well as my dreams?