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)
“But I want you to.”
“Double no.”
“But I think you should.”
“I’ll go,” Kyle Goor – or Goory – Jonathan “Becks” Beckerman’s long lettuce having rookie replacement slyly volunteers with a lift of his tanned glove free hand. “I’m more than happy to pop that cherry for you, baby.”
“I wouldn’t mind bein’ the first to put my lips around somethin’ for you, sweetheart,” Kolby Wahl – aka WonderWahl – one of our defensemen wolfishly offers.
“I like to taste,” Matej “Matty” Horák, our Czech forward, eagerly states. “Vy zvláště”
Pretty sure – like our teammates – he’s declaring he wants to taste her rather than whatever she’s about to pour into those cups.
And that would be a bloody horrible idea.
Drinking hemlock – ancient Greek style – would be wiser.
“I think our captain should go first, aye?” Shifting focus over to Igor Alexeyev, our 6’5 half-Russian defenseman, is accompanied by a mischievous, crooked grin. “You know. Lead the boys on and off the ice like the fucking beauty you are.”
He doesn’t hesitate to narrow his glare at me.
Wordlessly remind me of the pounding he will happily deliver on the ice for my selfishness.
Eh.
Worth it if Hoss finally begins to believe me about having no interest in her sister.
Because I don’t.
I didn’t when we hooked up, and I damn sure don’t now, and I’m pretty sure the reason all these fucking plugs are even remotely interested is because we collectively told them not to be.
“Not a bad call, Snowman,” our social media instructor surprisingly concurs. “Let’s do this.” Her firm finger point causes her loose fitted, cropped, Dalvegan jacket to dramatically cascade down her slender shoulder, flashing me more skin on her than I’m typically allowed to see, a point my dick would happily make known if it weren’t for my gear. “Let’s pose Audrey behind the cart like she just pushed in it herself, have Cap walking towards the ice like he’s leading the boys to pracky, and we’ll angle the shot so that warmie laps can be used as the backdrop, really capturing that early pre-season essence fans are itching for.”
Fuck, I love when she’s in her element.
Truth bombskie?
Not sure our following would love us off the ice as much as they do if it weren’t for her creative magic.
“How was that little fire crotch that auditioned to be an ice girl this season, Snowman?” Luka Lagunas, Goonie Tune number one, playfully pokes. “She pass her audition with you?”
Luke Lagunas, Goonie Tune number two, adds to the gibing, “She scratch your itch?”
“We know you like ‘em bendy,” the trouble making pair chirp in tandem.
Chuckles spread throughout the group prompting Hoss to roll her eyes.
Forfuckssake…this is the last shit I needed to add into the mix.
I didn’t sleep with that girl.
In fact, the only actual contact I had with her was picking up her towel that she dropped when I passed by on my way to the weight room.
How or why this is suddenly a rumor or speculation is unknown.
Defense swiftly darts through my tone, “Mate, we didn’t-”
“Remember, boys,” Hoss loudly interrupts, “the camera is not here, so just be natural.” They easily settle back down for her. “It’s just you, the LMC representative, and me.”
“Who looks exactly like you,” Jazon Hedgecomb, our starting right wing, needlessly points out.
“Meaning you should be twice as relaxed, Hedgie,” Hoss sasses in a snarky nature. “Can you count that high?”
Laughter effortlessly rolls around the area further proving the other thing that sets her apart from her Chanel wearing clone.
She’s one of the boys.
She gives us shit.
We give her shit.
And we protect her from anyone who isn’t us from treating her like shit.
Teammates aren’t just the ones who lace up with you to hit the ice.
They’re also the ones that have your back on dryland.
The boys – self excluded – pile up in the distant area as instructed while Audrey submissively follows her sister’s instructions regarding which way to shift her figure, the best angles to capture the product as well as the company’s logo, and the best phrasing for keeping the boys relaxed rather than tightened up – a habit most of them fall victim to when speaking on camera versus playing.
Again.
Self-excluded.
Why?
Because unlike most of them, I pracky that shit.
I was raised to believe pracky makes presentable, not perfect.
And presentable is achievable unlike perfection.
Stick taps to my professor father.
“I didn’t sleep with her,” offhandedly leaves me the instant there’s an open opportunity for it to. “I don’t even know her name.”
“Yeah, like you’ve never banged a broadskie whose name you didn’t know.”
“I haven’t.”
“Liar.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Well, you’re not telling the truth.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know hockey players,” she sourly argues, “I’ve dated a hockey player, and I know your infamous for doing both things.”
“Wait…” curiosity carves itself into my glare, convincing me to lean in a bit closer, “you said the other night you do not date hockey players.”