Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60948 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60948 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
“I know, you’d rather be walking right now, but some asshole’s driving you home in his warm car. Fuck friends, right?”
With a light laugh, Mia takes her phone out. “Okay, what’s your number?”
I give it to her, warming as she inputs it.
“Will you text me so I have yours?” I ask her.
“Sure. But if Adam finds out about this, he’ll sucker punch you.”
I laugh. “That motherfucker wouldn’t know a fair fight if it came up and grabbed his nut sac.”
“It’s true.”
I turn to her with a serious look. “Has he ever hit you?”
Mia looks at her lap. “He’s too smart for that. Hitting leaves bruises.”
“Has he ever hurt you? In any way?”
“Nothing physical,” she assures me.
The pain in her voice makes me want to weep and fuck Adam up at the same time. How could any man do anything but revere this woman?
“I’ll fight Adam any day of the week,” I tell Mia as I pull up in front of her building. “Just because I don’t fight a lot on the ice doesn’t mean I don’t know how.”
“Thanks for the ride.” Mia unbuckles her seat belt and I do the same, getting out of the car to see her to the door of her building.
“Call if you need anything,” I remind her.
“Thanks, Anton.” She hikes her canvas bag onto her shoulder as she unlocks the front door to the building, walks in and then locks it behind her.
I look up at the crumbling three-story building. It’s dumpy. We lived in a worse place in Leningrad, but we didn’t know back then that anything better existed.
Since the day I saw her, I’ve been dreaming about Mia Marceau. Even if I can’t have her the way I want, hopefully I can be her friend. That’s what she needs. And being needed by her is more than I ever thought I’d have.
Chapter Seven
Mia
I spot Anton immediately when he comes into Lucky Seven a few nights later. It’s almost as though I sense him, goosebumps erupting all over when I confirm he’s here.
An internal conflict starts. My first reaction is that I’m happy to see him. He was right the other night—I don’t have a single good friend in my life right now. I have Janice and my co-workers, who I don’t even know outside of work, and Anita, who accuses me of stealing her food and messing with the thermostat.
But I’m also painfully aware that Anton is one of the worst people for me to become friends with. Adam and I have found a semi-peaceful coexistence. I get to live apart from him as long as I give him what he wants when my grandpa’s quarterly nursing home bill is due.
I cried as I gave him a blow job last week. And damned if that bastard didn’t get a little harder in my mouth when he saw it. He enjoys humiliating me.
I’ve done it twice now since we separated, both times when my grandpa’s bill was overdue. And while I’m not sorry I did it, I am ashamed. My grandpa worked hard his whole life, but he and my grandma never had much to spare. If Adam didn’t pay for Goodman House, I wouldn’t be able to afford my grandpa’s care anywhere else. I can’t take care of him at home because, well, I don’t even have a home. And if I did, I’d have to leave him for work.
Grandpa sold his house to pay for grandma’s care when she was sick, and for her burial. It bankrupted him in every way. And I vowed then that I’d do whatever it took to make sure he’s well cared for forever.
Some people at a high-top table recognize Anton, and he stops to talk to them and take pictures. I sneak glances at them as I dry glasses with a worn white towel.
He has an easy smile. He looks people in the eye when they’re talking, never looking bored and always giving them time to finish before he speaks. When a guy’s phone dies just as he is about to take a selfie with Anton, Anton waits for him to borrow a friend’s phone and they pose again.
By the time he finds a stool at the crowded bar, I’ve got a glass of ice water with lemon waiting. He smiles as I set it in front of him.
“Thanks.”
“Good game last night.”
He arches his brows, looking impressed. “You watched?”
“Caught the highlights.” I shrug.
When I met Adam at a coffee shop near the campus of the college I was commuting to, I didn’t know anything about hockey. I learned by watching, and from wives of other players, and I came to love the game. This season, I’ve paid attention to games other teams are playing when they’re on at the bar, but I can’t bring myself to watch a Blaze game. Seeing Adam makes my stomach roll nervously.