Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 51902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Jett
My pro hockey dreams are hanging by a thread. I need to have a great season and that means no partying, no distractions, no fun. The grad student pestering me for science-y help on his thesis is the definition of no fun, so…okay.
Pros and cons of agreeing to this
Positive use of free time. (At least that’s what my agent says.)
Malcolm likes big words and his first language is math. He’s also bossy, clumsy, and he doesn’t know the first thing about hockey.
But he’s also cute and he’s got a great sense of humor and—oh no.
I cannot have a crush on the geek. No way. Not now.
Malcolm
Yes, I’m a serious student, but a hockey project is not serious. Who cares about big hunky hockey players zipping around a sheet of ice at warp speed? Not I.
According to my professor, however, the only way to attain the required data is to study the specimen in his natural habitat, AKA, the ice rink.
My thesis should lead to a bevy of job offers.
Jett. He’s impossible—too big, too handsome, too gruff and yet disarmingly charming and—
Okay, fine. I like the jock…a lot.
Lately, I find myself wondering if there’s such a thing as a one-time shot at forever.
One-Time Shot is a low-angst, geek-jock MM college hockey romance featuring a charismatic hockey star and an adorkable scientist.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
JETT
“Knowing yourself is the beginning of all wisdom.”—Aristotle
The clang of silverware and the hum of animated conversation echoed off the walls and rain-streaked windows of the local greasy spoon. In spite of the crappy weather, there was a line at the reception area and a gaggle of students waiting at the takeout counter.
On the surface, Bear Depot was nothing special—scuffed and cracked tiled flooring, uncomfortable booths with red, peeling and faded leatherette upholstery, and wood tables scarred with the initials of patrons dating back five or six decades ago. But it was affordable on a college budget, and the food was tasty.
Best of all, the waitstaff loved hockey players.
“Your club sandwich and triple-bacon cheeseburger will be up in a few minutes.” A middle-aged brunet, with a megawatt smile and eyelashes so long they didn’t bother pretending to be real, set two large milkshakes down with a wink. “While you wait…a double-chocolate-chip and a cookies-and-cream shake on the house.”
“You’re the best, Shar,” I gushed, stabbing a straw into the chocolate-chip goodness. “Thank you.”
“Mmhmm.” Ty slurped whipped cream like a heathen and nodded enthusiastically. “The best!”
“You’re welcome. That win against Central was absolute perfection. Keep it up, boys.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ty grinned, sporting a white foamy mustache that would have looked goofy as fuck on any other six-foot-four dude with a light beard, copious tats, and muscles galore. Not Ty. He was the kind of confident that got away with sophomoric antics and the occasional lapse of manners.
I rolled my eyes as soon as Shar had moved on. “You’re such a kiss-ass.”
“Jealous? You know the ladies love me, Erickson. What can I say?” He waggled his bushy brows and took another sip. “They like you too, but you’re not as sweet as me.”
True enough. “Fuck sweet.”
“See? You’re an asshole. A lovable one…sort of. Though Coach didn’t agree today.”
“Coach didn’t like anybody today. Did you see him get on Brady’s case and—” I glanced over my shoulder, following Ty’s straying gaze. “What are you looking at?”
“That dude is staring at you. Or me. I can’t tell.”
I twisted slightly in my seat. “Who? I don’t see—oh.”
A willowy, thin guy with wavy dark-blond hair, glasses, a navy V-neck sweater, and khaki cargo pants that gave serious dad vibes was currently craning his head in our direction.
“Maybe he’s a hockey fan,” Ty suggested.
“Maybe.” I shrugged, sucking milkshake through the straw before continuing my earlier gripe session.
I wasn’t the type to complain about teammates who weren’t pulling their weight. Gossiping was counterproductive. However, I wasn’t opposed to brainstorming with a trusted friend who more or less had the same goal as I did—to be signed with a professional team, stat. Ty was two years younger, though. He had time on his side. Me…not so much.
As a kid, I’d had lofty dreams of getting drafted by the Red Wings straight out of high school. Even then, I’d been vaguely aware that it wasn’t how the system worked, but I’d believed the coaches who’d told me I had the potential to do great things. Maybe to even be the next Great One.
Gullible? A touch. At this point, there was a snowball’s chance in hell that was gonna happen.
First up, I was a senior in college now, and my long-suffering agent hadn’t had much luck finding me a postgraduation gig in the pros. Or anywhere worthwhile. A smarter man would have a backup plan, like selling real estate for my dad’s firm—but I couldn’t let go of the idea that I still had a shot.
My success was tied to my team, though, and we were off to a lackluster start. Sure, it was early in the season, and we’d won a few easy games—like our recent one against Central. It was the tougher ones on the schedule that worried me. If Brady didn’t figure out how to pass with some level of accuracy soon, I’d look like a schmuck out there, constantly chasing errant pucks and—
“You’re future-trippin’, Jettster. You gotta quit that shit, or you’ll end up missing out on what’s happening here and now,” Ty advised, stuffing the last of his ginormous burger into his mouth.
“Nothing is happening right now. Only hockey.” I pushed my empty plate aside and vacuumed the remnants of my shake from the bottom of my glass.
To his credit, Ty waited till he’d chewed and swallowed before attempting further conversation. “Incorrect. Langley’s having a party Friday night, and you, my friend, need to be there.”
“Do I?”
“You do. Pretty girls, party favors, and…a chance to do some team bonding off the freaking ice. Trust me. That shit matters, too.” He checked his vibrating cell and tossed a few bills onto the table. “Sorry, man, I gotta run.”
I frowned, but abrupt departures were very much Ty’s style. He was a big-entrance, big-exit kind of guy. No doubt there was a girl waiting for him somewhere. Or a guy. Fine by me…as long as he’d left enough to cover his part.