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)
Even if the plan is airtight, I don’t like the thought of being that far away right now.
At all.
But aside from faking a stomach bug to get out of the trip, going undercover, and stalking my little sister, I’m not sure what to do about it.
Though I haven’t totally ruled that out…
Yes, I’ll be in deep shit with management if I’m caught, but I’ll be in deeper shit with my own conscience if anything happens to Beatrice because I put my career before protecting her.
By the time I reach the family lounge, my anxiety has banished some of the victory high. But the moment I push through the doors, it’s clear tonight was as much of a shutout off the ice as it was on.
The vibes are immaculate, and everyone seems in good spirits.
Charlotte stands near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the parking lot, laughing at something Makena just said, looking happy and sexy as ever-living fuck in a clingy green sweater, dark jean skirt that ends just above the knee, and brown leather boots. Elly and Beatrice linger nearby with a third woman I don’t recognize, deep in conversation. Bea flutters her hands while grinning ear to ear, making me think they must be chatting about one of her favorite subjects.
Sure enough, as I draw closer, I hear Elly say, “Yes! She’s so great at art, I just assumed that was her ‘thing.’ But the music teacher at her new school says she’s showing amazing progress playing piano by ear just a few weeks into lessons.”
“I’m not surprised,” Bea says, nodding. “Art and music both use pattern recognition. If she’s a natural pattern-finder with a strong need for self-expression, she’s going to blow your mind with how fast she’ll be playing. And probably composing.”
Elly laughs. “Oh, she has a strong need for self-expression, all right. And getting stronger every day.”
“She’s lobbying hard for a baby sister,” Makena pipes up, joining the conversation. “Last I checked, you were up to three ‘Why we Need a Baby’ posters on the fridge, right? When are you going to tell her it’s a fait accompli, woman?”
“What?” Beatrice’s grin widens. “Really? Congratulations!”
Elly blushes. “Thanks, but I’m only six weeks along. I don’t want to tell Mimi until I’m out of the first trimester. Just in case, you know?”
“Smart,” Charlotte agrees. “My friends always said…” She trails off as she spots me over Makena, a smile bursting across her face that banishes any lingering worry that their night wasn’t a complete success. “Hey you! Incredible game!”
She bounds toward me for a hug.
I tell myself it’s just for the benefit of the people watching, but when her arms wrap around me, nothing about it feels fake. And when she whispers for my ears only—“She had so much fun. We both did, and you were stupidly hot out there. Why is watching you slap a puck around with a stick so hot?”—I feel like the luckiest man in New Orleans.
I pull back, grinning down at her. “Mastery, baby. Mastery is hot, even when it’s a silly game.”
She laughs. “I never said it was a silly game.” I arch a brow, and she amends, “Fine, I never said it aloud. I can’t help it. I was raised in a family that thought sports were a waste of time, they could spend reading.” She shrugs as she moves out of my arms, a hungry look in her eyes that makes me hope we can steal a second alone later. “But you might be changing my mind.”
“I also read,” I remind her, extending an arm to Beatrice as she joins us.
“So good, Bay. You were on fire,” Beatrice says, giving me a tight squeeze. She’s still too skinny, but her hug is already stronger, and her eyes are bright as she beams up at me. “Seriously, you’ve gotten even better since last year. Like, way better.” She chucks me on the bicep before adding in a teasing voice, “Maybe you aren’t over the hockey player hill, after all.”
“I’ll show you over the hill,” I grumble, feigning irritation as I wrap an arm lightly around her neck and rub my knuckles into her hair, just like when we were kids.
She protests, “Stop, you’ll give me split ends, jerk,” but she’s giggling as she squirms free.
“Speaking of over the hill, are we too old and tired to go out for karaoke at The Brass Monkey?” I ask, glancing between Bea and Charlotte. “Parker and Grammercy asked us all to come.”
“Of course, they’re coming,” Makena says, waving a breezy hand my way. “We decided that a long time ago. Charlotte and I are going to sing ‘Edge of Seventeen’ together.” She bats her lashes my way. “Which I know you’ll be very excited about.” To the others, she explains, “Nix was there the last time I sang karaoke at The Brass Monkey. He’s well acquainted with my skill and talent.”