Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Before I can tell him my thoughts, Liam growls as he squeezes his stick in his hand. We follow his gaze to find Chelsea standing at center ice with Jackson Shepard, an officer who usually plays for the Blue Line Bandits but must be subbing tonight. He’s a good kid, just moved here to be with his dad, who has been battling COPD. I haven’t had much interaction with him, but it’s obvious Chelsea is interested. She grins coyly at him, her cheeks flushed, and not from the chill of the ice, as she leans on her stick in his direction. I’ve known this girl since she was a baby, and I’ve never seen her look at a guy like that. Jackson is eating it up, grinning from ear to ear, a smitten look on his face as he moves the puck around her blade playfully.
“Didn’t I tell you to kick him from the league?” Liam asks me, and I snort.
“I can’t do that, and you know it.”
Liam doesn’t like my answer. “I don’t want him near my daughter. He comes from batshit-crazy parents.”
Being in a town this small, everyone knows everyone, and he may be right, but I fucking hate when people use people’s families against them. “He’s a good kid.”
“Not good enough for my baby.”
Dean nods. “No one is good enough for our girls.” Dean slaps his hand on Liam’s back, and my heart squeezes. I don’t know what they mean because I don’t have kids.
Sometimes I wish I did.
My gaze moves to where Fable sits with the Belles. She throws her head back, laughing at something Bea said, and jealousy eats at me.
I remember when I used to make her laugh like that.
So much has changed, and now that she’s my partner again, I really don’t know how to navigate the feelings that evokes in me.
It’s as if I’m toeing the blue line, and I’m unsure if I’ll be called for offside once I let myself feel what I want. It’s fucking frustrating, but I don’t have the opportunity to dwell.
The whistle blows, and it’s time for us to fucking annihilate the Pucklic Officials.
The Beer League Belles win by four over the Pucklic Officials, and my girls are waiting for me when I come out of the locker room, fresh from a shower. Usually, I’d wait till I got upstairs, but knowing that Fable was with them, I didn’t want to stink. The girls have a table right outside the locker rooms, against the boards. Many times, a guy has knocked into just the right spot on the boards to knock over their beers, but they love it. Phillip built the spot for them about eighteen years ago, and no one else is allowed to sit there.
There is a sign with pink and gold lettering saying just that.
I’m met with hugs and kisses from everyone but Fable, and I hate how much that disappoints me. What’s a guy gotta do to get a hug from her? Not that I deserve one. I was a pure ass the other day at Phillip’s will-reading. The girls have let me know that countless times, but I just don’t know how to feel. I don’t want to be mad, but I feel like the rug has been pulled out from under me. It doesn’t help that my feelings about seeing her are riding me really hard.
I’m all-around fucking confused and unsure how to handle myself.
That’s nothing new when it comes to the ice princess.
One thing I do know is that Fable is here, and she’s just as beautiful as she was when we were younger.
She has on a Belles jersey, but it isn’t my number. It’s her grandpa’s, and I know it makes me a dick for wanting to rip it off her, but I do. Especially with how her hair is in her face. She has a few pieces pulled back with little pink bow clips, and I want to muss her up. When she walked into the rink, with her jeans basically painted on her body, my mouth went dry. It’s ridiculous how hot seeing her in jeans makes me. I’ve seen this girl with bare legs, in tights, and everything else, but it’s the jeans that get me going.
I know why.
She never wore them when we were younger. Elena always made Fable wear dresses or slacks to keep up appearances. It was insane, and I know she hated it. When she’d sneak and wear jeans, the joyful look on her face would leave me grinning for days. Fable has a rebel streak that I thoroughly enjoy. She was a sight to behold, but nothing like she is now, her legs crossed, her knee bouncing as she looks down at her beer. I can tell she’s nervous around me as she continues to pick at the label of the beer I saw her get midway through the game, and I don’t like that I’m causing her stress.