Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
She sighs. It’s a long and familiar exhale. The one that comes right before she delivers the lecture she’s polished over the decades. “As long as you’re happy. I just don’t want you to depend on anyone else to secure your future or your independence.”
Independence.
The single thought reverberates through me like a mantra. It’s one she’s been drilling into me since my father walked out the door and started a shiny new family with his shiny new wife. The reminder lands heavy just like it always does. Kind of like a weight in the middle of my chest I can never quite set down.
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes with a text.
Big D: On my way up.
My stomach dips like I’ve missed a step on the stairs. “Uh, Mom, I’ve gotta go.”
“Already? We’ve barely talked.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow. Promise.” I hang up before she can push, and stare at the glowing screen.
I’ve decided that tonight’s the night. Whatever this is with Oliver Van Doren ends now.
It’s not even that big of a deal.
We’re not dating.
It’s more of a casual hookup situation.
No feelings or strings attached.
Except every time he touches me, another invisible thread knots itself tighter around my ribs, pressing into places I can’t ignore.
Although, I know better. I’m way too smart to fall for an athlete. Especially a professional one who has the hockey world at his feet.
Not to mention, women.
There are so many of them clamoring for his attention.
The thought pricks at me.
But it isn’t jealousy.
How could it be, when feelings aren’t supposed to be part of this?
And there’s no way in hell I’d ever allow myself to develop feelings for Oliver, or any man for that matter.
I was raised by a mother who taught me that men will, more often than not, walk away. And when they do, you better be strong enough to stand back up and carry on without them.
That lesson stuck.
It’s why I keep my distance. Especially from guys like Oliver. The kind who could make a woman forget all her rules.
So, knowing all this, why does the thought of cutting him loose feel like pressing on a bruise I shouldn’t still have?
A knock at the door jerks me from the thorny snarl of my thoughts as I push to my feet and square my shoulders. In a way, it feels like I’m preparing for battle. All I have to do is hold the line and stay strong.
My hand trembles as I reach for the knob. The second I pull open the door, I find Oliver filling the frame with the kind of arresting handsomeness that undoes me every damn time. My greedy gaze skims over the breadth of his chest and the hard lines of his shoulders before I force it back up to his face.
Focus, Rina.
Don’t get distracted.
A smirk curves his lips as he leans against the doorframe. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
I retreat a step and gesture stiffly toward the living room. “Sure. Come in.”
As soon as he strolls into my personal space, his presence swallows my tiny apartment whole. Normally, the place feels cozy, just big enough for me. With Oliver here, it shrinks to half its size until drawing in a breath feels like too much effort.
I trail after him, every nerve screaming.
Before I can get anything out, he pivots, his fingers clamping around my upper arms and hauling me against him. Not even a second later, his mouth crashes onto mine.
It’s hungry and demanding.
Almost as if he’s starving for the taste of me.
For one reckless moment, the speech I rehearsed evaporates and I sink into the caress, getting lost in his kiss.
In him.
It doesn’t take long for reality to slam back in, and I shove him away. “We need to talk.”
He drops onto the couch before tugging me onto his lap. His arm bands tight around my waist as his heat seeps into me until I want to squirm closer instead of away.
I hate how much I love the feel of his hands on me and his hard body beneath mine.
“About what, baby?” His voice is lazy, teasing. “What do we need to talk about?”
I stare at him, trying to get a grasp on my thoughts.
Why does he have to be so damn gorgeous?
That chiseled jawline and wicked mouth, the way his thighs spread wide beneath me like he’s already claimed the couch, the room, and me right along with it.
And his dick… Ugh.
I really hate how good it is.
How good he is with it.
The man’s talented.
And not just on the ice.
Every time I swear I’ll resist, then he touches me and I melt into a useless puddle.
I steel myself. “We—”
“Actually, what we really need to talk about is how you owe me.”
I blink, thrown off by the comment. “Excuse me?”
His grin widens, all cocky confidence. “Do I really need to remind you how I got you off earlier? I’ve been walking around all day with a raging hard-on. Looks like it’s your turn to return the favor.”