Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
That was my great disconnect. Was it even possible to be someone who made a difference without hockey? I honestly didn’t know.
“I’ll be there next week.”
10
JEAN-CLAUDE
Snowflakes tumbled from the gray sky, blown sideways by the occasional gust of wind. A perfect day to bake bread.
I sprinkled a generous amount of flour onto my kitchen island and dusted my hands before rescuing my dough from the proofing drawer. Music played in the background, but don’t ask me what it was. My thoughts wandered in twenty directions at once. That was typical for me, though I usually focused on menu ideas and recipes I wanted to develop. Lately, all I could think was that change was coming. I could feel it.
I was an expert at reading the signs by now. My restlessness and low-grade worry were muted by Riley’s presence. There were no panic attacks, kitchen meltdowns a la Gordon Ramsay, and no late nights staring a hole into the bottom of a whiskey bottle, wondering what the hell I was doing with my life. The anxiety was still there, but he was a good influence, though he had worries of his own.
We both were dealing with sudden forks in the road and multiple choices…each one more complicated than the last. I couldn’t speak for him, but the overall theme was familiar to me. Stay or go?
The new flash of anxiety was that either way, I was going to lose him.
And that was why I baked bread.
The rattle of the mudroom door yanked me out of my head. Riley called out a greeting as he shed his winter coat and boots.
“Bonjour.” I smiled as my lover stomped into the kitchen, pink cheeks, twinkling eyes, and a broad grin on his handsome face.
“Geez, it’s legit cold out there. Today is the first time I wished I had a car. The walk from the rink was treacherous.”
I snickered. “It’s only snow.”
“And wind.” He stood behind me, hands on my hips, and peered over my shoulder. “Whatcha makin’?”
“Bread. How was the rink?” I winced and shivered when he kissed my nape, rounding on him with a scowl. “Your lips are freezing.”
Riley cackled gleefully. “But my dick is warm. Well…not yet, but it will be soon.”
I rolled my eyes on cue. “You want me to knead your ass?”
“Kinky. Do you have orange juice?” he asked, hiking his thumb at the refrigerator.
“Help yourself, and tell me about your practice. You were with the teenagers, yes? That would explain drinking out of the container,” I commented, catching him midsip.
He laughed and swiped his hand over his mouth. Then he poured himself a glass and hopped onto the counter, legs spread. A lock of hair fell over his forehead, giving him a roguish look that went well with his jaunty expression. For the hundredth time that day, I wondered how I’d lucked out.
Riley was the sun, the moon, and every star in the sky. He was braver and stronger than he credited himself for. His determination alone was inspirational. The hollow-eyed man who superstitiously ordered tuna salad from the shadowy corner booth at the diner had been replaced by a confident athlete ready to reclaim his spot on center ice.
Day by day, I’d watched him shed ghosts and face his fears like a pro. He’d gone from skating under dim lights to stay in shape and keep his speed up to working on drills and eventually playing actual hockey. And now he was helping his old captain with the junior practices.
Vinnie had gradually adjusted the overhead lighting as Riley’s eyesight improved and the headaches receded. Yesterday was the first time he’d skated under bright lights. I’d gone to the rink for moral support as he’d tested his vision and warmed up a little before the coaches and their team arrived. I’d even skated with him for a bit—for entertainment purposes.
My faux put-upon griping and exaggerated clumsy skating made him chuckle. I’d hid a silly infatuated grin as I fed him the puck, then chased after passes I purposely missed just to hear that carefree sound. Afterward, I’d taken my time unlacing my skates to watch Riley with Vinnie, Nolan, and the juniors. Riley was a great coach—patient, smart, intuitive, and formidable. He’d be a natural someday.
But he could literally do anything. The cocky tilt of his chin and lopsided smile seemed to indicate that he knew he was ready for whatever came next.
Was I?
Not really. On top of worrying about possible career moves, I had a terrible, horrible, awful crush to contend with. I had the sort of symptoms that WebMD said meant you were dying. Shortness of breath, heart palpitations, dizziness…
Riley didn’t even have to physically be near me, either. What kind of sorcery was that? I hadn’t known it was possible that someone’s voice on a cell phone could make your heart skip a beat.