Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 95559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
“Okay, I don’t know what’s going on with you, and so I’m going to put this down to tiredness or whatever, but Adam, we don’t do this. We don’t tell each other who we can and can’t have as friends.”
“We can when we don’t see each other every day. I have no idea what goes on when I’m not here.”
And now I’m pissed. “So, what, you don’t trust me?”
Adam throws down his spoon, leans back in his chair and crosses his arms and I can see we’re not going to agree on this subject.
“No. I’m saying, I don’t trust him!”
“No, Adam,” I reply. “You’re saying you don’t trust me, because regardless of what Kyler says or does—or anyone else for that matter—you think I don’t have the intelligence to look after myself and deal with the situation.”
I take a deep breath and count to five before continuing. “Look, I don’t want to argue with you. Who knows when we’ll see each other again? Can we just let this go?”
Adam sighs and looks out toward the beach, seemingly thinking it over, before answering.
“Sure. Whatever.”
We finish eating our meal in relative silence, making polite and awkward conversation here and there before paying the bill. Adam drops me back at the house, collects his things, and starts the drive home. He leaves me with a quick peck on the cheek and a, “See ya soon,” and I watch him go with a sinking feeling of regret at how things were left between us.
An hour later, the door bursts open and Jude walks in followed by some of the others on the hockey team and Millie walking in behind them. I raise my eyebrow because apparently, her and hockey don’t mix; yet here she is, hanging out with half the team.
“What?” she says with a shrug. “I was on my way to see you, and your brother saw me and gave me a ride. Saved me walking the rest of the way.”
“Sure, Mills,” I reply. “You keep telling yourself that.” Maybe her and hockey do mix more than she cares to admit.
“Hey!” Jude shouts while standing in the hallway. “Dev, Nole, Ky! Street hockey in ten!”
I wasn’t aware anyone else was at home, so am surprised to hear heavy footsteps running down the stairs. Devon and Nolan appear, both dressed in shorts and red T-shirts.
“Yessssss!” Nolan says enthusiastically. “I need something to get me out of this post-party funk. Oh, hey Millie, Thea. You up for being cheerleaders today?”
“Chanting and doing flips, no,” Millie tells him. “But I can be persuaded to sit on the front lawn and offer my support, right Thea?”
“Sure,” I say. “Sounds good. I may even make some lemonade if I feel you’ve played well enough to earn it.”
“Thea’s homemade lemonade? Definitely an incentive to win,” Devon adds.
I hear another set of footsteps walk down the stairs and am shocked to see Kyler appear at the doorway. It’s a rarity to catch sight of him in daylight, let alone actually deciding to be social and join in with the fun. Still, I guess these are his teammates and he’s comfortable hanging out with them. He’s dressed differently than Devon and Nolan and is wearing gray sweatpants and a dark blue T-shirt. Obviously, he’s decided he’s playing for the opposing team today. He doesn’t acknowledge anyone, instead going to the hallway closet where they keep all their hockey gear, and grabs four hockey sticks, one for each of them. No one acknowledges him as he skulks passed with his head down and out the front door.
“Oooh-kay then, I guess it’s been decided. Game’s about to start.” Nolan laughs as he follows Ky and the others outside. Millie and I grab some blankets after quickly making up a couple of pitchers of lemonade, lay them on the lawn and sit down while the others decide on teams.
Unlike ice hockey, street hockey is played without any protective equipment, and teams are decided by shirts and skins. Nolan and Devon team up with Brad March and Mike Dowling; and Jude and Ky are on a team with Saul Frisch and Mikko Fox. With Brad, Mike, Saul, and Mikko living so close, street hockey is a regular occurrence between the two households. Nolan and his team leave their shirts on, while Jude and the others take theirs off.
Even though I attempt to take no notice of Kyler removing his shirt, my eyes don’t get the message and immediately lock onto him. His right hand reaches back to grip the material between his shoulders and in one fluid motion he pulls his tee over his head and drops it to the floor. He has a swimmer’s body—nicely defined and not stacked with muscles. There’s a tattoo on his shoulder, an intricate design of vines which intertwines with the tattoo of the lion on his bicep. My breath stutters as my eyes continue their perusal down to his forearms—a weak point of mine, because armporn is a real thing. The only other indication of hair on his torso is the dark brown line leading into his Adonis belt. I clamp my jaw shut and try to keep my expression as neutral as possible. The air around me has suddenly become unbearably hot, and with a surreptitious wave of my hand to fan my face, I force myself to look at what’s going on around me.