Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Before I take my clothes off, because having a serious talk while naked is not an option, I move over to Jett, who is just starting to pull his t-shirt over his head.
I give him a light punch on his arm to get his attention, and he turns to face me with a smile. “What’s up?” he asks.
“Mollie’s off-limits to you,” I say.
His eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, but a smirk immediately transforms his face. “Oh, yeah. Says who?”
“Me,” I growl and step in toward him, lowering my voice. “Off. Limits.”
Expecting a bit of a fight from him, because, after all… Mollie is all kinds of gorgeous and amazing. I don’t expect him to just give up.
Instead, he tips his head back and laughs, giving me a condescending pat on my shoulder. “Yeah, I kind of already knew that.”
I blink in surprise. “You did?”
“Yeah, dude,” he chuckles. “At dinner, all she did was talk about you. How great you were… She went on and on. I sort of got the clue then.”
“But… we’re just friends,” I mutter, wondering why Mollie would do that during her date. At that point, we were just friends.
“Are you?” he replies slyly.
“Are we what?”
“Just friends?”
Images of just how much we’ve moved past friendship flood my mind. We spent most of the weekend in bed, raging hot and carnal through my memories.
“Don’t answer that question.” Jett snickers. “I can see the answer written all over your face.”
It embarrasses me how transparent I’m being because I’ve never been befuddled by a woman before. Before I can come up with something semi-coherent that might restore my cool factor, Jim slaps my shoulder from behind, apparently eavesdropping.
“So, you and Mollie are an item now?” he asks.
“Um…” I manage to mumble.
“That’s awesome, man,” Bain says, joining the group conversation I had no intention of having with these boneheads. “She’s a great girl.”
“Thanks,” I say. I move back to my cubby, wanting to disengage from this discourse.
“So… Kane Bellan is now a kept man.” Jett eggs me on, his voice dropping low and sexy. “I bet the two of you—”
“Don’t even go there, dude,” I warn, but it’s done with a slight smile. They want to give me shit, and there’s nothing wrong with a little ribbing. But I’m sure as hell not going to share the details of what changed our relationship.
That’s for Mollie and me alone.
“Let’s go,” Bishop Scott bellows from the front of the locker room. “You ladies have better things to do than gossip. Get dressed, then get on the ice.”
His comments weren’t necessarily directed to my second linemates and me since everyone has been chattering away as we suit up, but it snaps me into focus.
While not all conversation stops, it dulls, and we move quickly to put our gear on. I put Mollie out of my mind, for the moment, anyway. I’m eager to get my blades back on the ice to start working toward that championship Coach and Dominik have demanded we bring home again.
CHAPTER 10
Mollie
The smell of spices permeates the air. Samson lays in the middle of the kitchen floor, nose raised to sniff.
My phone is tucked between my ear and my shoulder while I measure out just a teaspoon of cumin.
“Are you sure only a teaspoon?” I ask my mom.
She’s been on the phone with me for fifteen minutes, patiently walking me through her spicy chicken recipe she created years ago, which has become my favorite meal she makes when I visit.
But tonight, I wanted to make something homemade for Kane for dinner, and I didn’t know what to do. When I think of home and comfort, I think of my mom’s spicy chicken, so I knew that’s what I wanted to make.
“Trust me,” my mom replies with a laugh. “There are enough other spices in the dish. You only need a teaspoon of cumin.”
“Got it.” I tip the measuring spoon over the bowl of cut-up chicken breasts, officially making it the seventh spice I’ve added.
“And that’s it,” she says. “Just stir it up well, then let it sit for about thirty minutes before sautéing it. And don’t use oil. Use butter. Trust me on that.”
“Always,” I murmur, pushing the bowl away from the edge of the counter—Samson is looking at it a little too intently—and transfer the phone to my hand. “So, what’s going on with you and Dad?”
“Oh, the same old, same old,” she replies. “He’s buried in his work now that classes have started up again, and I’m puttering away in my studio. We’re thinking about taking a weekend drive up the coast, though.”
“Well,” I hedge, leaning my hip against the counter. “I was thinking of coming to visit this weekend.”
“That would be fantastic,” my mother exclaims. “Your father will be thrilled, too. How long will you be staying?”
“Just the weekend,” I say. “Then, I think I’m going to come back to Phoenix and hang with Kane for a while.”