Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
I’m burning for him. That’s the truth. Sweating, literal beads flowing down my body, but I don’t let my mind go there. “Will Logan’s girlfriend be there?”
Dad tilts his head at me. “I don’t think he has one right now. Why?”
“Oh… just…” Why did I ask that? “I don’t want to be underdressed in front of another woman.”
Hmm, what was that? It seemed like a lie. A white lie, maybe, or a justifiable one, but I don’t usually lie to my dad.
“You’re beautiful, Em,” Dad says, reaching over and touching my hand. “You don’t need to worry about things like that.” I swallow, create a box inside me, and lock away all the Logan stuff. “We’re meeting Logan in our suite. I think he’s coming alone. Well, with some security, I’d imagine.”
“The suite?” I say. “I thought we were getting connecting rooms.”
“They are connected via a corridor, a living room, and a small kitchen. It’s been a good few years, Em. I’ve managed to pivot at just the right moments. It’s been like dancing on lily pads, but you’re in college, and maybe Eric will get there, too. Or do anything else he likes.”
“You deserve this, Dad,” I tell him, seeing how excited he is. “You work so hard. The suite sounds amazing.”
Dad squeezed my hand. “Come on, Francesca Fitzgerald, you can do better than that.”
I roll my eyes. Dad used to call me that because, for a while, my favorite writer was F. Scott Fitzgerald of The Great Gatsby fame, though I enjoyed some of his other works more. “Fine, Dad, since this is your dream trip, the hotel suite sounds amazing.”
Dad chuckles at my deadpan delivery. “You’re not a performing monkey. Okay, I get it.”
But he’s wrong. The moment Logan Ice walks into our hotel suite, I’ll have to perform for Dad and myself. I need to trick myself into believing I didn’t pleasure myself thinking of Logan last night, my dad’s oldest friend and maybe his new best friend.
I didn’t twist around in bed, rolling over, trying to sleep, until the need became too strong. I didn’t groan in frustration, then moan in satisfaction, as I slipped my hand between my legs and started rubbing with steamy visions of Logan.
He was on top, leaning back so I could see his broad chest, shoulders, and hair wet like it was on video chat. He was thrusting, and I was rocking with him, my hands buried in his shoulders, feeling his hardness, his power. I was so wet I almost started moaning in my bedroom. I had to bite the pillow.
“This is a surprise,” Dad says when the cab comes to a stop.
I jolt back to reality, reminding myself to stop thinking about Logan Ice! How many times am I going to tell myself that?
I look out the front of the cab and see what Dad’s indicating. A large, dark jeep is parked in the valet slot. Logan Ice is stepping out, wearing a stylish winter coat, zipped up to his chin where the light coating of silver facial hair begins. He’s signing an autograph.
“Should I get out and say hello?” Dad says, suddenly a nervous kid.
“Sure. I’ll settle the cab fare. Go on, Dad, you’ve earned this.”
More people are moving toward Logan, some with their phones aimed at him. Then, one lady does something that almost makes me snap, jump from the car, and slap the pen out of her hand. She’s unzipping her winter coat, presenting her chest to him, waving a pen, and telling him to sign.
CHAPTER TWO
Logan
I look at the woman with distaste. She reminds me of the women my teammates sometimes sleep with. Bright-eyed, overly enthusiastic, and willing to give herself to me right here if I asked. “I don’t sign people’s breasts,” I tell her in French.
She tuts, shaking her head. “Are you trying to humiliate me?”
I swallow. Cameras are aimed at me. It’s always the case, especially when there’s a big game on. I always have to think about the fact I’m being watched. I’m sure there’s some irony there, but my mind is always on the ice. On the stick. The puck. The mechanics. And then what? What after? Am I going to have a family?
“I’m sorry, everybody,” I tell the assembled gawkers.
As I leave the crowd, I sign the autographs for those who waited patiently and then take a couple of photos.
I’m about to enter the hotel when I spot Michael. That brings a smile to my face. Some would call it a rare occurrence, but there’s an issue where my old best friend is concerned. It involves his daughter, and I’d rather not think about it. I’m going to have to see her soon. That’s going to be hard enough.
I wave at Michael, gesturing into the hotel. He follows me. Behind us, I know my security team is climbing from the car, blocking the door. The hotel won’t admit anybody who isn’t staying here, but it still makes me feel low. I didn’t take photos with everybody who deserved it, but staying out there longer would mean giving myself up to others.