Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
It’s only the frown upon his face and a quick glance at his watch that shocks me out of my stupor. He starts to turn to away, presumably thinking I’m not home, and I spring into action. I unlock the dead bolt and pull open the door.
Unfortunately, I forget to disengage the security system, and the minute the contact sensors break, my alarm goes off. The good folks at Jameson Force Security persuaded me to get a package that not only shrieks a blaring alarm but also has a deep male voice that booms over the speakers so loud it can be heard up and down the block.
“Intruder alert. Warning. Step away from the house. The police have been called.”
Baden moves back in shock and almost tumbles down the stairs, but he manages to catch himself with the rail.
“Shit,” I exclaim and scramble for the alarm panel. I frantically push in the code and hit enter, but nothing happens.
“Shit!” I yell again and try the code one more time.
The alarm silences, but I can’t give Baden my attention just yet. I scurry back around the couch for my phone, and right on cue, the monitoring company calls as they’ve been notified of my triggered alarm.
I glance back at the door to see Baden standing hesitantly at the threshold. I connect the phone and put it to my ear.
“This is Cindy from your security monitoring company,” a female voice says with crisp efficiency. “We have a report of your alarm going off. I’m checking to see if you are safe. Can you give me your security password?”
My cheeks flush over this whole embarrassing fiasco, and my gaze drops from Baden’s as I whisper into the phone, “Scrappy Doo.”
The woman confirms that is my password and asks once again if I’m safe.
“Yes,” I assure her. “I mistakenly opened my door before disengaging the alarm.”
“No worries,” the woman says. “It happens all the time. Have a great day.”
I disconnect and toss my phone onto the couch, blowing out a huge huff of frustration. Pivoting to face my open door, cold air tinged with the smell of snow blows in, and I realize I’ve forgotten my manners.
“Please… come in.” I wave at Baden as I scramble toward him. He smiles and enters, and I shut the door behind him. Without thought and more by rote habit than anything, I reset the alarm at the panel before properly greeting him.
I don’t know this man at all. I’ve only met him twice—once in a dark parking lot where he saved my life, and the other in his rehab hospital room as he lay paralyzed.
But it’s without hesitation that I welcome him into my home. I don’t know this man, and yet I implicitly trust him not to hurt me by the virtue that he saved me from great harm already.
“You’re walking,” I say stupidly, an understatement if there ever was one.
“I’m walking,” he confirms, holding out his arms and grinning.
“What are you doing here?” It sounds rude to my ears, but I’m unable to fathom the fact that he’s standing in my living room.
Baden pushes his hands into his pockets. “It’ll probably hit the news tonight, but I’ve accepted the position of goalie coach with the Pittsburgh Titans. I just got into town this morning, but I wanted to come check on you.”
And I swear, someone above has the quirkiest sense of humor because at that moment, the local sports reporter comes on and starts talking about the Pittsburgh Titans.
Both of our heads swivel that way, and I stare dumbfounded at the TV as Chuck Holderness reports that the Titans are working hard to put the team back together. He mentions the new coaching staff, as well as the general manager hire, and pictures of each appear on the screen.
Sure enough, there’s Baden.
The Titans’ new goalie coach.
While the coaches are all in golf shirts or suit jackets, they’ve got Baden’s Arizona Vengeance picture up. Probably because it’s his most recent professional picture.
My mouth drops open in shock, and I turn to Baden as if I need additional confirmation, even though it’s on the news.
Sensing my confusion, he nods. “It’s true.”
The reporter continues, and my attention is caught by the name Gray Brannon.
While I’m a die-hard Pittsburgh sports fan, I’m pretty knowledgeable about the other teams, particularly when they have an interesting story. Gray Brannon happens to be the general manager for the Carolina Cold Fury—and the first female general manager in the league. She’s also still the only female GM in the league.
Chuck Holderness leans forward with one forearm on the desk, gives a smarmy smile, and talks directly to the camera. “It appears Gray Brannon has reached out to the now sole owner of the Pittsburgh Titans, Brienne Norcross, and has offered her assistance to help get the Titans organization back up and running. Ms. Brannon held a press conference earlier this afternoon, calling on all team owners to adopt an immediate resolution for a points freeze in the standings. As you’ll remember, Gray’s father, Brian Brannon, owns the Carolina Cold Fury.”