Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
He’s letting me in and he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. “That must’ve been comforting to have her,” I murmur.
The waiter arrives again, taking our food order. Grizz then gathers himself for a moment.
“After my mom died, Eliza took on more of a mothering role.” He shrugs like he’s bored with the subject, but his voice betrays him. “We didn’t have much. Small town and Dad spent every cent on hockey, even pawned his watch to get me the newest hockey skates one year. Guess he saw something in me early. Maybe too early. Maybe… too much.” He swallows. “Sometimes I don’t know if hockey saved me or fucked me up.”
“I’d say it saved you.”
“Probably.” He says it quickly, not defensively. “Just… history.”
He looks away, into the darkness beyond the rooftop. His jaw flexes once, then releases. And for the first time since I’ve known him, I see something that isn’t the bravado or tortured player everyone knows. I see wonder. And fear.
He turns back to me. “Anyway. That’s enough of the sob story.”
I smile. “It’s not a sob story. It’s your life and I want to hear all about it. Whenever you want to share more, I’m always here and interested. Thank you for telling me.”
He lifts a shoulder. “You asked.”
There’s a moment—small but seismic—where his hand drifts across the table as if it’s moving toward mine. Not reaching, just drifting closer, as though drawn by instinct.
I hold my breath and his fingers almost graze the back of my hand.
Then he seems to reconsider and starts to pull back, but I’m not going to let him retreat. I grab onto it, ignore the reflex as he tugs it, and hold tight.
His eyes come up, and I sense vulnerability in him but I see the discomfort layered deeper. I decide to lighten the mood. “Tell me more about your path into professional hockey.”
Relief swirls in Grizz’s eyes and he launches into a monologue that I find fascinating, not really understanding the drive and commitment it takes to perform at his current level. Dinner arrives in warm waves. Shared plates. Engaging conversation. Moments where he actually laughs—real and surprised by it. And moments where he watches me like he’s trying to memorize the evening in case he needs proof later that this happened.
By the time our shared dessert is gone and Grizz pays the bill, the city has transformed into its midnight glory. We walk to the elevator. Standing beside him makes me feel like a prize, the girl who got the guy everyone is ogling.
We step inside, the doors close, leaving us alone as we descend.
I look up at him. “This doesn’t feel casual,” I whisper.
“No. It doesn’t.”
We stare at each other the entire ride down and the elevator doors slide open into the lobby. We don’t decide whose place we’re going to. We just move and end up at mine.
The moment the door clicks shut behind us, he kisses me like he’s been holding himself back all night. Slow at first. Reverent. Then deeper and uninhibited. Primal.
His hands find my waist. Mine slide into his hair. The world narrows to breath and heat and the brush of his lips saying more than he ever has with words. When we finally make it to my bedroom, the sex is nothing like the messy alleyway or the impulsive nights before.
It’s slow, barely contained emotion in the shape of touch. By the time he’s thrusting inside me, forehead pressed to mine, breath shaking against my mouth, I realize it, this is totally new.
And the way he looks at me—uneasy, astonished, as though he’s holding a part of him that’s too precious and too dangerous to confront—tells me he feels it too.
Chapter 20
Grizz
Tanner drags me to a luxury car dealership on a weekday afternoon after practice because he’s decided, without warning or reason, that he needs a new sports car. Classic Tanner. Who needs a reason to blow money?
“This,” he says, clapping a hand on my shoulder as we walk into the showroom over in Hell’s Kitchen, “is how men bond. We shop for cars. We grunt. We compare engines. Let’s go, Grizz.”
I glance around. The showroom is gleaming white and glassy, full of automobiles that look engineered less for transportation and more for weaponry.
“Don’t you already have a car?” I ask.
Tanner doesn’t slow. “Three. But I don’t have this car,” he says, tapping the hood of a baby blue Bentley. Then he gestures broadly at the room, his playground full of Ferraris and Lamborghinis.
“Growth requires ambition,” Tanner says solemnly. “Also, impulse control is a scam.”
He’s got that Tanner energy today, walking all arrogant, shoulders back, chin up, fully convinced the universe is about to reward him for existing.
I pretend to be annoyed but the truth is, I’m enjoying this. Tanner is ridiculous and one of the constants that makes me smile or laugh.