Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Placing my cell on the shelf, I prep for the start of the second period, much more composed than when I left the ice, thanks to Charlotte’s texts.
The rest of the game passes in a rush of heady, but steady, flow state energy.
I do not rise to Beefy’s third challenge, passing to Blue instead of going for an opening that would have put me directly in Big Angry’s path.
I don’t have time for anger right now.
And not all fights have to get heated.
I keep my fight—and my play—clean. Focused. Sharp. No more rage, no more flirting with the line. Just solid, genius-level hockey that ends with a 4-2 win.
Hey, it’s not bragging if it’s true, and we’ve all put in the hours to be considered geniuses in this zone.
Now, if only I felt half as prepared to fight for the woman waiting for me in the family lounge…
As I push through the doors just off the main tunnel, I spot Charlotte’s strawberry blonde head instantly. It helps that she’s tied her hair up in a high, messy pile. It looks great, actually, a little curlier in front than usual—beer has curl-enhancing properties, perhaps?—but still a solid recovery from her post-soaking turn on the Jumbotron.
In a bright green Irish pub T-shirt, paired with fancy slacks and heels, she looks laid back and classy at the same time. Like the kind of woman you want to take out for the biggest loaded pizza in history and congratulate her for handling Beer Tits Gate with her own, genius-level skill.
Then she sees me, her eyes lighting up as she thrusts her arms my way, shouting, “Oh my God, you were incredible! I’m so proud, baby,” and I know that’s it.
I’m not falling in love.
I’m in it.
As I swoop her up in a hug, swinging her around while she giggles into my neck, I silently acknowledge how much I want to be her “baby” for real.
So fucking much.
Even smelling faintly of sour beer, she’s the best thing I’ve ever held in my arms. When I set her down, gazing into her happy, flushed face, I’m tempted to have a fake-boyfriend existential crisis right then, to beg her to be my girl for real in the middle of the family members and friends congratulating my teammates all around us.
But I have more self-control than that.
And I have some very important “kissing for the cameras” to do…
I pull her in, murmuring, “Proud of you, too, Beer Tits,” against her lips, making her laugh again as we start to kiss.
We kiss and laugh and smile and kiss, neither one of us seeming to want the moment to end, until Parker checks my hip and mutters, “Get a room, you two. Jesus. There are children present.”
But as we come up for air, I can see he’s grinning.
He almost looks…proud. Of us.
I decide maybe I am, too.
He delivers more apologies from Makena, explaining that her cell phone died, so she couldn’t respond to Charlotte’s last text. But she just called Parker from the vet’s office, where she’s been trying to help save the runt of the litter, a tiny raccoon baby that the mother tried to eat when the vet stepped into the food truck.
“But the doc said that was probably because she was so stressed out and felt cornered,” Parker continues. “Not because she’s actually an unfit mother with cannibalistic tendencies. She seems to be doing well with the other babies, but the animal hospital is going to hold her and the other kits for observation for a day or two. Just until the rabies tests hopefully come back clear and Big Mama has proven she has reliable parenting instincts.”
“What a relief,” I deadpan, earning a laugh and a punch on the shoulder from Parker.
“Fuck you, dude,” he says. “I wasn’t into the raccoon birth drama at first, either, but I’ve been getting updates the entire game. Now, I’m fucking invested.” He sighs, rolling his eyes as he adds, “And I might be helping bottle feed a baby raccoon if the runt lives and Makena gets permission to foster him.”
Charlotte laughs. “Of course, she offered to foster it. She talks a big game, but underneath she’s a total softie.”
Parker’s tone warms as he agrees, “Yeah, she is. I love her so much. I’m going to buy her a super big sandwich with extra hot peppers to prove it before I pick her up at the animal hospital. Her love language is peppers. And large sandwiches.” He starts to move away before seeming to remember something and shifting back a step to whisper, “Oh, and she said that she’ll get revenge for you with the ‘passive aggressive cunt whores’ and not to worry your pretty head about it.” He glances around, as if checking to be sure we aren’t being overheard. “She said that would make sense to you, but if it doesn’t, I can call her at the animal hospital. I have the number.”