Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“You’re amazing,” I murmur as I stroke the back of her head.
“That’s the post blow job orgasmic bliss speaking,” she chuckles.
“Maybe,” I admit, turning my head to press my lips to her temple. “But it doesn’t make it any less truthful.”
Stevie snuggles into me, her body language pleased by my compliment. “I’m sleepy. Let’s go to bed.”
I might be replete from what just happened, but I am by no means sleepy. “Yeah… that’s not going to work for me.”
She lifts her head, a flicker of worry on her face, as if I’m about to kick her out. I give her an admonishing look before tapping her on the nose. “There’s no way we’re sleeping until I have my way with you.”
“Oh,” she says, and I take the fortuitous opening of her mouth as an invitation to kiss her.
I slide my tongue right in and resume the make-out session that started this all.
CHAPTER 13
Stevie
I push up off the couch and move closer to the TV, my hands balled into fists of stress as the game winds down into its final seconds.
“Get out of the way,” my dad grumbles, and I move sideways so as not to block his view. He’s sitting on the edge of the couch, leaning so far forward, I’m afraid he’ll fall off.
“… and the Eagles goalie, Lindgren, covers the puck with ten seconds to go,” Denise Milano says. She’s the only female sportscaster in the league, and she knows her shit. I learned that from Hendrix one night while he was filling me in on some behind-the-scenes stuff.
“The Titans are probably going to get one more play here,” Denise’s partner, Larry Sprung, adds. They make a great team, playing off each other, but I never noticed that stuff until Hendrix started teaching me more about the sport.
I start to take a step closer to the TV, but my dad growls and I hold my place. We’re down 4–3 with only eleven seconds left.
“Coach West is calling a time-out. The Titans need one to tie it up and push the game into overtime,” Sprung says.
“Looks like McGinn is staying on the bench, and I can only imagine what’s going through his head. Despite the Titans being down 4 to 3, he played one hell of a game,” Milano reports. “Larry, it looks like Coach West is going with Hendrix Bateman as the lone defenseman for these last few do-or-die seconds.”
I hear the agreement in Larry’s voice. “It makes sense. The Titans could really use the point, and a tie would do that and give them the chance for a second point in overtime.”
Nibbling on my nail, I resist the urge to pace as they line up for the offensive zone face-off and await the puck drop. My neck aches from the tension.
Milano’s voice is brisk, following the action. “Macinnis wins the face-off, chipping the puck to Bateman on the blue line. Bateman moves the puck to Cermak, who hits Nicholson on the weak side. Nicholson shoots”—she exclaims and then her voice exhales her tension—“saved by Lindgren, off his pads.” Her energy follows that on the ice. “The puck is loose in front. Cermak and Nicholson are pushing and shoving, Lindgren can’t seem to locate the puck.”
“Come on!” I yell at the TV as the players mash up in front of the goal.
“The Titans are running out of time… There’s the buzzer, and that’s the game, ladies and gentlemen. The Titans fall short to the Eagles, 4–3.”
“Fuck,” I yell in anger, then immediately am suffused with worry about how Hendrix will handle this. Losses are hard enough as it is, and he takes them no easier than any other player, but he was on the ice making that last-ditch effort to score. He’s so big on responsibility and doing his part, I know he’ll pick apart his performance and blame himself in some way.
“Well,” my dad drawls as he stands, grabbing his two empty beer bottles from the table, “that was a hard-fought game.”
“Yeah, but the Eagles are at the bottom of our conference.” My voice is sullen, and my dad’s eyes twinkle at how invested I am in the team now that I’m dating Hendrix. “We should’ve easily beaten them.”
“Easy words for a fan sitting in the comfort of her own home,” he chides, moving into the kitchen.
I follow him, nabbing my own two empties. My dad and I usually watch football together every Sunday, but I love that we’ve now added hockey into the mix. I made tacos tonight, bought Mexican beer, and we cheered hard for the Titans.
My dad rinses his bottles and then mine. I place all four in the recycle bin and then walk him to the door. He loops an arm around my neck and pulls me into his chest for a one-armed hug. His lips press down on my head, and his long beard tickles my cheek.