Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 124494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
“Perfect. Now the only thing you have to worry about tonight is the game, which I need to suit up for.” I turn to walk away before I lose the battle with my body and pull her into my arms.
“Roman.”
God, what it does to me when my name is on her lips. I glance over my shoulder.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Despite feeling good going into the game, I do not play well. Nothing goes right for any of us. Grace is on second line with a less-experienced enforcer, leaving us vulnerable. But putting him on the same line as Madden seems to be asking for more problems than it’s worth. That needs to end so we don’t fuck up the season. As it is, I let in three goals while Ottawa shuts us out. I hope like hell it doesn’t set the tone for what’s coming my way for the rest of the season.
Peggy hugs me first when we exit the locker room after. I don’t know if that makes me feel worse or better. “I’m sorry, Dado. I know that game was a hard one.”
I pat her back. “Thanks, kiddo.”
“You’re coming out tonight, right?” She smooths the lapels on my suit jacket.
“Nah. I think I’ll take it easy.” I tip my chin toward the group, who look like they’re figuring out where to go. “You have fun. Go burn some energy and take Hollis with you.”
“Are you sure? We can stay back.”
“I’m sure, kiddo. Go out. Have a good time. I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast.” If they stay back I’ll have to make up more lies as to why I’m not in the mood, and I’d like to avoid that for the sake of my stomach and my conscience.
“Okay.” She kisses my cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I return to the hotel, but I’m too on edge to relax, so I change and head to the gym to run out my frustration.
I’m 3K into a run when the gym door opens and in walks my wet dream and my worst temptation. Lexi pulls her cropped sweatshirt over her head, leaving her in a sports bra and running shorts. It’s skin, skin, and more skin—all her toned, athletic, incredibly fucking bendy body on display as she crosses the room.
It’s eleven, so the gym is empty apart from us. Our flight leaves at eight thirty in the morning. We should be getting ready for bed. I’d love to give her a different kind of workout.
She falters when she reaches the treadmills but steps up onto the one beside mine. “Didn’t get enough of a workout on the ice tonight?”
“Apparently not.” I fight to keep from looking at her, but I can’t help myself as she winds her braid on top of her head and secures it with a scrunchie. I long to free that coil of hair, wrap it around my fist and kiss a path from her shoulder to her ear. I clear my throat and look away. “How’s Callie?”
“The fever is down, and she’s asleep, so that’s good. Dred doesn’t have a shift until the afternoon, so she can stay with Callie until I get back. That means Fee can go to school.”
“That’s good.” I try to keep my mouth shut, to not say whatever the fuck is on my mind, but my self-restraint is a bag of shit. “So why are you here if Callie’s being taken care of?”
“Probably the same reason you are.” She starts her treadmill.
“Doubtful,” I grumble.
She side-eyes me. “So this isn’t post-game punishment?”
“Not entirely, no.”
“So partially punishment.”
I avoid the question and ask one of my own. “Why are you down here?”
“Trying to settle my mind. My goalie had a rough game, and it’s my fault.”
“How I fail to protect the net isn’t on you.” I increase my pace.
She hits the stop button and turns to face me. “Isn’t it? I show up here, no warning, no explanation, in your last season. I know I fucked up, Roman. I knew the second I saw you that I’d made a mistake.”
“You’re a good fit for this team.”
“I know. That’s not the mistake.”
My gut churns. I hop off the belt and hit the stop button on my treadmill. I should leave. Walk away. But I can’t. “Me. I’m the mistake.”
“I wish I could take it back,” she whispers.
That hurts more than a puck to the chest. I take a moment before I speak. “At least look me in the eye when you tell me you regret me.”
Her eyes move over my face, and I find that same desire I feel every time I’m close to her reflected back at me. “I don’t regret you. At all,” she says. “That’s the problem, Roman. Every time you look at me, touch me—I relive what it was to be with you.”