Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
I laugh. “You’ve ice skated before, right?”
“Once. On a cruise when I was sixteen? But the guy there was trying to hit on me and laced me up and everything.”
I grin. “Okay, well… Here, just sit down.”
Paisley plops down in the snow and I kneel to fix her skates. Zander skates up and stops beside us. “You ready, team?”
“I think we’re going to be lucky if Paisley survives skating to the area where we’re playing.” I glance at the servers, who have banded together in their own little social bubble. “They seem okay, though.”
“I watched a YouTube video last night and know all the rules of hockey, thank you very much,” Paisley says. “I’ll be a defensewoman. That means I’m going to hide behind Nolan and hope nobody hits me with a puck. But I’m going to look great doing it.” She spreads her arms, showing off her perfectly curled blonde hair and custom Taste jersey Zander had made for all of us.
“Nolan is going to be in front of the net,” Zander says. “If you’re behind him, that would mean you’d be in the net. Or behind it…”
“And?” Paisley asks.
“It’s fine,” I say. “We’re just planning to have a good time. Who cares if we win?”
Nolan skates up as I’m mid-sentence. “Who cares if we win?” he asks. He’s standing tall on his skates with all black beneath his black Taste jersey. It makes his hair look extra blonde and his eyes look practically glacial. “We’re going to win this whole damn thing. Carter and Maddox have been bragging about how they’re going to dominate us for days. There’s no way in hell I’m letting that happen.”
I’ve never been up close to him when he’s all decked out in his hockey gear like this. There’s a kind of confidence practically oozing out of him. I have to admit it’s sexy as hell.
The two of us have been finding a way to sleep together almost every day for nearly a week now. It always starts and ends mostly the same, though. We go straight to kissing and touching as soon as we’re alone. When we finish, he dresses and leaves without much conversation.
It’s exactly what he promised it would be, and yet it feels like there’s something still hanging unsaid between us. Some unresolved tension. Or maybe it’s just that we both know it can’t last. We’re afraid if we talk, we’ll just be dragging that truth into the spotlight. Once it’s exposed, we won’t be able to keep pretending anymore.
I just keep finding myself wishing it didn’t have to feel so complicated–that I could simply enjoy liking a guy and the feeling of him liking me. But it never feels that easy with us. There’s always this lingering something. Like an off flavor that doesn’t belong in an otherwise perfect bite.
“Well,” Paisley says. “You and Zander can make sure we win. Mia and I are going to just look great and be moral support. And the servers… they can do whatever it is they do. Kay?”
Nolan and Zander share a look.
“Relax,” I say. “All you have to do is let them not score any goals and we’re going to be fine. Right?”
Nolan and Zander each have one of my thighs on their shoulders as they carry me from the harbor toward the main strip of town on our journey to O’Malley’s bar.
It’s dark out and fresh snow is drifting down around us. There’s a group of people following behind and some in front as we all make our way to the bars after the end of the tournaments.
I’m cold, but feeling exhilarated. Today was a blast, and the whole town seems to agree. There’s excited chatter in the crowd walking all around us and scattered cheers, even from the teams that were eliminated early.
The guys have to awkwardly crouch as I duck to get me through the door to the bar on their shoulders.
The bartender watching us come in is Pete O’Malley. He’s not the O’Malley. That was McGreggor O’Malley, his grandfather’s cousin, who became infamous in Frosty Harbor because of rumors about what he did with his goats on the farm he ran a few miles outside town. And no, you don’t want to know any more than that.
Pete raises his bushy gray eyebrows, taking in the sight of us all swarming into the bar. He grins. “You guys win?” he asks.
“Thanks to our Ace,” Zander says. “Who knew Mia was such a badass on skates?”
“Round here?” Pete asks. “Everybody knows that. Mia was a shoe-in for the Olympics until she got hurt.”
“Wait, really?” Zander says. “How come you never told me that, Mia?”
“It never came up?” I say, feeling a little awkward now as they’re still carrying me and my head is dangerously close to whacking ceiling fans as we pass.