Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“It would mean that you wanted me. Wanted me and no one else. And that you would want the world to know it.”
She gasps a little, panic flaring in her eyes. “Are you saying you want to take this to McClaren? To Coach Hardin?”
“What if I am?” My heart pounds against my chest. This is the closest we've ever danced toward public exclusivity.
“What about you being married to the NHL?”
“I'm not proposing to you, damsel,” I tease.
“You know what I mean,” she says, leaning back in her chair a little bit. Putting that distance between us that speaks volumes about how uncomfortable she is with this conversation.
“I know what I said when we first met.” I shrug. “I didn’t plan on meeting you. I didn’t plan on this happening. And I know why you're not ready, but when you are, I’ll be here. I just want you to know that I didn't want my position in this to be an uncertainty in your mind.”
“Wow,” she says, looking utterly mystified. It’s cute as hell. “I was not expecting that.”
“Trust me, I wasn't either,” I say honestly. I hold up my mug, offering it to her. “Cheers to unexpected surprises.”
“That seems like a scary thing to toast to,” she says, but she clinks her mug against mine and we both take a drink.
I grin at her as a comfortable silence falls over our table and we finish our coffees.
Then she looks at me questioningly. “What are you smiling at?”
“I'm just imagining what you're going to look like with the number thirty-four on your back,” I say.
Her grin deepens and she shrugs. “Well, if I ever was going to wear the number thirty-four to a game, I’d have to wear a bunch of other numbers first. That way it doesn’t draw suspicion. Regardless of where we are right now, neither one of us wants to bring anymore drama to our careers, right?”
“We are kind of on a high note right now,” I say. “I wouldn't want to create any rumblings among the team, not when we just found a rhythm.”
“Right,” she says. “So, hypothetically, I'd have to wear somebody else's number first.” She narrows her gaze at me. “If I do, are you going to attack the person?”
“I deserve that,” I say. “But no, damsel. I've learned my lesson. I'll only play hero if you actually need my help. Which nine times out of ten, you don't.”
She smiles, leaning over the table, looking like she’s ready to kiss me before she sinks back into her seat, her eyes catching on something behind me, and her smile turning into a frown in a second flat.
I turn around, following her line of sight and my smile melts away too, replaced by a glare. Her douchebag ex just walked into the coffee shop, either knowing she was here or by a very unhappy accident. Either way, it understandably kills the building momentum between us.
I shift in my seat, pulling out my wallet and leaving more than enough cash on the table before I reach for Blakely’s hand, gently tugging on her so we can get the fuck out of there. I don’t want to give that asshole a chance to look at her, let alone talk to her.
She’s tense as she walks behind me, and I swear I can feel the anxiety rolling off of her and into my body as we clear the doors without him stopping us.
“Speaking of when I need you to be my hero,” she says after we've made it a few blocks back to my car and are safely inside.
I chuckle, then hold her hand as I navigate down the roads. “Always,” I say. “Now, more importantly, your place or mine?”
She squeezes my hand, tilting her head back against the seat like the exhaustion of just seeing him took everything out of her. “I don't care,” she says. “As long as I'm with you.”
It's hard to breathe around how big my heart grows at those words, and I feel so damn lucky to be the person she wants to be with even when she's wrung out.
I make the turn that will take us to my place.
“I have a bigger bathtub,” I explain. “I'll run you one, and then we'll watch a show in bed.”
“Where did you come from?” she asks, almost so quietly I don't know if she meant to say it out loud.
“I told you,” I say, nothing but pure arrogance in my voice. “Greek god descendant here.”
She laughs, shaking her head.
“But more realistically?” I ask. “I was raised by a single mother, and I have a sister who is only seventeen months younger than me. You know me, I may be cocky, but I know how damn lucky I am to have been raised by a strong independent woman who ensured I knew how to treat the opposite sex. And my baby sister only reinforced those rules. I'm sorry it's not the norm for you, but hey, it's been four months since you've met me. You’ve got to be getting a little used to it by now, right?”