Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“So like, if I quiz you on the basics of ice hockey, you’d get an A?”
She considered this as she sipped her champagne. “Try me.”
Straightening up, I turned around and parked my hips against the railing. “How many periods are there?”
“Three.”
“How long is each one?”
She chewed her lip. “Twenty minutes?”
“Not including the goalie, how many guys does each team start with on the ice?”
She thought for a second. “Five.”
“Okay, perfect score so far. I better give you a hard one.” I tipped up my beer and pondered my options. “What’s it called when one team has more players on the ice than the other because someone is serving a penalty?”
Her nose wrinkled. “I don’t know that one.”
“A power play.”
“Ah.” She snapped her fingers. “That’s right.”
“So you’ve at least heard of it.”
That earned me a flick on the shoulder. “Hey, I might not know everything about hockey, but I did grow up in Michigan.”
I laughed. “Okay, last one. What’s the trophy called that the playoff champion gets?”
“The Stanley Cup,” she answered triumphantly.
“Excellent. Four out of five right. Is that an A?”
“It’s a B-,” she said with a grin. “But I’ll take it.”
“Believe me, it’s way better than I’d do on any kind of history quiz or whatever you studied.”
“I studied a lot of history. Majored in anthropology.”
“That’s what your degree is in?”
“One of them.”
“How many do you have?”
“Beyond the B.A., I have an M.A. with a specialization in Historical Anthropology and a Ph.D. with specializations in Historical Archaeology and Museum Studies.” She said it like it was no big deal, but I could only imagine how much work it had been.
“Damn. That’s impressive. Does that mean you’re, like, a doctor?”
“I mean, technically. Academically.” She seemed slightly embarrassed. “But I don’t use the title day to day. Only when I’m teaching at the college level.”
“So you’re a professor too?”
“Just part-time.” Thunder rumbled in the distance, and she glanced out over the surging lake. The wind had picked up, and the metallic clank on the harbor flagpole was louder and more frequent. “Sounds like the storm is getting closer. Should we go in?”
“In a minute.” I didn’t feel like talking to anyone else . . . or sharing her. “Did you play a sport in high school?”
“I ran cross country.”
I nodded, recalling her muscular calves. “I bet you were fast.”
“Not really.” She laughed. “I always thought I’d have done better if I was a little taller. But my brothers got all the height.”
“Ah.”
“I was also in the school musicals. And I was president of the French club.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever been in a musical, but I do know some French words—not that I’d say them in front of you.”
She smiled. “Where’d you learn them?”
“I know a bunch of French-Canadian hockey players. Those motherfuckers have filthy mouths.” I sipped my beer, enjoying her girlish laugh. “So is your family still around here?”
“Yes. My dad lives in the house where I grew up. One of my brothers lives in town, and the other three live within an hour of here.”
“You have four older brothers?” Lightning flashed silently over the water, the roll of thunder following a few seconds later. The smell of ozone permeated the air.
She nodded. “Yep. And we were raised by a single dad. A lot of testosterone in that house. Dating was, to say the least, difficult.”
“I can imagine,” I said, recalling how Gianni, Paul, and I used to stare down the chumps who came sniffing around Francesca in high school. I wondered what happened to her mom but didn’t feel like I should ask.
“They were always threatening to beat up anyone I brought home. They thought everybody had an attitude.” She sighed, looking out at the lake. “Sometimes I think that’s why I date a certain type of guy.”
“What type is that?”
“Quiet. Reserved. Nice. No alpha male energy.”
“Nothing wrong with nice guys,” I said, although clearly there was plenty wrong with the dumbasses she’d been in bed with.
“No, and I would never date an asshole, but . . .” She seemed to struggle with what she wanted to say next.
“But what?”
“This is going to sound bad.”
“Try me.”
She tucked in her lips for a moment, her eyes on the approaching storm. The air was thicker now. Charged with electricity. “Sometimes—in certain situations—I wish they’d stop being so reserved and go a little alpha male on me.”
“What kind of situations?”
Her shoulders rose. She looked at me sideways. “You know. When they’re lining up the shot.”
“Ah.” Wind came out of the south, blowing her hair in front of her shoulders and carrying the scent of her perfume. I breathed it in—something sensual and sweet that made my mouth water. Vanilla maybe?
She looked down at her feet. Her toes were painted bright pink. “Of course, maybe I’m talking out both sides of my mouth, since I also want someone unselfish who cares about how I feel too. Maybe that’s too much to ask for.”