Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
“Something like that,” he mutters, looking uncomfortable. I have to admit, I feel a little bad for him if his first assumption about having a few things in common with someone is that they dug up that information from somewhere and are trying to play him.
“Don’t go, okay? I shouldn’t have assumed you’d do something like that,” he pleads. “It was wrong of me to think that.”
“Very wrong.”
“Very wrong,” he agrees. Then asks quietly, “Are you staying?”
I nod and then wait for him to retake his seat across from me.
“Do you really like baking, or is that something you made up so women would find you endearing?”
“No, I enjoy it. It’s relaxing.” He picks up his burger and meets my gaze. “You really like fishing?”
“I love it, or rather, I love ice fishing. My—” I cut myself off.
“Your?”
“When I was growing up, I would go with my best friend’s dad and him almost every weekend in the winter. There is something magical about being in that little hut, waiting for a fish we would cook right there after pulling it out of the water.” I shrug. “I haven’t gone in a long time, but that is one of my favorite memories from when I was a kid.”
“Have you ever gone deep-sea fishing?”
“No, have you?”
“I go whenever I get the chance.” His gaze wanders over my face. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Nothing. I have the day off.”
“Do you want to go out fishing with me?”
“Are you serious?”
“I never joke about fishing.”
“Then, yeah. That sounds like fun.”
“All right.” He sets his burger down and takes his cell phone out of his pocket. I watch him type something, and then he sets it aside and resumes eating until it dings a moment later. After he picks it up and checks the screen, his eyes meet mine. “Does eight work for you?”
“Sure.” I dunk one of my fries into some ketchup.
Dropping his gaze, he quickly texts something back before lifting his burger once more. “We’ll meet the charter company I use in the morning, and they’ll take us out.”
“It must be nice to be rich and famous,” I joke, then cringe because it’s obvious that who he is is a sensitive topic for him. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Don’t be.” He shrugs. “I deal with that kind of shit from my family all the time.”
“They give you a hard time about it?”
“Constantly.” He smiles. “My brother is the worst.”
“So, when you say you play pro hockey, I’m guessing that means you’re pretty good.”
“I don’t suck.” His smile is tinged with a bit of cockiness.
“I don’t know much about hockey. How long have you been playing?”
“Since I was a kid. My dad bought me my first pair of skates when I was four. I joined my first team when I was seven and have been playing ever since. You’ll have to come to a game when the season starts up.”
“I’m not really a fan of sporting events.” I hated watching Kirk play football, so I avoided his games like the plague, which probably made me a pretty crappy girlfriend. I just didn’t enjoy the violent aspects of the sport and would sit there the whole time with a pit in my stomach, knowing that one wrong hit could cause irrevocable damage. And knowing what little I do about hockey, I imagine it would be the same thing.
“What sports do you like?”
“None.” I tip my head to the side. “That’s a lie. That sport they play in the Olympics, where they sweep that black ball thing with brooms down the ice, is pretty cool.”
“Curling is not a sport.”
“It’s in the Olympics, so I’d guess they’d disagree with you on that topic.”
I listen to him laugh, the deep sound just as attractive as he is, especially when his eyes crinkle at the corners. The dimple in his left cheek, which I didn’t notice before, shows ever so slightly. Ignoring the flutter in my lower belly, I focus on eating and just enjoying his company.
Being friends is safe, but there is no way I’ll entertain more than that with an apparently famous hockey player who has women throwing themselves at him.
Chapter 6
Brodie
Walking out of the cabin where the captain is, I take the stairs down to the lower deck and stop at the bottom, finding Reese where I left her, lying on one of the cushioned benches that encircle the front half of the boat. She’s beautiful, with the sun shining down on her, making her brown hair appear more red. She also looks miserable and almost green, which I thought was a myth when people talked about getting seasick. She’d been fine on the hour ride out to our fishing spot, but about ten minutes after the boat came to a stop and the captain dropped the anchor, the look she gave me let me know she was going to be sick. Two seconds later, she leaned over the side of the boat and lost her breakfast.