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)
"Fine," Diego grumbles before his tone turns triumphant. "But your mom fucking loves me. She told me so before I blew her back out last night."
"You are such a fucking…"
Emilia reaches the bar, leaning over to say something to Marco, the bar tender. When she does, her dress rides up dangerously high in the back. My mouth waters at the sight of her thick thighs.
Some asshole in a suit, one of the execs named Sean or Sven or something like that, seated off to the side notices her, too. He licks his fucking lips, staring at her ass. A second later, his hand drops to his lap, adjusting his dick.
"Nope. Hell no," I growl, dropping my bottle to the table and sliding from the booth.
"Where the fuck are you going?" Micah asks.
I ignore him, stalking across the bar toward Emilia as Sean or Sven or whatever his fucking name is heads her way, too. I beat him there, shooting him a warning glare as I press up against her from behind.
She immediately squeaks, spinning around to face me…which just means her tits are crushed against my chest and my dick is nestled against her stomach. I lash a hand around her waist, pinning her in place as I glance over at the dick in the suit again.
He holds his hands up, backing away. "My bad, Whatley. Didn't know she was yours."
She isn't mine. Yet. But I don't tell him that.
Christ, I am so fucked.
I wait for Suit to walk away before I slowly release Emilia, glancing down at her. Her wide eyes are locked on my face, the desire in them unmistakable. I want to lick my way across every freckle on her face.
Goddammit.
"Hey," I mutter, sliding onto a stool.
"Are you stalking me, Nash Whatley?" she asks, hopping up onto the stool beside me. Judging by the way she smiles when she says it, she isn't opposed to the idea.
"You're in our bar, baby girl."
"What?" Her brows furrow, her face scrunching up as she glances around. Her expression quickly clears when she notices the giant television screens, the windows overlooking the ice below, and the blue and gray motif all over the place. "Oh, right."
I chuckle, shaking my head. It shouldn't be legal to be so fucking beautiful and so fucking adorable at the same time. "Did you forget that you're at the arena?"
"No," she mumbles, avoiding my gaze, which I take to mean yes, she did forget that.
I shift on the stool, trying to give my dick a little breathing room. It's a fruitless attempt. The hard bastard isn't going down anytime soon.
"I heard a rumor."
"What a coincidence. So did I."
"Oh, I can't wait to hear this shit." I motion for her to go ahead with hers. I already know it's going to be ridiculous. Damn near every word out of her mouth is full of fire and sass, as if teasing me is a biological imperative with her.
She waits for the bartender to place her drink in front of her—which looks suspiciously like a milkshake and nothing at all like alcohol—and then leans so close her perfect tits brush my arm. I feel her breath on the side of my face and my goddamn cock throbs.
"Rumor has it that a certain left defenseman may or may not have violated the sanctity of the locker room by jerking off in it," she whispers in my ear. "Alone."
A bark of surprised laughter rumbles from my lips as she drops back down onto her stool, grinning from ear to ear.
"Care to confirm or deny these heinous allegations, Whatley?" she asks, holding her milkshake out toward me like it's a microphone and she's a gossip reporter.
"Confirmed," I growl, pulling the straw into my mouth to take a big drink. I smell the alcohol right about the time I choke on it. My eyes water as the alcohol burns its way down my throat. "Jesus fucking Christ, Emilia. You could kill a horse with that thing."
She gasps in outrage, holding the milkshake against her chest like I just threatened to murder it. "Worry about yourself, Whatley."
"What the fuck is in it? Half a bottle of rum?"
"A little of this, a lot of that." She grins, popping the straw into her mouth to take a drink…and I've never wanted to be a straw more in my life. Her eyes immediately widen with shock and then start watering. "Oh. Oh, wow. That's way stronger than I expected."
"What is it?"
"A harmless peach milkshake."
I shoot her a look.
"A harmless boozy peach milkshake."
"So…our new shrink drinks boozy peach milkshakes, doesn't know how to knock, and likes to fuck with me. What else should I know about her?" I ask.
Her eyes widen.
"I told you that I heard a rumor," I say, shrugging. "Yours is more salacious than mine, but I still feel like I won this round."