Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“Yeah, man. That’s cool.”
I punch him lightly on the shoulder. “Consider me your party coordinator. Any other requests other than no balloons, no cake and no singing?”
“Yeah, no puck bunnies.”
My eyes flare because this is a prime opportunity to get laid. I mean, I don’t need willing women there as I have Kiera and she’s more than enough for me, but it’s his birthday. I know plenty of women who would like to blow on his candle. “You’re kidding, right?”
He shakes his head. “The older I get, the less tolerance I have for that. Plus… they make a fuss and I don’t feel like having them hanging all over me.”
I have to suppress a laugh. “You are indeed, sincerely… a weird dude. I know no single hockey players who don’t love that.”
“Now you’re just stereotyping,” he replies and then puts his earbud back in, effectively ending the conversation.
It’s indeed stereotyping, but there is some truth to it. For all professional athletes, I suppose. Fame and money attract beautiful women and it’s not hard to get laid.
I think about Kiera. It wasn’t hard with her either, but the difference is she doesn’t care about my fame or wealth. She knows the hockey world because her brother is in it.
She just wants to feel good, same as me.
In so many ways, she is the perfect woman.
CHAPTER 12
Kiera
Drake is a cautious driver. His massive hands, calloused by countless hockey games, grip the steering wheel. Being the dad of three boys makes him treat those in his vehicle as precious cargo. I tease him often that he drives like a little old lady and then enjoy the way he glares at me.
Despite his colossal build and gruff exterior, there’s a softness in his voice as he asks, “How were things while I was gone? You okay?”
Drake got back into Pittsburgh late last night from the long road trip that had the Titans playing games in San Francisco, Anchorage, Calgary and Edmonton. Before he left, he asked me to keep today free as he wanted me to help him shop for an engagement ring for Brienne and I’ve been so excited to do my sisterly duty.
I laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Contrary to popular belief, I can survive without my big brother.”
“I know you can.” He spares me a glance, then it’s eyes back on the road. “It’s just… since I’ve moved in with Brienne, I worry about you being all alone. Are you sure you don’t want to move in with us? God knows Brienne’s house is large enough to accommodate and you wouldn’t get lonely.”
“I’m not lonely,” I assure him, and then internally grimace as I think about how much my lifestyle would be cramped by moving in with them. There would be an upside in being able to see my nephews more often, but the downside would be no naked nights with Bain and no way I’m going to give that up.
Another quick look before he prods. “You seeing anyone these days?”
I stifle a laugh, opting instead for a noncommittal shrug. “No. Not seeing anyone.” I hope that sounds casual to him and not an out-and-out lie.
I most certainly can’t tell him I’ve been letting Bain fuck me silly when we can arrange the time together. While I, in no way, subscribe to Drake’s belief that he can control my life or that he can tell his teammates they can’t date me, it’s best to keep this secret. Besides, what Bain and I have won’t last forever. The shine will wear off and we’ll go our separate ways.
I rub at my breastbone because the thought of that doesn’t sit well with me.
Unaware of my internal musing, Drake looks over at me and it’s long enough to see his expression is serious and thoughtful. It means he’s been cooking something up. “You remember Grady from Brienne’s executive office, right? Tall guy, brown hair, always dressed in a designer suit and maybe a little too much hair gel?”
I cast him a suspicious glance. “Yeah, I remember him. Why?”
Drake flashes me a smile. “He’s asked Brienne if you’re dating anyone and we were thinking we could set you two up on a date.”
“No thank you,” I reply, holding out my hand as if to ward off any future discussion.
Drake isn’t quelled. “He’s a decent guy. Ivy League educated, successful. You know, not a puckhead like the rest of us.”
I snort and roll my eyes at the same time. “And you think I should go on a date with him? Because he’s not a puckhead?”
“Because he’s a successful guy. Give it a shot,” Drake insists as he pulls into the parking garage. He winds up to the third level and his eyes narrow on an empty spot ahead. Drake puts on his left signal and starts to turn, but a sleek BMW cuts him off, whipping into the spot Drake had wanted. The driver hops out—late twenties, wearing a crisp suit and aviator sunglasses, smirking arrogantly at us. The very picture of the man Drake was trying to sell me on moments ago.