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)
"We can't all have what we want, Whatley."
"Oh, we can." He sends me a look hot enough to scorch the freaking earth. "All you gotta do is say the words." He winks and then turns and skates toward the tunnel, leaving me standing there, reeling.
"I should have brought extra panties to this game," I mumble, yanking his jersey on over my head before I turn to scurry back to my seat. I already need them.
The wives and girlfriends are completely silent as I squeeze past. Alice is not. As soon as I drop into my seat beside her, she turns to me, her grin reflecting in her hazel eyes.
"Girl," she says, drawing the word out.
"I know," I groan, scrubbing my hands down my face. "I am so screwed."
"By Nash Whatley from the looks of it." Her wicked laugh spills out around us…and I can't help but smile. She has no clue just how right she is.
"My dad is going to murder him when he ends up in the box for this."
"I'm already all over it."
I blink at her.
"I told everyone that you're the newest staff member, and this is your first game. The guys are trying to make sure you feel welcome, same as they do with everyone else." She shrugs, smiling brightly. "Can't do anything about him ending up in the box, but if you mix in enough truth while stretching it, it usually works for avoiding gossip."
I stare at her in awe. "You're an evil genius."
"Thanks." She pretends to buff her nails, smirking. And then she sobers. "Seriously, work with them for long enough, and you learn how to manage them and the furor around them. Nash is easy. He has a good head on his shoulders and doesn't make waves. People like him. They trust him. If I tell them that he did X for Y reason, they believe it because, nine times out of ten, it's true."
"And the tenth time?"
"You're the tenth time, Emilia." She laughs when I gape at her. "Like I said, he doesn't make waves."
Until now. Until me.
I glance back out at the ice to see him vanishing through the tunnel, a ref hot on his heels.
Maybe I'm not the only one falling.
Crap.
The game is intense. I spend most of it on my feet, screaming at the top of my lungs. Jordan and Diego spend more than their fair share of time in the Sin Bin.
Surprisingly, Nash doesn't get sent in for removing his jersey, but he does spend a few minutes in for aggressive play. Officials are all over him the entire game thanks to his little show before the horn even sounded. But we still manage to pull out a win, sending the entire arena into chaos.
By some miracle, my dad doesn't notice my jersey. If he knows what happened, he's too preoccupied with the game to mention it. Between the action on the ice, discussions with the coaching staff, and discussions with the guys on the bench, he barely has time to breathe.
Alice and I hug it out as the guys celebrate on the ice. But I feel Nash's eyes on me the entire time. When we break away, my suspicion is confirmed. He's staring right at me, looking like he wants to climb the boards and devour me.
I gulp, shooting him a congratulatory smile.
He winks back before he's swept up by his teammates.
"I need to get down to the Press Pool," Alice says. "Do you want to come with me?"
"I actually think I'm going to go down to my office for a little while," I murmur. The Press Pool is the last place I want to be right now.
"Come on," she murmurs, looping her arm through mine. We join the throng spilling into the aisle, but instead of heading toward the exits, we head toward a door leading onto the ice near the players' tunnel. A member of security lets us through.
"How in the hell do you strut across the ice in those shoes?" I mumble, impressed as Alice sashays on her stilettos like she was born on the ice. Meanwhile, every step I take has me worried I'm going to faceplant in front of the entire arena.
"Do something long enough and you become a pro."
"Tell that to every adult on the planet still trying to fold a fitted sheet."
"That isn't a job, Emilia. That's torture. Different concept," she says, tossing her head. "Fitted sheets weren't meant to be folded. They were designed to annoy the hell out of us."
I laugh quietly. The more time I spend with her, the more I like her. She's gorgeous, with big hazel eyes and flawless ebony skin. She's also sassy as hell, which I fully support. And it's obvious she loves this team and this sport. She is as protective of the guys and their reputations as she is the team and its reputation. She knows her shit.