Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
One day, after she’s gone through all of the shit I have in my life, Max will understand why Mommy has to spritz her lady parts in the bathtub. For her sake, I hope she doesn’t end up like me. I thought I had it all figured out. Turns out, nothing in life ever goes according to plan.
Chapter Two
DUKE
Marcel waves his hand to get my attention. The bar around the corner from our house is more crowded than usual. I push my way through the throng, ignoring everyone as I head toward the bar. A few local girls grab my shirt, calling out my name. With only thirty minutes to kill before I have to call my sister, I shake them off me.
Lucas leans against the brick wall, right below the electric green beer sign. He tips a bottle of Heineken to his lips, and when his eyes meet mine, he raises it in the air. Benji is next to him, talking to a skinny blonde with long legs.
Marcel shoves a beer at my chest. “You’re late.”
“It won’t take me long to catch up to you lightweights,” I quip.
He shakes his head. “Dickhead.”
“That’s Captain Dickhead to you.” I lean against the bar and drain the rest of my beer in one gulp, slamming it down on the counter. “You want another?”
Marcel sets his empty bottle next to mine. “Yeah, you can buy us a round.”
I flag down a busty brunette bartender and groan when Shelly comes in her place. Shelly flicks her red hair over her shoulder, jiggling her tits in my face as she leans forward.
“Hey, Duke,” she purrs. “It’s been a while. What can I get you?”
We spent a drunken night together last year. Since that night, she hasn’t given up hope that she has another shot. Never going to happen. Shelly is a little too crazy, even for a booty call.
“Another round for the boys,” I say as I hand her my credit card to start a tab.
As their captain, I’m usually on their ass about drinking during hockey season. But Lucas’ birthday is today. I told the guys they could have one night to chill before we have to get back to work.
Shelly fists four beers and lowers them to the bar in front of me, giving me an even better view of her rack. I’m a man. Of course, I like sex. But nothing Shelly does will ever get my attention. In my defense, I was wasted that night. I’ll never get that shitfaced again.
“Hey, Cap,” Lucas says to me, nudging me in the arm with his elbow. “What took you so long?”
“Family stuff,” I tell him. “I can’t stay long.”
I wave Benji over. With an annoyed look, Benji peels himself from the blonde. She glances over her shoulder at me, her nose scrunched. Lucas drapes his arm over my shoulder, weighing me down with his heavy body.
I pass the beers to my teammates. “To Lucas.” I raise my bottle in the air. “Happy birthday, bro.”
Marcel and Benji join in, and we tap our bottles together. I take a big gulp, wishing I could stay a little while longer. It’s not often I get to relax. During hockey season, I rarely drink, unless it’s a special occasion like this one. But my sister sounded all-business when she asked to have a family meeting over the phone. The concern in her tone still worries me.
The blonde saunters over to us, attaching herself to Benji as she drags him back to their seats. He follows behind her like a puppy dog, which is unusual for him. Benji never settles on just one woman when we go out together. This girl must be special, though I personally can’t see the appeal. She has a nice ass, a pretty face, and a decent rack, but nothing that would turn me into a love drunk asshole like him.
“What’s up with Benji?” I ask no one specific.
“That’s the girl he’s been talking to online,” Marcel says. “He’s whipped already.”
“Like you have room to talk,” Lucas shoots back. “You’re all wifed-up now.”
He snorts. “I’m not married.”
“Not married yet,” Benji challenges. “Shay carries your balls around in her purse.”
A howl of laughter shakes through me.
Marcel’s cell phone rings, and he can’t answer it fast enough. “Hey, baby.” He turns his body away from us, covering the side of his mouth with his hand.
“C’mon,” Lucas says, steering me toward the end of the bar. “Let’s get away from these losers.” He tips his head toward a group of girls. “I need a wingman.”
Five women in their twenties are sitting at a high-top table by the window, whispering to each other as they look over at us. Girls are so obvious. Why don’t they just come over here if they want to talk to us?
“I’m good,” I say, not the least bit interested.