Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“The caterer.”
“Wouldn’t it be more of a bonding experience if you—the owner, the GM—did the grilling yourself?”
“And burn down my backyard? Fuck you.”
He tosses the skates to the side and grabs the next pair. “You wouldn’t burn down the backyard, Harlow.”
“Need I remind you I set off the smoke alarm making microwave fucking popcorn for us to eat while we watched Happy Gilmore the night before I left for the Draft?” His mouth tips down pushing me to snap a little hard. “Microwave. Fucking. Popcorn. Brendan. The shit comes with fucking instructions and a premade button on the machine!”
Both of his hands lift and make a gentle, calming motion. “Calm down, baby.”
I suck in a deep breath and carefully lean against the nearby shelf.
“How about I grill?”
My eyebrows immediately furrow in bafflement. “What?”
“Let me grill.” Pulling on the new skate is done in tandem with him continuing, “I’ll go with Margot, grab all the shit, prep it, and cook it up. That way they’re getting the whole family vibe you’re clearly after versus the phoned in corporate company event shit.” He tugs the object in place and lets his head tilt in contemplation. “Plus, I can bartend. Practically anything from a Chateau Lafite Rothschild Pauillac Bordeaux to a Forest Fire Shot to a Guinness Draught. It’s the shit I’ve spent most of my money-making life doing.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why have you always bartended? Why’s that your go-to?”
“It’s the easiest shit you can do literally anywhere in the world that’s not a dry county.” Brendan stops fiddling with the skate to meet my gaze. “And I pretty much have. Spent a couple months doing it in Bali. Another three helping out on a yacht in Ibiza. Two weeks at a private villa in the south of France. As far as here in the states…I’ve bounced around from coast to coast from big cities like Camelot and Highland and Manhattan to smaller ones like Monzroe and Middlebook and A2.”
“Holy shit, dude.”
“Yeah, I grew up moving around, so never staying in the same place for too long is familiar shit to me. Not having an actual home but making a home wherever I end up for a few months has always kinda been my thing. And I’ll man up and say it’s not the best fucking habit-”
“Nope.”
“But it’s one I’m breaking.”
I can’t keep hope out of my voice even if you paid me my entire club’s price cap. “Are you?”
“Wouldn’t have had Tate and Geoffrey ship me my shit if I planned to just fucking bail on you.”
Chomping down on my bottom lip prevents me from cooing over the announcement out loud.
“Me and Margot will hit up Costco and then we can swing by one of the bigger liquor stores where it’s cheaper to buy in bulk.” Brendan drops his attention back to the object he’s trying on, wiggles his leg around, and then bounces his foot left to right to test the comfort. “Cooking and bartending for the team will give me a good chance to connect with them in a less formal setting, and you the chance to showcase that while you’re like your dad in a lot of ways you’re different. You’re there for them on and off the ice. That shit is business, yeah, but personal, too.” He lifts his stare back to mine once more and delivers a crooked smile. “I think these are a good fit.”
He’s the good fucking fit.
And never in a million seasons would I have guessed it.
“They look good,” I quietly coo, the overwhelming feelings of awe creeping into my voice. “They’re a lighter, faster skate. They’ll provide better flexibility especially when you finally master speed.”
The grin on his face brightens. “Peck gave me some tips for that.”
“I’d listen. Rookie’s good.” Another exchange of smiles precedes me retreating to the previous subject. “And you can grill. And bartend.”
A shit eating grin wastes no time replacing the sweeter one.
“But I’m having the caterer on speed dial just in case of a fuck up.”
He lets his shoulders innocently bounce. “Fair.”
I struggle to refrain from beaming once more and drop my attention back to my phone. “I’m gonna step outside to call Margot now, deal with her meltdown, and let you browse around for base layer shit to try on while Hill takes those skates to the counter. Get two pairs of them. And extra laces.” Hitting the call button is followed by me adding. “You can look at bags and helmets too. Avoid sticks. Like skates that shit is shit that should be done together.”
“Got it, boss.”
“I meant to say that shit with love.”
“Love?!” Margot’s voice squawks on the other end of the phone, loud enough to get Brendan laughing. “Did you say love?!”
My eyes playfully narrow. “You did that shit on purpose.”
Like the mischievous asshole I adore that he is, he cockily winks and flags over little Miss Jock Rider to handle his equipment.