Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
Nash Whatley
Coach had two rules when I joined the Keep my name out of the press, and don't even think about touching his daughter. The first one? Easy. I'm not some rookie with a chip on my shoulder. The second one? Complicated.
Emilia Lariat might just be the thing I've been missing. But this sassy little minx thinks she can hide what we are together. We'll see how easy that is when I've got her bent over every flat surface in this arena.
She wants to play? That's fine. But I came to win, and not even her father will stop me.
Emilia Lariat
When my father told me to meet him in the locker room, the sausage-fest I walked in on wasn't what he had in mind. Now, I know what his entire roster looks like naked. Puck bunnies would kill to be me right now…and I'd kill to burn the image from my brain.
Thank God for Nash Whatley, my savior in skates. From the minute the growly giant drags me out of the locker room with his hands over my eyes, he's got my head and heart all messed up.
He's the last person I should be sneaking around with…but the second he touches me, I forget exactly what we're risking. I forget everything but his name.
Right up until my dad finds out, anyway
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
Emilia
Isaw a dick once. My lab partner pulled his out mid-project during my freshman year of college. Naturally, I screamed, and karate chopped him across the throat. I'm not sure who was more startled, me or him.
But honestly. I don't know what else he expected me to do. Drop to my knees and slurp it down? No, thank you.
I didn't ask to see it, and it wasn't attractive. It honestly looked a little like a one-eyed lizard dying of dehydration.
Needless to say, I haven't been in a rush to see another one.
So when I march into the locker room at the Washington Carvers' arena to meet my dad, and it's a sausagefest—literally, there are dicks swinging everywhere—muscle memory kicks in.
A startled scream rips from my throat as I assume the position…knees bent, hands up. Ready to do moderate amounts of damage. The one thing I forget to do? Close my eyes.
It's like my brain short circuits, and I can't look away.
The entire locker room falls silent, a dozen sets of eyes locked on me.
I'm staring at their dicks. They're staring at me.
Awkward.
"No weird, dehydrated one-eyed lizard cocks here," I mumble. Guess that solves the mystery of why Chad decided to whip his out apropos of nothing. He was not a show'er or a grow'er. He needed medical intervention.
"Uh, who's the chick?" Logan Moreno, the team's goalie, slowly lowers his hands to cover his junk, humor glinting in his striking blue eyes.
"More importantly, did she just compare our cocks to lizards?" River St. James, second line center and countrywide playboy, makes no move to cover his as he leans up against the wall, flashing his dimples at me.
"Why does she look like she just ripped one?" Micah Rushing asks, his brows furrowed. His wedding band glints on his finger as he slowly yanks a pair of boxers up his muscular legs.
"That smell isn't me. I think it's your sweaty balls." I wrinkle my nose, glancing around. The organization spared no expense on this place. It's fancy fancy. The floor is carpeted, with rows of open wooden lockers instead of the metal cages you'd find in a school. Their jersey numbers are painted in team colors above each one, with the logo emblazoned on the ceiling. But there's a lingering hint of stale sweat, as if it's permeated every inch of the room. "Does it always smell like ass in here?"
Laughter ripples across the locker room as Micah's lips quirk up into a grin. "That's not my ass and balls you smell, sweetheart. You're probably smelling Jordan."
"Fuck off, Micah," Jordan Silvestri growls, lifting a middle finger in the air before his steely gray eyes come to me, his expression severe. With the piercing in his ear, his tattoos, and his long hair tied up on top of his head, he doesn't look like he stinks. He looks downright dangerous. Hot and dangerous. "Why are you in our locker room?"
"Wow. You are a grouch," I mumble, not really surprised. Everyone says he can be difficult. Not that I would really know.
My dad has been the head coach of the Washington Carvers for the last six years, but I've spent even longer on the other side of the country, chasing my dreams. Even if I hadn't been, my dad has always tried to keep me as far from the team as possible.
As far as he's concerned, hockey players aren't to be trusted, especially not around his daughter. I guess he'd know. He played professionally for years before my mom got pregnant with me. She wanted to put me up for adoption. He didn't. That was pretty much the end of his career on the ice.
"And you didn't answer the question."
"She's Lariat's daughter."
I glance to the right to see Archer Graves, the team captain, leaning against a door frame, his dark hair damp as if he just finished showering. He jerks his chin at me, amusement in his blue eyes. "What's up, Emilia?"
"Oh, thank God." My hands fall back to my sides, relief rushing through me at the sight of someone I know. I watch their games religiously, but Archer is the only current member of the team I've ever met. He's also fully clothed. "It's a whole sausagefest in here. I was beginning to think this is all you guys do in here all day."
"Sit around naked?" Archer asks.
"Circle jerks. Isn't that what they're called?" I shrug. "I read about them. A bunch of guys get together and…" I clock the way everyone is staring at me in varying degrees of shock and horror and realize that, perhaps, I shouldn't finish that sentence. In a matter of days, I'll be their therapist. I probably shouldn't antagonize them too much right out of the gate. "You know what? Never mind. You've probably participated. You don't need me to explain the mechanics."