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)
I show it to Max. “Can I keep this for myself?”
“For when I’m a dick and you need a reminder I’m not?”
“Something like that,” I say.
“Sure,” he says, then nods to the exit, a sign we’re done. But instead, he says, “Flynn’s a nice guy.”
I laugh lightly. “Should I have lunch with him then?”
His smile vacates the premises. His eyes darken. “No.”
Well, that’s even more clear now. He’ll stop dates with guys he dislikes and guys he approves of. Max nods to the ice. “You want to skate?”
I shake my head. “Oh, no. I babysit hockey players. I don’t skate.”
“C’mon,” he goads.
I shake it again. “Nope.”
“One new thing to try. Say yes, Everly,” he says, and just like that I’m back in time again. Marie’s favorite words. The thing she said when she asked me to take a pole class with her on a Post-it note. She was always leaving Post-it notes around the apartment we shared.
Want to go to the movies tonight? Say yes.
Want to grab a glass of wine after work? Say yes.
Want to take a pole dance class? Say yes.
I said yes.
And then a car slammed into us when I was turning left, hitting the passenger side head-on with a horrifying crunch, sending my head snapping back, and the car fishtailing into a truck. The sounds and the sirens and the machines and the hospital come rushing back to me, like it’s happening all over again. The noises, the surgeries, the burns, and the news.
The awful, terrifying news.
I look away from Max, focusing on my breathing. Cataloging the surroundings.
The net is made of twine and red metal.
The ice is cold and scraped up from practice.
The metal benches have grooves in them.
The scoreboard. It’s a deep red, with home and visitors painted in bold white writing.
And there’s one more thing I can see. Right in front of me—there’s Max, with real concern etched in his eyes. But I’m okay. I’m here. I’m alive. I’m not trapped in that car, or feeling my heart rip out of my chest as I say goodbye to the person who was like a sister to me. I kept all her Post-it notes in a little wooden box in my bedroom.
I want to say yes to Max’s offer to skate. I said yes to the sushi. I said yes to the naked bike ride. But there are practical matters. “Yes, but I don’t have my skates,” I say, gesturing to my heels.
His lips quirk up, like he wasn’t expecting that answer. “You have skates?” The question’s asked with surprise. Maybe wonder.
“Max, I work for a hockey team. Of course I have skates.”
“Then…raincheck?”
My chest warms. “Raincheck.”
16
A LITTLE LADY BONER
Everly
He drives me back into the city, tossing me a look as we cross over the Bay Bridge and the sparkly blue water below. “I do appreciate what you’re doing for me,” he says, earnestly. “I know I don’t show that much though.”
“Much?”
“Fine. At all,” he admits, then sighs. “I know I haven’t made it easy for you.”
“With your game of chicken?”
“Our game,” he tosses back as we exit the bridge, heading into the city now.
“Fine. It’s our game.”
“And you play it too, sunshine.”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “I do.”
He slows at a light, then looks my way. “What I’m trying to say is I know this is extra work for you…I wanted you to know I’m not just a jerk.”
I cup my ear. “What did you just say?”
“I’m not just a jerk,” he repeats in a grumble.
“What are you then?”
He’s quiet, refusing to speak.
I lean a little closer, stage-whispering, “A nice guy?”
He flashes his gaze to me, his eyes smoldering as he stares me down. “You don’t want me to be nice.”
My breath catches. My thighs clench. Maybe I don’t. But I’m not telling him that. “It was nice of you to let me in though.”
The light changes, and he drives, saying nothing for several blocks. As we near my home in Russian Hill, he clears his throat, like he’s gearing up for something hard. “Letting people in isn’t my strong suit. Especially after…Lyra.”
My heart lurches toward him. “Do you still love her?”
He scoffs. “Fuck no.”
“Do you miss her?”
“Not one bit,” he says, resolute. “But everything we did was so public. It was all out there. Bane knew where I had taken her on dates. He knew what we were up to. When I was visiting her, when I left. She was the one who cheated, but he was the one who used what he knew about me to seize an opportunity. That’s why I don’t want to put my real self out there.”
Fletcher Bane. A forward on the Los Angeles team. The guy he got in that fight with. The guy who threw the first punch that night. The guy who was then seen dating Lyra a few days later.