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)
"Fuck," I groan, my dick immediately raging to life.
Me: You better be wet when I get there, princess.
Future Wife: Worry about yourself, Whatley. I've got myself well in hand. As a matter of fact…
Another picture comes through, and I damn near drop the phone. She's got her skirt hiked up around her waist so every inch of her thick thighs is on display. Her hand is in her panties, touching my pussy.
Fucking hell. She's in the supply closet, playing with my pussy.
Me: Hell no. Do not touch it, Emilia. I will spank it.
Future Wife: That, oddly, did not make me want to touch it less. Must unpack this later…you know, when I'm not otherwise occupied.
I jerk to my feet, shoving my phone in my pocket.
"I'll be back," I growl to Archer. "Got something to take care of."
"Mmhmm," he says.
"I just bet you do, motherfucker," Jordan says, shaking his head. "Tell her we said hi."
"Fuck no. I'm not telling her shit for any of you."
Archer and Jordan laugh as I storm toward the door.
"Where the fuck is he going?" Joaquin asks. "I thought we had practice."
"He has a meeting," Archer lies.
Most of the team knows about Emilia, but they're keeping what they know to themselves. Frankly, I don't think they want to be caught in the middle when Coach finds out. I appreciate the hell out of them for being cool about it, though.
"Goddamn. Does everyone have meetings today?"
I barge through the door into the hall, breathing hard. My shoes slap against the cement as I practically jog down the motherfucker toward the concession supply closet three hallways over, eager to get my hands on Emilia.
I round the corner to the last hall at a fast clip and run right into Coach.
"Goddamn, son," he growls, rearing back with a dark scowl on his face. Lines carve little grooves around his mouth as he stares at me, his hazel eyes too much like his daughter's. "You being chased or something?"
"No. Just in a hurry."
"You should be. You're supposed gearing up for practice, not running around the damn halls like you don't have any sense. Where the fuck are you going?"
"Supply closet. I need to grab something." I stretch the truth as far as I can without outright lying to him. I actually respect the man. He's a hell of a coach and a good man. Sneaking around behind his back doesn't sit well with me. But I'm not going to stop doing it, either.
I want the truth out there so fucking bad I'm ready to explode.
"You can't get it from the closet in the locker room?"
"Nope. We're fresh out of what I need in there." If hell exists, I'm definitely headed there. But at this point, I've accepted it. It is what the fuck it is.
He jerks his head down the hall. "Hurry it up then. We've got shit to do today if you guys are going to be ready to get on that plane tomorrow." He steps forward to go around me and then pauses, frowning. "You good, son? You've been off lately."
"My scoring average is up every game."
"I'm not talking about hockey. I'm talking about you." He pins me with a hard, assessing look. "You seem like you've got shit on your mind."
"Yeah, maybe." I scrub a hand down my face. "I'm good, though, Coach. Just trying to sort out some shit."
"Anything I need to know about?"
"Can I get back to you on that?"
"Don't piss me off, kid. Either you're dealing with shit I need to know about, or you aren't."
"It's not at that level yet." Jesus Christ. I'm spanking Emilia's perfect ass when I get my hands on her.
Coach grunts. "Go talk to the therapy staff after practice, Nash. That's an order. I need your head on straight. You're one of the few on this team who has his shit together. Try to keep it that way, will you?"
"Will do," I mutter.
He shakes his head and takes off down the hall, muttering to himself.
I wait until his steps recede and then haul ass toward the closet, practically ripping the door off the hinges.
My heart rolls over in my chest when Emilia smiles up at me from her perch on a stack of nacho cheese boxes, looking like a curvy goddess with her legs crossed so her skirt rides halfway up her thighs and her dimples on full display. She's got her dark hair up in a bun, little pieces hanging free around her face. She looks downright edible.
"Well, well, well," she says, leaning back to look me up and down. "If it isn't my savior in skates."
"Your savior isn't in today, princess. He sent the sexually liberated hockey player you're going to fuck," I growl, slamming the door closed behind me.
A delighted laugh burbles from her lips as I yank her up into my arms, my lips coming down on hers in a hard kiss.