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)
Michael seems nervous, wringing his hands. I pat him on the arm. “It’s good to see you.”
“And you, Logan,” Michael says, glancing outside at my four security guards talking with the woman who wanted me to sign her tits. Jesus. It’s forty-six degrees out there. “You said your daughter was coming, too? My security team can escort her in if you like.”
Michael nods. “Yeah, sure. Thanks. She’s getting out of that cab.” He gestures.
I don’t look, not out the window, not at Emma. I know that she’s studying creative writing at college. I know that she’s nineteen. I’ve seen her in the background of the video calls, those wide hips. Once, she was in a tank top with no bra, and I could see those juicy nipples.
Taking out my phone, I shoot a quick text to my security. Two of my men turn from the crowd and walk toward the cab. Still, I don’t look. I can’t look.
“I know I’m early,” I tell Michael. “I wish I could say I could wait for you, but we’ve got some pregame stuff to sort later. I feel like I’m big timing you.”
“Coming from anybody else, that would seem like a subtle putdown, but look at you, Logan. You’re still that kid. Remember the time we played for six hours straight? They had to carry us inside.”
The memory comes to me with stunning clarity. Michael doesn’t know it, but his friendship meant so much to me as a child. For years, he was the one bright spot. I was so scared of going home. I don’t say that out loud, but it’s the truth. “I haven’t thought about that for years. Now that you mention it, it’s like it was yesterday.”
“It’s crazy out there!”
The female voice almost breaks me. I’ve heard it raised in the background of video chats. “Dad, where’s my bag?” That’s something I have to remember keenly. She’s literally half my age. I’m thirty-six. I’ve got gray in my hair now. She’s still living at home, asking her dad where her book bag is.
“Emma, this is Logan. Logan… Emma.”
I’m forced to look up. Or stare at the floor like a rude prick. She tied her hair up as if to draw attention to the flush in her cheeks, but I don’t think it’s intentional. Her lips are beautiful when they curve into a shy smile. I can’t let myself look below the neck at her breasts, subtly shaping the fabric of her coat, or at her wide hips and thick thighs.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, offering my hand, then regretting it. I could’ve simply nodded and said hello. There’s no reason for us to touch.
She hasn’t looked me in the eye yet. As she raises her hand, she looks off to the side. I touch her, feel her warmth, and imagine it on my body. I imagine her hand wrapping around my manhood, rubbing, slowly at first, faster, maybe at the same pace I’m touching her between her legs.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” she says, quickly letting my hand go.
She almost snatches her hand back. Did she sense what I was thinking? Hockey has taught me to bury my feelings. The results matter. Set an objective and attack, even if it means you must attack parts of yourself. Switch off doubt. Switch off fear. Now, my goal is not to obsess over this woman. Like yesterday, when I was daydreaming about Emma being the woman I’d settle down with after retirement. Not just because I chose her but because I need her.
“Why don’t I check in, and then we’ll head to the room?” Michael says.
“Sure,” Emma and I say simultaneously, with the same quickness.
She seems nervous, too. Not like her dad is. He’s a little unsure about the dynamics. Maybe he thinks I’m going to play the alpha celebrity. Emma is different. I don’t think that gorgeous red flush in her cheeks is just from the cold. Am I making her nervous somehow?
Michael walks over to the desk. “Dad, wait,” Emma says. “I forgot the bags.”
I nod over to the entrance. “My team has taken care of that.”
“Oh.” She laughs shakily. “That’s good.”
Michael walks to the desk, and Emma and I drift to the seating area so we’re not in anybody’s way. I’m aware that people are probably recording us, aiming their phones through the large windows of the hotel lobby. For once, it’s a good thing. It will force me to behave.
She sits opposite me, folding her legs. My gaze snaps to the movement. I can so easily imagine—no, I can feel—my hand squeezing between her thighs, her warmth, as I slide higher and higher between her legs. “Are you enjoying the start of the season?” Emma asks, looking at the ornate coffee table almost stubbornly.
“No broken bones yet. That’s always a plus.”