Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
“Only sibling, one ear,” Audrey obnoxiously tries to correct.
“Audrey,” hisses our mom.
“They’re the same thing, Insta No.”
“Arden,” she repeats in the same unapproving tone.
“What?” I less than innocently toss back. “They’re not not the same thing.”
Another smile threatens to make itself seen, encouraging Dad to lovingly chastise, “Comportarse.” He motions a finger from me to her. “Both of you.”
“How about this?” Reaching for another piece of bacon is attached to ignoring the request that we behave as well as the unyielding hum in my ear. “You two just give me my inheritance now. I’ll quit my job, stash some of the cash away in case I need to have that surgery after all – you know I don’t want you to pay for it – and move to Narvik, Norway where I can find a respectable gig in the EHL. Pretty sure learning Norwegian won’t be that hard. I already know how to say one of the most important phrases in hockey.” I tear the strip in two and offer one portion of it to Bear. “Mål.”
Dad can’t help but give into his curiosity, “That means goal, doesn’t it?”
“Amedeo,” Mom airily fusses.
“Right,” he quickly brushes off with a shake of the head. “We’re not prematurely giving you your inheritance to run away from your problems, Arden.”
“Fly away.”
“That either,” the man who technically built my love of hockey lightly chuckles.
“Aw, but she asked so nicely,” Audrey mockingly assists.
“It’s time you two learned to work with one another rather than against,” our mother warmly declares.
“Exactly,” Dad immediately echoes. “Teamwork makes the dreamwork.”
And apparently, all is fair in hate and nightmares.
Chapter 3
Tanner
“True or false?” I lean against the 3P piece of gear in question, doing my best not to smirk. “You drew a dick on my stick.”
Hoss resists the urge to smile with minimal effort and keeps her attention plastered in the direction my teammates are approaching from. “You’re standing too close to me.”
“I am not.”
“You’re in my good light.”
“Again, I am not.”
“Khurana?” she innocently calls to her cameraman lapdog.
“Snowman, you’re in her good light,” he grunts on command prior to elbowing his way between us, “and in my recording space.”
Rather than remain beside him, I swing around to relocate myself to the other side of her, instantly smirking a second time once I’m there. “Better?”
“Better would be you on another team.”
“You’d miss me.”
“I’d practice my slapshot to correct that,” she effortlessly retorts.
There isn’t time to respond courtesy of the main reason the girl of my dreams so openly hates me.
“Hi boyssssss,” coos Audrey Hoss upon her entry into the space beside her cart wielding assistant.
Ah, the princess of fuck bunnies – more formally known as my biggest regret – clad in her white leather mini skirt, boots, half-shirt, and Grinch skinned fuzzy coat, ready to lead any and every poor dick-led soul to their inevitable death like she’s a direct descendant of Morgan le Fay herself.
“You ready to taste for me?” She seductively purrs at the same time she pushes her black sunglasses into her long, straight locks.
Hoss’s gagging can barely be heard around the hungry grumbles of the boys.
Hey, they’ve been warned.
By coach.
Cap.
Me.
See, there’s puck bunnies – those that wanna hop into our laps simply for lacing up our skates – and fuck bunnies – those that will fuck up your entire existence if you make the mistake of banging one of them.
Puck Bunnies come and go.
Fuck Bunnies come and refuse to go until they’ve left with what they’re after.
Your salary.
Your semen.
Your bloody soul.
“I can’t wait to get on your lips,” Audrey giggles causing her twin to dry heave louder.
“Can she hear herself?” I quietly inquire at a hushed volume to the beauty beside me.
“I wish I couldn’t hear her,” Hoss swiftly responds.
“One push of a button would make that possible, aye?”
The corner of her lip twitches upward.
I don’t know anything about why she wears a hearing aid.
None of the boys do.
I’d ask, but I don’t wanna have to have med call in a surgeon to reattach my testicles when I manage to collect the pair from where she’s thrown them on the ice post ripping them off.
“I wish I couldn’t see her,” freely leaves me next. “I mean, is she product testing coffee or one of her Halloween outfits?” My claim successfully receives her bright, brown eye stare. “Honestly, I didn’t even know they made a slutty Oscar the Grouch costume.”
Snickers slip loose against what I imagine is her own volition.
“Is that a laugh?” Lighthearted melodies flutter between us, convincing my pulse to unexpectedly speed up. “Is that what that sounds like coming from you?”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
“Maybe…”
“Definitely.”
“I’m not not lying.”
“Frosssskkkkyyyy,” summons the female who took advantage of my inebriated state well over a year ago, “you wanna go first?”
“No,” I decline without hesitation, annoyance regarding her purposeful cock blocking undeniably in my tone.