Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
I’ve had a few girlfriends make it to the friends and family section for a handful of games, but Abby is different. I don’t really consider her my girlfriend, even though she is. She’s my partner in every way that matters. The kids and I love her and consider her one of us. Our sex life, when we manage to fit sex in, is off the charts. She’s my best friend.
Over the summer, we became as inseparable as our careers allow us to be. It’s October now, and we’re busy with the kids’ hockey schedules, too, but we make it work. Abby spends about half her time at my place and half in New York when she has to be there for work.
“Hey, man,” Anton says, stopping in front of my locker. “You ready for this?”
“Been ready since April,” I say, grinning.
“Let’s go out there and remind ‘em all who we are.” His jaws tightens and he scowls. “Vladimir Fucking Krupin’s all show and no go.”
I nod in agreement, though it’s not really true. Trash talking opponents gives us all a mental edge, so of course, we do it. But Vladimir Krupin was a first round pick and he’s the rookie everyone’s buzzing about. A first line forward, he’ll go to toe with me, Anton and Vic tonight.
“I saw that fucker do an interview yesterday where he said he’s not at all intimidated by us,” I tell Anton. “He actually smirked and said he’s younger and faster.”
Vic scoffs from nearby. “I saw that, too. I’m gonna put him on his back a few times and see how much younger and faster he feels then.”
“Did you see that he has more than two dozen women who plan to follow him around the country to watch his games?” Anton asks us. “They call themselves the ‘Krupe-ies.”
“Douchebag,” Vic mutters, shaking his head.
He’s bitter, and I don’t blame him. Last month, the actress he was dating, Kristen Moore, was photographed by tabloids on a yacht with a big shot director twenty years older than her. They were pretty much making out naked. She didn’t even have the decency to break up with Vic; he found out when he saw the pictures online.
“You can get ass any day of the week,” I remind him.
He shrugs and goes back to putting on his pads. I can’t figure out why he’s still hung up on Kristen when she shit all over him like that. But whatever, he’ll snap out of it when another woman catches his eye.
“You’re coming out with us after the game,” Anton says, his brows arched seriously.
I groan softly.
“Don’t give me any shit. The whole team goes out after the season opener.”
“All right,” I agree. “One drink.”
“Dude,” Victor says, glaring at me, “my fucking grandma parties harder than you do anymore.”
“It’s true,” Jonah calls from nearby, “I partied with his grandma last night, she gives fantastic head.”
“Fuck you,” Vic says, flipping him off.
“Bring Abby with you,” Anton says to me. “Mia’s coming. Lots of the wives and girlfriends will be there.”
“We’ve got the kids. We’re taking them out for pizza.”
“I get that,” he says with a shrug. “But you’re having one drink with us.”
“Yeah, I will.”
I get my gear on, my pre-game adrenaline pumping. We’ve got a good team this season. The chemistry has been there in our practices, now it’s time to put it to the test with our first regular-season game.
Coach and Anton get everyone pumped up, and by the time my skate hits the ice, I’m fucking dying to start this season with a bang. We didn’t make it far in the playoffs last season; all of us want to come out strong in this one.
I get a glimpse of Abby and the kids and my heart pumps even harder with excitement. Abby’s one of the most successful female entrepreneurs in the world, and I’m proud she’s mine. But this—hockey—is what I do, and I want to make her proud of me, too.
We aren’t far into the game and I’m in position, waiting for a pass, when it feels like a fucking bus hits me. My body slams into the boards, knocking the air from my lungs.
Fuck, that hurts. My back and shoulder are burning.
I get a skate blade on the ice and manage to push myself into a standing position. Vladimir Krupin is already several feet away, escaping after getting in a cheap shot.
When there’s a line change, Knox catches my eye on the bench and nods. He’s telling me he’s gonna retaliate for the hit. I shake my head, though, and he gives me a confused look. I gesture at myself, telling him I’ve got it.
Knox will still fight Krupin; I know Knox well enough to know that. But I get the first shot.
As soon as my line goes back out, I skate over to Krupin and throw my gloves off.