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)
Her douchebag ex seemed to get the hint after I'd put him in his place. She hadn't brought up anything during our private lessons regarding texts from him or any other issues, so hopefully that was that.
Something like disappointment sinks in my gut, heavy and sticky. I don’t want that to be that.
I don’t want her to stop needing me, but at the same time, I want her to be free from the borderline abuse of the asshole.
“Good,” Kiplin finally says. “Now are you three going to keep standing here talking about girls you shouldn't be talking about, or are you going to hit the fucking showers?”
“Eager to compare lengths, Captain?” I fire at him.
He rolls his eyes. “Like a fucking hole in the head,” he grunts before heading to the showers.
I give his back a fake salute and shake my head. “I think he's going to win the award for biggest asshole captain in the NHL.”
“Easy,” Stokehill warns. “You haven't been here long enough to earn the right to call him an asshole.”
“You're saying he's not?”
Stokehill cocks an eyebrow at me. “I'm saying you haven't been here long enough. So far, you've been nothing but talk. We're all eagerly awaiting to see if you fold on the ice during your first game.”
Stokehill delivers the words with a smile, then winks at me before he heads off to the showers.
I flip the guy off, but it's all in good fun.
I get it. I'm the new kid. Not only the new kid, but the number one draft pick who's going to lead them all to victory. It's got to be a tough pill to swallow after they’ve been on a losing team for three years, and by some miracle, I don't voice that fact out loud.
Maybe I’m getting wiser the longer I'm on a professional team.
Maybe I'm just exhausted.
With the special camps and Blakely’s lessons, not to mention fighting myself and every instinct in my body not to text her in the middle of the night when I can't stop thinking about her, I'm beyond wiped out.
By the time I make it out of the shower and get dressed, I can't resist the urge to check in with her. Had I seen her this morning for our private lesson? Yes. Was I dying to see her again under any capacity? Also yes.
Me: You know it's been two weeks since the last mission. You don't have any bodyguard duties for me to carry out?
I press send on the text before I can second-guess myself, and when I don’t see three little dots after a few moments, I pocket my phone, grab my gear bag and head toward the parking lot. I've just gotten behind the wheel when my phone buzzes, and I swear to God my heart does a little flip in my chest at seeing Blakely’s name on my screen.
Jesus, I’m hooked on this girl and she’s not even mine.
Blakely: Nothing new so far hero.
Disappointment curls inside of me.
Me: Are you sure? We wouldn't want my bodyguard skills to get rusty, would we?
Blakely: If you're really desperate to hold up your duties, the girls and I are going to a party at Kiplin's estate tonight.
Shit.
The captain hadn't invited me, and after the little lecture him and the other vets had just given me, I highly doubted they’d want to see me showing up on an invitation from Blakely. But seriously, he was having a party and didn't invite me? Did he hate me that much?
Me: Do you think the douchebag might show up at a party hosted by my team captain?
Blakely: No
Hope flares in my chest, making me completely forget that my captain seemingly wanted nothing to do with me outside of the rink.
Me: So you just want to see me. You know you didn't need to wait for me to reach out to admit that.
Blakely: I saw you this morning.
Me: And you're already eager to see me again.
Blakely: Keep telling yourself that, hero.
I'm grinning down at my phone like an idiot, trying my best to come up with something that'll give me the last word, but she's really good at beating me to it. I'm searching deep in my records for another innuendo that will make her blush when somebody pounds on my window so hard I jolt in my seat.
I drop my phone and return the glare my captain is giving me before I roll down the window.
“Are you trying to break my fucking window?” I ask. “I know you don't like me, Kiplin, but damn.”
Kiplin's usual scowl is plastered on his face, and he's just as intimidating in his black shirt and leather jacket as he is in all his hockey gear on the ice. I won't ever tell him, but I'm pretty fucking happy he's on my team. I’d hate to skate against him.