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)
“Does that happen?”
I smirk. “You must not watch a lot of hockey.”
“Obviously, it happens,” she says, flustered. “Meat vehicles moving at speed on the ice. Of course, people get hurt.”
“No need to beat yourself up about it, but I like that. Meat vehicles.”
She finally looks at me. A few strands of her hair have come loose. I think what a fine thing it would be to be the man to smooth them into place and kiss her forehead. Hold her on a cold winter’s day, warm her up, then take her to bed, and… Ah, there it is. I can’t help myself with her. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “I don’t know. What position do you play?”
“I’m a defenseman. It’s my job to stop the puck from going into the goal, but I score sometimes, too. Depends on the circumstances.”
She nods and bites her lip.
“Don’t worry,” I smirk again. “It’s okay if you’re not even the tiniest bit interested in hockey. Around here, it’s refreshing.”
She laughs again, but not awkwardly this time. It’s a laugh I’d like to hear as often as possible. “I’m interested. I just don’t know anything about it. I even bought some inline skates. I figured that would be better in California. Lots of concrete, not much ice.”
“The skills are transferrable,” I tell her. I could give you a few pointers.
Those words are almost out of my mouth, but then Michael returns, holding a room key. My security is behind him, with two hotel staff members carrying the bags. As weird as it might seem to somebody else, that conversation with Emma is the closest I’ve felt to a woman in years.
The truth is, I keep myself at a distance on purpose, but now I’m realizing something. I’ve never had to try before. The fight has been easy. Before I saw Emma in the background of a video chat, I thought I was damn near a robot. I thought maybe something was wrong with me, a technical mind that worked well in hockey, turning my body into a machine, but never made for romance. But as Emma and I stand, I know the truth. I’m all fire, melting the ice I’ve built around myself. I’ve spent my entire career defending, but I can’t defend against this.
This is low, man. This is really weak of me. I pretend my phone has just vibrated, take it out, and pretend to take a call. “I’m sorry, Michael,” I say, hanging up. “Some last-minute game stuff. I’m sorry.”
I never apologize this desperately, but he deserves it. I’ve never left a hotel so fast, but it’s my only choice. Either leave or go upstairs, be alone with her, kiss her lips, and taste her fertile young body.
CHAPTER THREE
Emma
Dad and I sit at the bar in our private VIP booth. The bar overlooks the ice. I can tell Dad’s been fretting all day about how Logan suddenly took off, like some wild cat, surging across the savannah. I probably made a dork of myself when we spoke, but nerves were strangling me, making just talking seem challenging.
It was worse because I felt so cruddy, too, appearance-wise. Maybe I’m the she-frog who kisses the prince and becomes a princess or something, but that’s not how my stories go. In my stories, a lot of the characters are like me. Freaking out because I probably stink, and my crush is sitting opposite me, smirking, sometimes seeming interested, other times ice-cold.
The arena is slowly filling up. Dad seemed to be in a mood after Logan left, a dark cloud hanging over his optimism, but then he and Logan spoke on the phone. I can tell this is a difficult situation for Dad, not wanting to seem like he’s some hanger-on from the past. All the attention and the glamor are the exact opposite of his regular boots-and-mud life. He wears a shirt to work reluctantly, after all.
“As a player,” Dad says, his eyes a little out of focus from the champagne, “Logan is elite. Men his size don’t normally move as fast as he does.”
If I didn’t have one, I might jokingly comment, Dad, it sounds like you’ve got a crush. It would be lame and juvenile, anyway, but I couldn’t ever say anything like that.
I was so relieved when Logan blanked that woman who wanted him to sign his chest. As I entered the hotel, I walked past her, and she still had her coat halfway down, as if she thought he was going to rush back to her, demanding to sign. This jealousy isn’t normal. It’s a writhing army of snakes that won’t stop hissing.
“He’s extremely agile on his skates. I was quick in my day, too, but it didn’t make sense with him. He’d practice from sunup to sundown. He’d use his inline hockey skates if the ice thawed. He’d practice shooting and defending against his own shadow. Even as a kid, he was possessed.”