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)
Mister Hall Pass himself, in the flesh…
This cannot be happening. I did not collide with someone I’ve only fantasized about in all my bookish girly dreams. The man I swore—after too many glasses of wine during Girls Night Out and Blaire egging me on—that I would, one hundred percent, bang if the universe ever handed me the chance.
Which, apparently, the universe has decided to do. Put me in his path, anyway.
While I’m fresh off a bad date, and wearing shoes I can’t run away in.
“Juliette? HELLO?” I hear my friend screeching through the phone that’s been forgotten in my hand. “Are you there? Answer me!”
I raise it to my face. “Um… I’ll call you back.”
“No! What’s going on? Did that piece of shit Prest—”
I hang up. Tuck the phone in my pocket and push the hair back from my face.
I blink up at Aaron, brain short-circuiting.
He’s even broader up close. All solid muscle and quiet intensity, like someone carved him out of granite and then gave him bedroom eyes for kicks. His Ice Wolves logo jacket hangs open, shoulders filling it, and I’m painfully aware that I’m staring at his chest.
It’s so, so good…
“Uh,” I say.
He waits.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, brows furrowed with concern. “Do you think smashing into me gave you a concussion?”
I lower my lashes and blush. “Your body isn’t that hard.”
His lips tilt into a smile as he studies me again, as if he’s trying to place me. I can almost see the gears turning behind his eyes, the “Have we met?” hovering on his tongue.
But instead of asking, he exhales. “Sorry. Long night. I’m a little out of it.”
“Hmm,” I hum. “Bad night or just long?”
He chuckles. “Yeah.”
“Which one?”
“Both?”
“If it makes you feel any better, I walked out on my date because he was degrading me and my new job.”
In my pocket, my phone vibrates like it’s possessed, over and over. No doubt it’s Blaire, frantically checking in on me to make sure I’m not dead or kidnapped, or worse.
I ignore it.
Aaron Bishop looks down at me, thick brows raised. “You walked out on a date?”
My chin notches up proudly. “I did. And I’m proud of myself and want to celebrate.”
His mouth quirks, but instead of being impressed with me and saying so, he stuffs his hands into his pockets. “You heading somewhere else, or…?”
I glance up and down the city street. “I was on my way home, but…”
Aaron tilts his head. “But?”
“I’m not quite ready yet.”
He glances behind me at the bar, then down the tiny block. “Want to grab a quick drink or something? I’m not quite ready to go home, either.”
And here it is, my chance.
The one my best friend and I have joked about. The one I never thought would ever happen, Blaire’s voice echoing in my head. If you ever get Aaron Bishop alone, or get the chance to bang him, take it. Do it for the good of the people. For vaginas everywhere!
“Sure. I could do a quick drink.”
I fall into step next to him as he heads two doors down, a big shadow beside me. Mentally, I list all the things I’ve cataloged about Aaron since my brother joined the Ice Wolves and they became friends:
He plays defense. He’s known to drop gloves without hesitating if someone takes a cheap shot at him or a teammate. Has a reputation for being intense on the ice and almost painfully quiet off it.
My brother once said, You want Bishop on the ice when things get ugly, but they’ve also become friends. Declan told me that Aaron is usually the one planning team dinners, and treats them all like brothers, which I find interesting.
The media paints him as intimidating. Rude. Closed off and reluctant to do interviews.
But what the world doesn’t know?
He is kind.
Giving.
And I know this because three months ago, before I got my job offer with the Ice Wolves, I’d been at the children’s hospital—back when I worked for a nonprofit—delivering paperwork for a donation event. I remember making a quick stop at the nurses’ station to chat. Looked into one of the rooms…
… And saw Aaron Bishop kneeling beside a hospital bed.
Jacket draped over a chair. Massive frame folded down to the level of a little boy with a shaved head and a superhero blanket pulled up to his chin.
His hair was longer back then. He looked approachable. Happy. Less likely to bodycheck someone into oblivion. Now? He looks like he could break a man’s spine and fix a leaky sink without breaking a sweat.
He’d been speaking softly. Smiling. Holding the kid’s hand like they were fast friends.
No PR team.
No photographer.
I’d frozen, staring in on that private moment, unexpected feelings blooming in my chest.
Now, he’s walking beside me in the dark, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense as if the weight of the world is resting on them.