Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“We shouldn’t go out there,” she says and looks over at the doorway.
“Why?” I ask.
“You know your guy?” she asks, her voice going low as she wrings her hands in front of her.
“He’s not my guy,” I correct her, and she just rolls her eyes at me.
“Okay, well, the guy who wants you and you want him,” she states. “He literally threatened a guy who was asking about you.”
“Why?” I gasp, shocked. “What?”
“He’s going to be eating from a straw.” My mouth opens to say something but nothing comes out. She fans herself now. “I haven’t been with anyone since my daughter was conceived, but if you weren’t interested in him…” She winks at me, making me glare.
“This is crazy,” I huff before I kick her in the shin for even thinking about Matthew that way.
I walk out and see he’s waiting with his hands on his hips. He looks up when he hears me coming. “Good, you’re here,” he says. “I have to go and talk to the press.” He points with his thumb behind him. “But do you want to go and eat?”
Yes! my head shouts out, but my mouth says, “I have to work tomorrow.” I turn to Addison. “And I have to get Addison home.”
“Fine,” he grumbles, looking around, “then give me ten minutes, and I’ll walk you out.” The look on his face is one I don’t think I’ve seen before.
“I don’t need you to walk me out,” I assure him, and he just stares at me, his teeth grinding down.
“Fine, then I’ll leave with you now.” He bends to start untying his skates. “Then be fined for not talking to the press.” He looks up once he’s got one of his skates untied.
“Oh my God, you are such a dick,” I say out loud.
“Is that a yes?” he asks, his mouth going from a side smirk to a smile. His hair is still dripping wet from the game.
“It’s an I have no choice.” I throw my hands up and I see some of the players walk out of the room. One of them lingers looking at me, and Addison nudges me with her elbow.
“Good enough. I’m going to go change and meet the press.”
“And shower,” I stick in there, “you stink like molded cheese and feet.” I fan my nose.
“Okay, how about you drop off Addison?” He motions to Addison. “Nice to meet you.”
“Thank you,” Addison says, “for the tickets to the game. I had so much fun.”
“Anytime,” he replies, “as long as you bring this one.” He points at me.
“I’m standing right here,” I tell him, waving my hand in front of his face, and he laughs. “I’m going to drive Addison home, and then I don’t know, I guess you can text me.”
He looks at me for what feels like forever, my feet want to step forward to him and kiss under his chin. I haven’t seen him in action in a long time, and I swear to God, the minute I saw him skating, I gushed from my vagina. “Five-second look,” he says, and I can’t help but burst out laughing.
“Whatever, Matty.” I say his nickname more to annoy him than anything else.
He glares at me. “The guys usually head over to Luke’s Bistro,” he says. “Do you know where that is?”
I laugh. “That’s Clarabella’s husband’s place.”
“Good, so people will know not to fuck with you,” he states, looking over his shoulder. “Bernard,” he calls to the guy who is standing inside the door wearing a blue suit. The guy walks over to us. “Bernard, this is Sofia, my”—he looks at me and my eyebrows go high—“friend, and Addison, my other friend.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, nodding at him, wondering what is going on.
“Do you think you can escort them to their car and make sure that no one—” he says, and I turn away without saying a word to him. “Where are you going?”
“Away from you,” I toss over my shoulder, Addison rushing to keep up with me. “Goodbye, Matty.”
“Matthew!” he shouts his name. “Text me when you get in the car and you’re on your way.”
“Absolutely not,” I retort, not bothering to look back at him as we make our way over to the escalator. “He’s so infuriating,” I say, looking over at Addison. “Are you okay?” I ask, and she shakes her head and laughs, looking down.
“Clarabella said something about a mating dance the other day,” she says as we get to the top floor where we walked in from. I follow the signs to the parking garage, some of the fans still lingering along with the concession stand workers who are closing up. “I didn’t quite understand it, but now, after watching that”—she looks over her shoulder—“I get it.”
“Ugh,” I groan as we walk toward the parking garage. “Matthew and I have a history.”