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)
"Not a damn thing about that surprises me, Emilia." He pulls to a stop at a red light, glancing over at me. "Why would it?"
"I can be a lot for some people," I say, shrugging. I'm not ashamed of it, but it's the truth. I was raised by a single father who spent his whole life on the ice, surrounded by hockey players. I've never been appropriate or well-behaved. I'm not entirely sure what either of those things even look like.
I say what's on my mind. I give as good as I get. I rarely ever back down. And on most days that end in Y, I'm a whole damn mess. But that's the beauty of knowing who you are and what you believe in. It's the joy that comes with having a parent who embraces every loud, messy part of you and wants you to thrive exactly as you are. No one ever tried to pour me into a mold and chip away the edges that didn't fit.
I was always allowed to just…be.
I want the same exact things for the people who come to see me. Everyone deserves that freedom. I can't talk people through their issues and coach them into being their authentic selves if I'm not authentically myself.
I can't help but worry that the team and management may be expecting someone…a lot less like me, though. Most people do. I do not want to add to any preconceived notions by getting a reputation right out of the gate. People accuse women of sleeping their way to the top every day. I don't want to be one of them, especially when I'm already going to be judged because my father is the head coach.
I leave out the part about my dad threatening to send Nash down to the minor league team to make an example out of him. I don't want to hide it from him. I just…really don't want him to decide this isn't worth the risk.
Can't I have one night before being the Coach's daughter ruins it? That's been the story of my life. I don't want it to repeat itself this time. Not with Nash.
Maybe that's selfish and unfair of me. I don't know. But I want Nash badly enough to accept those labels.
"Yeah, well, they weren't the right people then," Nash mutters, reaching over to touch my cheek. "Professional doesn't mean you have a stick up your ass. I've known doctors who have wheelchair races in the halls and scientists who pilfer supplies to make dick molds."
"Of their own…?" I stare at him with wide eyes.
He shrugs. "People are who they are. Professional means you know your shit and know when to act like you have it together. It doesn't mean you've gotta walk around with a superiority complex seven days a week."
"Wisely spoken," I murmur.
He winks at me, slowly sliding his hand away. "I'm a wise motherfucker on occasion, baby girl."
"Only on occasion?"
"I willingly spend about half my time in a locker room that smells like ball sweat and swamp ass, Emilia. Wisdom is definitely an occasional thing over here."
I throw my head back, laughing loudly.
"What other rules do you have?"
"No talking about Fight Club?"
He shoots me a look, making me laugh.
"I can't think of any right now. You?"
"You make the rules, Emilia. I'll follow your lead."
"You may regret saying that, Whatley. Never give a girl all the power. She may use it to tie you up in the Sin Bin. Just saying."
His lips quirk into a smile. "Bring it on, baby girl."
We don't speak again as he navigates through Penn Town toward Columbus Heights. Once he parks outside of my townhouse, he looks over at me, his green eyes full of curiosity and something far deeper that sends a thrill twisting through me.
It should be criminal to want this man as much as I do. And yet…I'm swimming in a pool of evidence over here. My heart freaking pounds every time I look at him. He's nothing like I expected, and somehow precisely what I expected. I feel like a kid in a candy store, trying to decide which pieces of him I want most when, in reality, I want it all.
"Come in with me," I blurt before I can talk myself out of it. I can be sensible and rational and slow this down again tomorrow. But for tonight, I don't want to be or do any of those things. I want him all over me.
"That's a bad idea."
"Why?"
His grip on the steering wheel tightens, his eyes not deviating from my face. "Because if I come in, you'll be coming all over me again."
"I mean, that was kind of the plan, Whatley." I arch a brow, unable to resist challenging him. I think he loves it. I think he thrives on it. And I think it drives him freaking wild when I don't do what he expects. "Unless you don't think you can keep up?"