Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“There he is,” a booming voice sounds from behind us, and I turn to see a man walking our way with two small plates in hand.
Coen grins and leans toward me. “That’s Gage.”
My memory cycles through the stories Coen’s shared over the summer, and I know this man is one of the main influences on Coen returning. Gage is a veteran player who is moving to the coaching staff this year.
“You must be Tillie,” he says when he reaches us.
“That I am,” I reply.
He holds up the plates. “I’d hug you for turning this asshole into a puppy dog, but my hands are full.”
Coen snorts, and if that’s not a true testament that he’s back to his old self, I don’t know what is.
“Come on,” Gage says with a toss of his head. “We’re in the game room.”
We follow Gage downstairs into a massive open area set up to fulfill any gaming or entertainment wishes. Big screen TVs, three pool tables, a foosball table, cork and electronic dart boards, a Skee-Ball machine, a shuffleboard deck, and a row of slot machines. A sprawling circular bar sits in the middle with a freestanding island inside, which contains a stone water feature with water falling down its slab face. Mesh shelves extend outward, stacked with top-shelf liquors. Behind the bar, two tuxedoed bartenders serve guests.
“In all my life, I don’t know that I’ll ever see anything as grand as this again,” I murmur to Coen.
He bends toward me as we continue following Gage. “You know I can build us a house like this.”
I come a screeching halt, my jaw hanging open. “You could?”
“I mean… yeah. If that’s what you want.”
I shake my head vehemently. “No, that’s not what I want. I’m just stunned you could afford to.”
Coen frowns. “What kind of money do you think I make?”
“I have no clue what hockey players earn.”
“You didn’t google that?” he teases.
“No, but I’m thinking I should now,” I grumble that he’s making fun of my ignorance and taking pleasure that I’m shocked.
He takes my hand and we’re off again, heading toward open French doors that lead outside. “I’ll fill you in on my bank balance later, but suffice it to say, I’m pretty fucking rich.”
“Well,” I drawl snobbishly, “if I didn’t love you before, I certainly do now.”
He laughs before kissing my cheek. “Brat.”
Outside, Gage pauses at a group near the edge of a beautifully lit swimming pool that has rocks stacked on one end at least fifteen feet high, creating a waterfall.
They all watch as Coen and I approach, and it feels like there’s a spotlight on me. I can’t imagine how Coen feels since this is a homecoming of sorts.
A really awkward homecoming.
“Look who I found lurking upstairs,” Gage announces.
“Knew it wasn’t a party until I joined,” Coen replies smoothly, and everyone laughs.
It’s an easy laughter, obvious his return is beyond welcome.
Coen becomes Mr. Sociable and introduces me to everyone, starting with Gage’s girlfriend, Jenna, with sunny blond hair and a sunnier smile. She looks like she’d be at home with a surfboard tucked under her arm on some beach.
Next is Baden, and I recognize him from the articles about his fascinating journey from goalie with the Arizona Vengeance to goalie coach on this rebuilt team. That journey included learning to walk again after he was paralyzed in a violent encounter with some men who were attacking a woman. That woman is now his girlfriend, Sophie, and her first words to me are, “Hey… we actually kind of look alike.”
It’s true. She has blond hair like me, although it’s darker, but we’re both rocking the curls.
Last, I’m introduced to Stone and his girlfriend, Harlow, who looks like a movie star just stepping off the red carpet with her lustrous auburn hair that falls in waves down her back. Of course, Stone is as gorgeous as she is, so he makes a good leading man.
Hell, they’re all super beautiful people, just like Coen, and yet I don’t feel an ounce of discomfort. None of that matters because I have someone who loves me exactly the way I am.
Coen and I are immediately drawn into the group. Questions ping at us so fast, my head spins, mostly focused on our summer. They’ve obviously heard about me—assuming through Coen—and I’m asked about my art and how the studio renovation has progressed. Coen tells them about our plans to do the “long-distance” thing, and the women start making plans to hang with me on my trips here.
At some point, Coen presses another glass of wine into my hand, and he switches to water. We migrate over to an empty dartboard and pair up to play cricket. I’m a good player, having been in a bar league back home, and Coen enjoys rubbing it in everyone’s faces every time I hit a trip.