Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
And I’m getting horny, in addition to being hungry, but we really need to lay down some new ground rules. Stat.
Trouble is, that’s a conversation three people need to have, not two. So, I nod to the kitchen counter and the bag of food. “Did you know baba ganoush means…pampered daddy?”
Her lips part in obvious delight. “I did not know that at all. But I am going to work that into daily conversation starting tomorrow,” she says, then tilts her head, studying me. “You know, Ryker. Your other secret is safe with me too.”
What does she mean? Like last night? “Not sure what you’re getting at.”
“I’ve seen you come around the bookstore,” she says quietly.
Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. I drag a hand down my face. “You have?”
“Yes. Your eyes lit up last night when I mentioned where I worked.”
“Well, it’s a cool store,” I say.
“I’m glad you think that. And I got the impression you don’t like to talk about it. In public.”
She’s not wrong. “Why would I?”
She nods, then knits her brow. The furrow tells me she’s trying to figure me out. “You buy a lot of books, and it just made me think I bet he donates them.”
Damn she is good. “Fine. I buy them and donate most of them to the library. They make sure the books go to kids in need. Kids at homeless shelters, in the hospital, and so on.”
“And why was that hard to say?”
With a groan, I slump back into the couch cushions. “Because the team wants me to work on my image online. And I know they’d be all over that, but if I shared it with them it’d just feel…gross. Like I was patting myself on the back.”
“Because nobody knows you actually do laundry and make pancakes and donate books?”
“And nobody should. I don’t even know why it matters to the public.”
“Because you’re a public figure,” she says, shrugging, like it is what it is.
“I just want to play hockey. And support my family. I don’t want to have to tell everyone what I’m doing off the ice too.”
“But people look up to hockey players. They look up to athletes. That’s just reality. You can’t change that,” she says evenly, and she makes good points. So I open up a little more.
“That’s why I was doing the VIP event with Chase last night. To play nice with my rival and show the fans what a nice guy I am.” I adopt a saccharine grin.
“If they only knew how very, very nice to fans you are,” she jokes.
“Yeah, let’s keep that between us,” I deadpan, then return to Josh’s email. He said last night’s photo op was great and the team wants me to please do more positive press. “Anyway, it’s just annoying that I’m supposed to broadcast this stuff. What the fuck am I supposed to say? Had dinner with Mom last night. I’m such a good son. Or went down to the library to give them some books. I’m so nice,” I say, imitating a self-congratulatory post.
She seems to think for a minute. “Well, I could help you. I’m posting things for the store all the time. You could do it in such a way that isn’t patting yourself on the back. And honestly, you might not even have to say that much. With the books, just take a picture and tag the org, or I could do it for you,” she says with such genuine enthusiasm it’s hard for even a guy like me to grumble.
“Yeah?”
“I like social media. Do you want me to help you?”
I hate taking help. But the way she asks, so sweet, so real, there’s no way I can turn her down.
Especially since I need the assistance. “Yes,” I say roughly, then I clear my throat and give her the answer she deserves. “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” she says, then her eyes twinkle. “In fact, we can start right away. I have some ideas.”
Trina never seems to stop thinking. Her brain is always in motion. She tells me some of her ideas, and they’re easy enough. A stop at the bookstore. A pic at the library. Something family centric.
“Sure. I’m in.”
“Can you do Tuesday? To bring the books to the library?”
“Consider it done,” I say.
“Good,” she says, then pats my thigh, and I’m about to take her hand in mine, but then I catch myself.
Nope.
If I take her hand, I will drag her close for a hot kiss, and then I will want to tear off her clothes.
Where the fuck is my friend? I can’t wait a second longer. I jump up. “Be right back.”
I stalk down the hall and bang on his door, which swings open at my touch. “You done with your call? If not, I’m gonna eat,” I say.
He’s staring out the window, like he’s lost in thought.