Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
My eyebrows rose.
She blinked. “I wasn’t going to ask you,” she blurted with a shake of her head, her eyes flying wide. “I swear. I know you’re a big-time star and get paid for people taking pictures of you for weird stuff like this, and I totally don’t want to take advantage of you. I was just kind of hoping that maybe you knew another player who might be willing?”
“To pose for you.” I cleared my throat, picturing what she might need.
“To skate for me, but yes,” she nodded. “And I was hoping you’d loan me your basement. I know you have a rink down there, so the shoots would be private.” She gasped. “I mean, not naked or anything.” That blush worked its way from her neck to her cheeks, turning them candy-apple red. “Shirtless probably, though. I’d have to see the muscles.” She winced. “I mean my camera would need the muscles. Oh my God, I sound like I’m making a porn.”
I laughed.
“It’s not porn!” she cried, slapping her hands over her flaming cheeks. “It’s art! It’s for my Motion and Movement art class!”
“Relax, Evie, I get it.” I smiled. “You want to make a porn in my basement and need me to find a willing participant,” I teased. God, she was pretty with her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright, that bow-shaped mouth opening and closing as she fought for the right thing to say.
“That…is not…”
“I mean, were you thinking about installing a few speakers to really get the mood music going?”
“Maxim!”
“Maybe someone could drop by with a pizza…” I grinned.
“Oh. My. God!” She flung a muffin at me.
I snatched it mid-air with one hand, laughing as she hurled another.
“You are the worst!”
“Don’t worry, Evie, we’ll find someone to skate for you.” I bit into the muffin in my right hand. These things were divine.
“What about McKittrick?” she asked.
The muffin turned to ash in my mouth. McKittrick? That sarcastic asshole in my house, on my ice, taking off his shirt so Evie could…study him? If Evie was going to spend hours—days—in my basement with some shirtless hockey player, it wasn’t going to be him.
Something hot and ugly unfurled in my stomach. Something that burned an awful lot like… No fucking way. It burned like jealousy.
“Mila wasn’t kidding. He’s been super sweet to me, and I bet he might say yes—”
“I’ll do it.” The words flew out of my mouth before I could think them through.
She startled. “You will?”
“Yep.” I nodded and shoved another muffin in my mouth to stop the words from coming out.
“But…” She looked totally, completely befuddled, and damn if those parted lips of hers didn’t look absolutely ripe for kissing.
“But what?” I asked around my mouthful of muffin.
“But…” She blew that curl out of her face again. “But it would take a few days. The project is spaced out over the whole semester so there might be reshoots, and I know how busy you are.”
“Are you trying to gracefully tell me I’m not pretty enough for your project?” I arched a single brow.
“Oh no, you’re way pretty enough,” she assured me. “I mean, check the online polls, but I’m pretty sure you’re always on the top of the hottest Reapers list.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Not that I check that.”
Huh. Apparently Evie had been following more than just the game stats.
“Anyway, how was the game tonight?” She started furiously scooping the rest of the batter into another tray.
The game. The one I’d fucked up so miserably that I owed myself way more than a hundred shots. I’d missed at least twelve. “It was…rough.”
She looked up, meeting my gaze, and there was a connection there, an understanding that I hadn't expected. There was no pity in her eyes, but there was a hefty dose of compassion.
“You watched it, didn’t you?” I asked, pushing away from the counter, from whatever it was that had started to build between us.
She nodded. “It’s just one game,” she whispered.
“That’s how it always starts. Thanks for the muffins.” I started toward the dishwasher, but she met me halfway, taking the plate from my hands.
“I’ll clean up. I made the mess. You should probably get started if you’re planning on torturing yourself all night down there.” She motioned toward the basement door. “You have a matinee game tomorrow if I’m not mistaken, so you’d better go so you can eventually get some sleep.”
“How did you know what I—”
She scoffed. “Please, Maxim. I grew up around you. You might not have noticed me, but Mila’s room looked out over that old backyard rink. I know you better than you think I do.”
I swallowed, and then nodded. There was nothing else to say as I trudged my way down to the basement, flicking on the lights at the bottom of the stairs. The scent of fresh, clean ice greeted me, and I laced up my skates quicker than usual, my brain fighting to process all that had happened tonight, all that had gone wrong out there…