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)
“I can’t believe I sent that!” I want to die.
Blaire is practically vibrating from the desk in her office. “Congratulations. You have officially entered your sexy era.”
My phone buzzes again.
Aaron: Christ.
Aaron: You have no idea what that does to me.
My entire body goes molten. Goo.
Hot.
Blaire claps. “Read it out loud to me—read it to me now.”
I read her the text messages, and Blaire beams back at me through the screen, as if I were a toddler who’d gone potty on the toilet and she is so, so proud of me.
BIG GIRL!
Good job!
“I feel like I’m going to throw up.”
“That’s sexual evolution, babe. When are you seeing him again?” she demands, mapping out a battle plan in that brain of hers.
“He mentioned tonight,” I admit. “After the game.”
“Oh.” She hums again. “Why don’t we go to the game?”
“We?”
“Yes, we.” She gestures between us like it’s obvious. “I can come with you so you’re not there alone.”
I don’t hate the idea.
She raises one brow while I hesitate. “Tell me you don’t want to watch him sweat through three periods…”
“I want to watch him sweat through three periods.”
Blaire nods. “Then it’s settled. Girl’s night at the hockey game.”
TWENTY-TWO
AARON
The arena is already buzzing when we step onto the ice.
Cold air hits my lungs. The familiar scrape of blades carving into fresh ice echoes around me, the boards rattling as pucks ricochet off the glass. Fans file into the seats.
Anticipation settles into my bones like it always does.
Game nights are predictable.
Routine.
I skate a slow lap around the rink, shoulders loose, stick tapping absently against the ice. Stretch. Pivot. Push. The motion is automatic, muscle memory taking over while my brain goes through my text messages on a slow loop because I made the mistake of checking my phone before coming onto the ice.
You didn’t scare me. I was picturing what you’d feel like in my mouth.
Christ almighty.
Since when does Juliette talk like that?
Not sure how I felt about it, since it was out of character, but her attempt at sexting is adorable. She’s making an effort and that will have to be rewarded…
The idea has my mouth watering as I skate through a turn toward center ice, a sadistic smile moving my lips into a grin.
Declan.
I angle straight for him.
“You enjoy your little coffee date this morning?” I ask, skating backward past him, watching the expressions on his face change from surprised to resigned.
“Sure did!” he fires back easily.
Fucker.
He brought this on himself, and he’s going to play the victim here. “You got a problem with me speaking to my sister?”
I skate in a circle around him. “I have a problem with you interrogating her.”
“She’s my fucking sister.” His eyes flash. “You don’t get to lecture me about intimidation.”
“No?” I skate closer. “Because from where I’m standing, you filled her head with bullshit all because you’re fucking scared I’m going to tell her what a shitty human you are.”
His jaw tightens. “You don’t know what I said.”
“I know she walked away feeling like shit and that you made her cry, and I’ve got a huge fucking problem with you playing big brother like you’ve got clean hands.”
For half a second, something flickers in his expression.
Gone just as fast.
“She deserves the truth,” he says indignantly.
I laugh once, sharp and humorless as I chase the puck with my stick, still skating near Declan. “Whose truth? Yours or mine?”
His nostrils flare. “Careful.”
“No.” I get close, leaning in. “You be careful.”
His shoulders square defensively. His gloves curl tighter around his stick.
“You know the whole thing with Bailey was a mistake.”
And yet he’s still probably sleeping with her…
Not so guilty that he doesn’t want to get laid.
“Hey, what the fuck is going on over here?” Storm skates in, cutting between us with a sharp spray of ice. “What is this, a lover’s quarrel?”
Declan skates back a step, giving him space.
Storm looks between us. “We playing hockey or having a pissing contest?”
“Pissing contest.” I laugh, eyes not leaving Declan’s face.
Storm’s gaze bounces between us. “Fantastic. Love this energy before the puck drops.”
Declan exhales through his nose, fogging up the glass on his face mask. “Stay out of it, Storm.”
“Oh, I am not staying out of it,” Storm says dryly. “You two look like you’re about to take off your gloves and go at it. What the hell happened?”
“Ask him,” Declan mutters.
I tilt my head. “You sure you want to go there?”
Storm squints at us. “I’m sensing some tension.”
“There was a misunderstanding.” Declan shifts his weight, resting an arm on his stick.
I push off slightly, circling once before stopping again, close enough that the rookies drifting nearby slow down.
“Misunderstanding? That’s one word for it.” I laugh. “Ask him who he was fucking the last time I showed up unannounced at his apartment.”
The rookie’s eyes go wide. “I’m scared to.”
Declan shifts, directing his comment at me. “It wasn’t like that.”