Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
And… oh my God. A professional hockey player just put Mr. McVey in his place and…
“Wait,” I say with a shake of my head. “You’re going to help me coach?”
“I am,” he says with another panty-melting smile, and I shake my head again trying to dispel that thought. He’s far too young to be melting my panties. “I don’t know that I can make every practice and game, but those that I can’t make, I’ll leave you instructions.”
“I don’t understand,” I say, throwing my arms outward. “Why would you do that? You don’t even know me, and for that matter, why are you even here? Do you have kids on another team?”
“No kids of my own. I came with the Titans’ goalie, Drake McGinn. His twins play for the Mini Blizzards.”
My head twists around, my eyes scanning the crowd, and I see a gorgeous man with long blond hair and a beard with those two precious twins who told me “Good game” out on the ice. Obviously, their dad has imparted sportsmanship to his boys.
“I was watching you,” King continues. “Couldn’t help but hear your ground rules speech to the parents, which was very smart. At this age, those kids just need to have fun. And well… when that jerk started berating his son, I was on my way to say something to him but then you started in on him and I kind of let you do your thing. It was glorious.”
“Until you intervened on my behalf,” I murmur, finally giving in to a grateful smile now that I’ve pieced together just how this all went down. “Thank you for that. It was very sweet and all. But I can’t possibly accept your offer to help with the team. You’re so busy and—”
“What do you do for a living?” he asks, leaning an arm up on the edge of the bleachers and tucking his other hand in his jeans.
And oh my God… why is that a sexy pose and why do I recognize it as such?
I blink, trying to concentrate. “I’m a doctor. Family medicine.”
“And you have time to coach?” he replies, his point clearly made.
“Yeah, but my niece plays on this team. I have a vested interest.”
“And I have a vested interest because I’m watching someone try their best in a role I’m guessing you didn’t really want. That’s impressive. Besides, I’ve always loved coaching kids, so it would make me happy to help.”
God, that’s sweet but I couldn’t impose. And well, this guy is just way too… distracting. In a very bad way. “Um… I really appreciate your offer, Mr. Kingston—”
“King… or Jack, if you prefer,” he says easily.
“King,” I say sternly. “But I volunteered to do this and I’ll be able to manage just fine on my own, especially now that you put that father in his place. Again, thank you so much, but I’m going to decline.”
Those warm honey eyes scrutinize me for a moment and I hold my breath, wondering if he’ll argue with me. But he gives me a lazy smile and inclines his head. “If you change your mind—”
“I won’t,” I insist.
“If you do,” he continues, and then holds out his hand. “Let me see your phone.”
Okay, so I’m a little charmed and honestly, while I don’t think he’s actually flirting with me because I’m old enough to be his… well, his much older sister, I am flattered by the attention. I throw caution to the wind, unlock my phone and hand it to him.
I watch as he navigates to texts and pops in his number, then sends a text from my phone to his. He now effectively has my number.
He hands my phone back. “Call me if you want help. I sincerely mean that.”
“Thank you,” I say, pocketing my phone. “I do appreciate it, but I’ll be fine. It was nice to meet you.”
“A pleasure meeting you,” he says, his voice, I swear, dropping an octave. Am I imagining things? He looks down at my mouth for a second before locking eyes with me again. “Take care, Dr. Montreaux.”
“You too,” I murmur, but he’s walking away, over to the man he pointed out as being the Titans’ goalie where people are asking for autographs. When King joins them, the crowd turns to him as well.
He smiles, talking to parents and kids, poses for pictures and signs things.
“Oh my God,” Brittany says, taking hold of my arm while Izzy talks to a little girl she’s bonded with from her team. “Who was that yummy piece of eye candy and what did he want?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Yes I would,” my sister insists. “Spill it.”
I tell her about the entire exchange. “But I declined.”
Brittany slaps the back of my head. “Are you crazy? He’s a professional hockey player and looks like a freaking Greek god.”