Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 97994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
No.
He is positively giddy. “He would broadcast the news on the Jumbotron.”
Juliette laughs. “You sound disgusted by that idea.” She pauses. “Do you not like him?”
My shoulders move up and down. “What’s not to like? He’s a good dude.”
Which is true.
Storm—from what I know of him—is a well-liked, charismatic, nice dude. Always the first guy with his hand in the air, first guy on the ice, eager to take his place as a starter.
He has sisters he talks about incessantly.
A dog named Stanley.
An apartment he rents from an asshole named Dave—one of our forwards—which he shares with several other rookies, and his room is full of books. I know this because the nerd tried recruiting me into starting a book club with him.
Fucking dipshit. As if I have the free time to be in his damn book club.
“Juliette!” Storm shouts from clear across the room, his enthusiasm all but rattling the chandeliers. “They have miniature crab cakes on the menu. Miniature!”
He is an overgrown child, who would probably make someone like Juliette a great boyfriend. That’s the thing about guys like him; they make you feel comfortable and included. He’s young and naïve and probably hasn’t been fucked over by anyone on the team yet.
Oh well.
Too fucking bad.
She giggles at him, shoulders shaking a bit at his enthusiasm. “Is he always like that?”
I shrug. “Pretty much.”
She smiles toward him again, then back at me. “It’s kind of refreshing.”
Refreshing.
I’m the opposite of that.
“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “He’s good at being excited about everything.”
Juliette studies me. “You don’t sound impressed. Please don’t tell me you’re—dare I say—jealous of his enthusiasm?”
Jealous is a stretch.
I’d be lying if I said there weren’t times I wished I wasn’t so fucking serious all the time, and that I was the type of guy who could let his guard down. But that’s not me and probably never will be. Cheating girlfriends don’t help my case.
On cue, across the room, Storm whoops again, waving what I can only presume is a crab cake like he’s a caveman who just discovered fire.
“He’s harmless,” she says fondly, gazing at him again.
“Didn’t say he wasn’t.”
Garrett Storm is not my competition. In fact, the only thing I’m competing with here is the no fraternization policy she’s going to be required to sign, and possibly her own code of ethics.
“He’s sweet.”
Yeah, he is. If you’re a chick. “He and I are nothing alike.”
Juliette crosses her arms. “I noticed. He’s nice—and sometimes, nice is easy.”
“Is that what you’re looking for?” If it is, she should steer clear of me.
Across the ballroom, Storm calls her name again, waving her over with that bright, infectious grin.
She doesn’t move. “Not necessarily.”
“Juliette!” Storm buzzes like a goddamn mosquito, impossible to ignore with all the yammering.
I nod in his direction. “Well.”
She tilts her head. “Well?”
“That’s your cue.”
She studies me. “Are you dismissing me?”
“I would never.”
Then Juliette takes a small step away from me. “That’s my cue.”
My head nods.
I watch her go but don’t follow; I will not chase a woman.
Ever.
I did that once and look where it’s gotten me. Humiliated. Caught off guard. Embarrassed. Sucker punched. Standing with my dick in my hand on the side of a ballroom, trying to make Juliette Kennedy fall for me.
When she comes back to me from Storm—and she will—it won’t be because I begged.
This time, if someone gets hurt…
It won’t be me.
SEVEN
JULIETTE
I regret saying yes to this date for so many reasons.
It’s against the rules. You know that; I know that. Everyone knows that.
I have no idea what to do with a man like Aaron Bishop—I proved that by wasting the one chance I had to seduce him and didn’t manage it.
He’s intimidating. I feel like he’s toying with me but can’t figure out how? Or why…
Curiosity killed the cat.
“You’re fine, Juliette. It’s fine. People break rules all the time! I mean, look at that sports reporter who married that football player, what’s her name and what’s his face…”
It’ll be our secret…
I repeat the mantra in my head while standing in my walk-in closet, staring at my clothes, tampering down the emotions churning in my lower stomach.
Secret.
That word alone should be enough to make me cancel.
I stop in front of the mirror.
Stare at myself.
“You are not this girl,” I whisper to no one. “You are responsible. You are dependable. You would not knowingly put it all on the line for some random guy.”
He’s toying with me—has to be.
Why else would he ask me out? I mean—look at me! He could have anyone. I look like… like a kindergarten teacher! I stay home to read on weekends and wear glasses.
I alphabetize my bookshelf by author.
He’s built like sin and knows it.
Aaron Bishop knows he’s hot shit.
“Just this once, do something reckless.” Another mantra I will probably regret.
The zipper slides up. The satin dress hugs my curves.