Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 139259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
I can’t even blame the game for my stress because, let’s be real, it has nothing to do with it. My tension has nothing to do with the scoreboard or how the guys play. It doesn’t even have to do with the fact that Dane just finally got out of the penalty box. Nope. Not at all.
“You okay over there?” Cassidy’s voice cuts through my thoughts. Damn. Now, I have to play it cool because I don’t want the girls to know what my problem is.
My problem is Hudson. Obviously. Or better yet, the fact that I can’t stop watching him.
He really is the bane of my existence and the reason for this ridiculous bet I’ve trapped myself in.
I grit my teeth together as my eyes track him on the ice. I tell myself it’s not because I want to. It’s just because I’m hoping for him to mess up. Like trip over his skate or send the puck sailing into his own goal.
Something I can mentally frame as proof he isn’t perfect.
I would live for the moment when he does.
But I’m full of shit.
Absolutely pathetically full of shit.
Because deep down, I know that’s not why I’m watching.
I can’t tear my eyes away from him because he is perfect.
Obnoxiously so.
The way he moves with such stupid, effortless grace. It’s infuriating.
How he commands the ice—like he belongs there and owns it—is annoying as hell.
A ridiculous thought flies through my head. How many women here are undressing him? Not me, of course. Never me.
Someone needs to put me out of my misery because I really shouldn’t be watching him like a pathetic schoolgirl with a crush on her bully . . . except for some reason, I feel like maybe I’m the bully in this situation.
He’s the good-natured, hot jock. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this movie before. He ends up with the quirky artist with a heart of gold, which is not me.
Also, why am I thinking about this?
Oh, yeah, I know, because Hudson is the kind of guy who makes it impossible not to notice him, even when you really, really want to ignore him. So, yeah, now I’m sitting daydreaming about him. Great. Just great.
What. The. Fuck.
No.
He’s none of these things.
I hate him.
What is wrong with me? A lot, that’s what. Because even in my own inner monologue, the person who should be the villain—is the good one.
No. I need to snap out of this. He’s insufferable. Obnoxious. Infuriating.
Then why are you still staring at him?
Nope. I’m not gawking. I’m taunting. Yeah, that’s it.
The damn stupid bet.
I agreed to be on my best behavior, but that doesn’t mean I have to make it easy on him.
This is a loophole I can live in. I won’t break the rules, but I can bend the hell out of them.
Maybe I can’t argue with him in public, but I can goad him.
Hudson skates past the bench, his focus seemingly on the puck as the Saints set up for a power play. He doesn’t even glance my way, but as he coasts by, his glove comes up just enough for me to catch it.
My jaw drops.
No. That’s not what I think it is. It’s hard to tell because of the thickness of the glove, but it looks like one of his fingers is sticking up more than the others.
Oh, he wouldn’t. Except, of course, he would.
That has got to be his middle finger.
The bastard just discreetly gave me the middle finger.
I blink, caught between shock and admiration for how brazen he is.
If only I had thought of that. Sure, he probably wouldn’t see it because he’s supposed to be playing, but obviously, since he just did it to me, maybe he would have.
Nope. You’re better than cheap moves like that.
Anyway, this might mean I win. Someone had to have seen it. I whip my head toward where Dane is skating. Surely, he saw that, right?
I can’t catch a break. Unlike Hudson, he’s too engrossed in the game.
I turn my head to Josie. Maybe she saw it. She can vouch for me.
No luck there either.
She’s watching my brother like the lovesick fool she is, totally oblivious.
Cassidy?
Unless the picture she’s currently taking is of Hudson, which it’s not, she doesn’t have the evidence I need.
I’m alone in my outrage, which makes it burn hotter. I clench my fists, my nails biting into my palms.
The nerve. The audacity.
The pure, unfiltered chaos this man brings into my life with every breath he takes.
He’s totally going to find a way to be smug about this later.
The worst part is I have to bite my tongue when he does. The bet has officially become the most infuriating thing I’ve ever agreed to.
I will not be the one to lose the bet.
The man is diabolical.
He knew exactly what he was doing, and I can practically feel him smirking through the glass.