Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 121734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Tyler: When I’m sliding inside of you and feeling how slick and tight you are.
Heat unfurled inside of me, smoothing away the nerves. Damn him. Seriously. Damn him, because he was right. I did want him, and this was so bad.
Rain: You can’t type that to me.
Tyler: Honestly? Fuck that bullshit. You’re texting me what can you do to help, and the only thing I want from you is to escape some of this shit. But I can’t do that. I’m retracting everything. I don’t know why you changed your mind, but you did want me. I saw it on your face. And I want you, so fuck everything else. The team hired you. Not me. I almost lost my niece. Life’s short, Rain. I want to fuck you, so I’m going to tell you I want to fuck you. I guess the real question is what are you going to do about it?
My body was an inferno.
My hands shook, and despite all evidence to the contrary, thoughts blared in my head that he didn’t actually want me. I started to shove it all aside before I drowned in my own confusion. That would’ve been my normal response. I liked to just ignore everything that didn’t make sense to me, but I couldn’t in this situation. I’d reached out because of what he was going through with his niece. That was important. She was important.
My fingers trembled, which made the next text take three times as long to type.
Rain: I don’t know. I’m just going to be honest because I don’t know what else to say or do. I don’t understand when you say things like that to me, but I feel horrible about what you’re going through with your family. If you need something, let me know.
And fuck. That was even more confusing. I sent another text right away.
Rain: I’m good at my job. Personal life, I’m a mess.
Tyler: What the fuck does any of that mean?
I sighed.
I should text back something polite but professional. Something a colleague would say, but I couldn’t do it. If I did, I’d close the door on whatever he’d opened it to. When I said I was a mess, I wasn’t lying.
If he actually was attracted to me, it was just because he needed an outlet right now. I was there. I seemed available. That was all.
I nodded, and some of the clouds began to lift.
That made sense to me—more sense than if he actually did want me.
Maybe he still thought he wanted me, but it’d pass. He’d learn how fucked up I was when it came to that stuff, and he’d walk away. I wasn’t worth the effort.
Jesus. My career wasn’t worth the effort. What was I thinking?
I was doing him a favor.
It was better this way.
I never texted him back.
15
TYLER
People were assholes. Why did the fucking media need to upend my sister’s life and my niece’s health crisis because they were nosy about why I’d asked to be traded? The news had broken almost a week ago. We played a Tuesday game, and now we were at it again on Thursday, and I was currently using Colorado’s goalie as my personal anger outlet.
He blocked a particularly nasty shot from me and after the whistle blew, he skated out just beyond the crease and tore his helmet off. “What the fuck, Griffin? That’s your twenty-third shot. We’re in the second period. You got a problem with me that I don’t know about?”
Was that a lot of shots? Yes, from one individual. Did a goalie usually get pissed off and confront that particular player? No, but Shetland was a friend, and yeah, he was mad, but there was also a twinge of concern in his eyes. Plus, Shetland had a short temper. Of all the goalies I knew, he’d been in the most fights.
Immediately, Sunny was between us, and Brick started to migrate our way in case he needed to handle the fight. Yeah right. Refs hardly ever let two goalies go at it anymore. I waved him off and patted Sunny’s chest to let him know I was okay. I moved around him, going over to Shetland. One of the refs went with me, but neither of us was dropping gloves.
I didn’t even know what to say to him. “No. Just—it’s been a fucking week.”
His face twisted behind his cage. He was already skating backward. “Let’s do drinks after this, eh?”
“Yeah. Sounds good.”
“You two ready to play hockey or do you need time to work out when you’re going to braid each other’s hair?” The ref was deadpan, lifting his whistle back to his mouth. “We got a game to play, gentlemen.”
I didn’t reply, just skated to the bench where Bruge was waiting to replace me. He was stone-faced. He dropped down as I stepped off the ice. Coach came over right away, swatting my shoulder. “What was that about?”