Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
I shrug. “Better late than never.”
“Is it?” She raises her chin. “Am I supposed to swoon because the Shawn Drayton is talking to me?”
The bitter, mocking tone of her voice knocks me off kilter. Jacob was a douche, and I wasn’t much better. But does that warrant so much hostility? “I’m just a devastatingly attractive and highly skilled athletic dude, standing in front of a pretty girl, asking her to have coffee with me.”
Said pretty face doesn’t move with even the slightest flicker of amusement. I’m off my game, and my game is who I am. Her indifference is a nudge backward when I’m used to marching forward.
“What makes you think I want to spend my limited free time with you?”
Leaning against the library wall where she’s stopped to deal with my questions, I shoot her my best smirk. “Because you’re curious. Admit it. You’re at least a little interested in the terrible person I’ve become.”
Her gaze dips as though she’s fighting back amusement and resents her own response. “Terrible person, huh? And that’s supposed to increase the appeal of coffee?”
“Think of it as research. ‘How rink-rats evolve from high school to college.’ You could publish a paper on it. Or an article. It’d be groundbreaking.”
She laughs a short, reluctant sound. “You’re ridiculous.”
“True. But I make it look good.” I shrug, trying to make out that this means nothing to me when in reality, taking Riley out and making her like me has now become an absolute necessity. “And besides, I bet you missed me. Even if you won’t admit it.”
She rolls her eyes. “Pretty sure I’d forgotten about your existence.”
I don’t believe that for a second. Her dad was a major hockey fan, and I’m certain he would have followed our games after they moved on. But her flippancy still wounds me.
“Then one drink shouldn’t be a problem, right? Just enough time to remind you of my awesomeness.”
“Drink? I thought you said coffee.” When I don’t backtrack, she tilts her head and folds her lips between her teeth, most likely running through every possible reason to say no. Finally, she sighs. “Not a drink. How about swimming? But keep it on the down-low. I don’t need anyone getting the wrong idea.”
I grin with the spark of victory. “Secrets with Riley Johnstone? Now we’re talking. Your reputation is safe with me.”
“Oh yeah. You keep all your interactions with women to yourself?”
Faking a hurt expression, I place a hand on my chest. “Of course. I might be a rink rat, but I’m not a love rat. Ask anyone.” This isn’t strictly true, but the girls I fuck tend to talk about it all over campus and online. If I’m indiscreet, it isn’t a betrayal of anything they’re not already boasting about to their friends.
“No, thank you.” Riley shakes her head like she’s disappointed with herself. It’s obvious she’s not excited about our upcoming meeting, but it’s only a little chip to my ego, mostly because I think her resistance is a pretense. She wants this date. She looked at my dick and had thoughts—the same kind of thoughts I had about her—and even though she used to be my stepsister, it doesn’t mean she’s off limits. There’s no shared blood between us that would make the swapping of bodily fluids unforgivable. Jacob wouldn’t need to know. My body’s response to her is too much to ignore. After my subpar reactions to the opposite sex recently, it’s a major relief when the kind of horniness I thought was a thing of the past surges through me.
We hammer out the details, and I shove my hands in my pockets, tip my head back and look at her through lowered lids. “Eight years is a lot of wasted time to catch up on,” I say. “You’re looking good, Riley. Real good.”
Her eye roll is theatrical, but her hips have a little extra sway as she walks away. I watch her, unable to lose the grin, confident that on Saturday night, I’m going to get a taste of pretty Riley, the kind of taste I haven’t been this excited about for a long time. Nothing like a little resistance to wake the beast.
Looks like today just got a whole lot better.
***
The rink lights are blinding, and the frigid air nips my cheeks as I settle into position. The arena is packed tonight with students, alumni, and locals amped up to watch the Icebreakers crush the Bayfield Warriors. It’s late October, so we’re deep into the season now and the air has that electric game-night intensity that hums through me like a live wire.
The puck drops, and all my senses kick into overdrive. The drills I’ve been running are fresh in my mind and programmed into my muscles, so when Bayfield’s offense is aggressive right out of the gate, charging hard into our zone, I’m fully prepared. I track the puck as it moves from stick to stick, waiting for them to take the first shot. It finally comes from their left winger, a low, fast slapshot aimed for the corner of the net. But I’m ready. I drop low, snatch it up with my glove, and quickly toss it to Jacob.