Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
That doesn't mean he saw what we were doing, but it also doesn't mean he didn't see it. Kiplin always looks like he wants to hit me.
“Coach Wren,” he says, flashing her a look of familiarity that isn’t quite a smile but isn’t quite a glare either.
“Hey, Captain,” I call out to him, and I'm only greeted with him flipping me off as he continues into the practice arena.
I draw my focus back to Blakely, who already has her car door open and is climbing behind the wheel.
“How do you think we did?” I ask.
Blakely wets her lips, almost like she can still taste me there. If she was anyone else, I would’ve already been asking her to come back to my place, but seeing as this isn’t official and can't actually happen, I keep my mouth shut.
“Good,” she says a little breathless. She nods a little too quickly. “I think we're going to fool him.”
I gently shut her car door, loving that she automatically rolls down the window as if she knows I need to get the last word. I wink at her. “Can't wait.”
CHAPTER 6
BLAKELY
“Press and a red carpet for a figure skating club?” Lawson asks, navigating his car through the line for the valet.
“When you say it like that, it sounds so ridiculous,” I say. “This is a prestigious event. It's not just figure skaters from the University of Maine or professors, but Olympic skaters and others who've made a career on the national level. This event kicks off so many careers for so many different people, it's like…known across the nation. It's one of the best networking events you can attend as a skater who wants to make a career out of their talent.”
Lawson purses his lips and nods, respect lining his features. He looks damn good behind the wheel, slowly waiting for our turn until we get up to the valet. He has on a dark navy-blue suit, his brown hair messy in a perfect way, his hazel eyes radiating nothing but confidence and sex. I don't even think he notices that they do that, or maybe it's just for me, but if the way heads are turning our way when we get out of the car is any indication, then I doubt it.
He immediately slides a hand around my waist, walking effortlessly down the red carpet as cameras flash. This year the event is held in a historical building inside the city, all of the figure skating community’s elite in attendance.
We stop to have our picture taken, and I absent-mindedly run my hand down my silver gown, which shimmers like starlight underneath all the flashing lights. The neck has a plunging V that I wouldn't normally wear, thanks to Brian's constant insistence that the top figure skaters in the world were modest, not flashy. But I love my body, and I feel damn good in this dress, and for the first time in years, I feel empowered by making my own choices without fearing a reprimand by somebody I thought I loved.
“Lawson!” one of the reporters calls out. “Are you here in an official capacity with your skating coach?”
I internally cringe, but we’d prepared for this. To the media, we couldn’t be more than friends, but to Brain, hopefully we’d appear intimate enough for him to back off.
“We’re friends,” Lawson answers smoothly.
“Over here!” another reporter calls, wanting their own picture.
Lawson and I face the cameras, and I lean into him just slightly as he dips down to whisper something into my ear.
“Have I told you that you look stunning in that dress?” he asks, the words sending warm tendrils sparking down my skin.
“Twice,” I say, unable to stop the grin that spreads my red-painted lips.
“Be prepared for me to tell you again,” he says, shifting away from my ear and smiling for the camera again. His moves are practiced and elegant and completely at ease in front of the cameras whereas I’ve never gotten used to it.
The press didn’t show up at every event, thank God, but this one was a highly coveted invitation.
Lawson steers me into the building, and I relax slightly once we’re out of sight of all the flashing lights. “Who knew that the figure skating world was similar to the NHL world?” Lawson asks as we make our way to one of the banquet tables where the rest of the speakers will be sitting.
“Not so similar,” I say as we take our seats.
The ballroom has been completely transformed into an elegant display of twinkling lights, cream linens atop round tables, and servers making the rounds with crystal flutes filled with champagne. The room is already packed with tons of familiar faces, and just as many strangers. I may have removed myself from this community when I went after the job of my dreams, but I still hold enough respect to merit an invitation to speak.