Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
That has to be good. Why else would he text me late at night? Dude isn’t going to text with bad news like, saying, you lost your last sponsor less than a week into the season.
So, clearly this is a good sign. I dictate a reply.
Works for me. Maybe I’ll even let you take me to that new kebab place on Polk Street and give me the good news.
The bubbles dance for a minute. A long minute that should cool me off so I stop obsessing over this bag. Finally, Garrett’s reply lands.
Don’t think I didn’t notice you finagling a free meal. And sure. Kebabs will do. Just know this—I’m working hard to make this happen. I know you’ve got plans.
I furrow my brow. Well, no shit. That’s his job. He always works hard. Doesn’t need to tell me that twice. But I’m not his easiest client lately, so maybe this is just his nice guy way of reminding me he’s juggling all the broken plates I’ve thrown his way.
So I should take this exchange as a win, return this bag, and crash.
Except, what is that scrap of sinful red lace taunting me from the top of the stack of neatly folded blouses in the center of her bag? I shove the phone back in my pocket and then my curious fingers have a mind of their own. One look can’t hurt. Fine, one touch. I snatch up the soft strap poking out of the blouses and fish out—what is this? A demi-bustier? A halter half bra?
I lift it to get a better view. It’s sheer red lace, the color of a cherry, with the daintiest ruffle along the top. Maybe it’s a bra of sorts. I don’t even know. Then, with a new kind of reckless abandon, I reach for the next thing, and the next, and the next.
Until…what have I done? I’ve plundered her bag. Yep, I’m a lingerie pirate.
This is bad, man.
But this is also an opportunity. I smirk as I get to work neatly folding every single silky item.
An opportunity to give her hell.
I pack them all back up, except for this little red thing, and head to the door, like a good boy.
Well, not really. Because tonight, I’ve been a little bit bad.
2
YOU SEXY LITTLE SNOOP
Everly
It’s official. I am a thief. Crouching back on my heels on the plush hotel room carpet, I steal a whiff of the grumpy goalie’s cologne.
It’s bold and spicy, but strong too, starting with chili pepper and finishing with cedar, and it smells like the kind of guy you can’t stop looking at when you go to a club with your girlfriends. That unknowable man with the dark gaze who leans against the sleek, silver bar and surveys the scene with cool blue eyes. The man whose stare is undressing you as you dance for him.
Someone so cocky you hate yourself for wanting him.
I shudder as I close my eyes, catching the final after-notes from this sapphire blue bottle. When I open my eyes, I force myself to cap it.
Blinking off the heady fog, I set the cologne back down in Max’s black travel kit as I stare at the evidence in front of me. A wide open suitcase that isn’t mine—one I didn’t shut when I discovered we’d accidentally grabbed each other’s bags when we arrived after our flight to Seattle from San Francisco.
It’s damning. I’m not just a scent thief. I’m a veritable snoop.
Why don’t you just lick his tube of toothpaste too? Rub your thigh on his shampoo bottle? Mark his things a little more?
Ashamed, I jerk back from the suitcase that’s been my downfall for the last five minutes since I noticed the luggage switcheroo when I arrived at my room. I undo and redo my ponytail again and again. What have I done? Did I really look through one of the hockey player’s things?
Girl, you sure did. And you relished every single second of it.
Embarrassment crawls up my chest. I can’t believe I rooted through his clothes and his travel kit instead of just, oh say, closing the bag and texting him about the mix-up.
LIKE AN ADULT WOULD DO.
But I’m evidently a cat. I now know what cologne Max wears, what color his boxer briefs are, and what flavor lip balm he likes. Also that he uses a coveted face moisturizer that’s made from the best grape-seed oil. I wish I could afford this stuff. But I can never let on to Max that I know all these details of his life.
I can definitely never admit I pilfered an inhale of his Midnight Flame—such an annoying cologne that annoying men who like to needle helpful women wear.
Especially since he probably didn’t even toss a glance at my things. The man’s so uninterested in anything but his own agenda.