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)
“Sure, but I’m a total newbie.”
My two guys give me a lesson, showing me videos on their phones, explaining the basics from face-off to goal, blue lines to red lines, and penalties to power plays.
Ryker finishes with, “So that’s hockey.”
“Basically, it’s exhilarating,” I say, summing it up.
“You got it,” Ryker says.
“And you have to be fearless.”
“Exactly,” Chase adds.
I let out a contemplative sigh, connecting all the dots of what they just told me. “You play on ice, but you need to be fueled by fire. That’s the hockey vibe.”
Chase laughs, then it turns into a yawn. “That’s all you need to know, Trina. Hockey is a vibe.”
“Hockey is life,” Ryker adds.
Wait. Wait. I think I understand hockey now. I park my hands behind my head, letting a smile take over. “I’m pretty sure I had a hat trick tonight,” I say, pausing as they both lock eyes, waiting for me. “Of Os.”
They both look stupidly happy as they say yes, yes you did.
I settle deeper under the covers, my eyes fluttering closed when I hear a whine.
A sad, plaintive cry.
“My darling,” I say, sitting up at the sound of Nacho. He’s stretching up on the side of the bed, pawing at the cover.
I look at Chase hopefully. “Um…can he?”
“He better,” Chase says, then scoops up my pup and hands him to me. Instantly, my dog settles under the covers, curling up right against my chest.
“Wait,” Chase says. “He sleeps between your tits?”
I glance down at my main squeeze. I’m so used to his sleeping preferences I hardly think about them. “Yeah, he claimed this spot a while ago.”
“Fucking alpha dog,” Ryker grumbles then turns the other way with a huff.
When I wake up briefly in the middle of the night, Ryker’s nose is buried in my hair, and Chase’s hand is on my thigh.
A devil’s sleeping three-way and one dirty dog.
19
A GIFT FROM THE HOCKEY GUYS
Trina
In the morning, I get ready for work quietly so I don’t wake the sleeping athletes. It’s game day—well, night—for both of them, and I want them to have their rest. I tiptoe to the kitchen.
I’m as fast as can be as I whip up pancakes and slice strawberries, then leave them on a plate, along with instructions for heating up the stack on a pink sheet of paper I ripped off from a notebook in my purse.
Don’t fight over the pancakes, guys. I made enough for both of you. Now, go work out hard and play harder tonight. And don’t forget, strawberries make everything better.
PS: I’m thinking #4 on the list sounds good. Maybe soon?
Then, I tell them what number four is.
I head to the door with Nacho leashed up and ready to rumble at doggie daycare, but before I reach it, a voice still gravelly with sleep calls out gruffly to me, “Where are you sneaking off to with that cutie?”
My heart thumps from the affectionate term for my dog. I swivel around. Chase’s a snack and a half. His hair is beyond disheveled, all golden brown and messy in the morning light. His stubble’s a day thicker. He must not have shaved yesterday. He scratches his jaw as he strides across the hardwood floors, all backlit from the windows, looking like scrumptious morning sin as he comes up to me at the door, then bends and scratches Nacho’s head.
“Well, I was leaving for work a little early so I could take him to doggy daycare,” I say. “I have an author coming in for a signing this morning, so I figured it’d be easier if Nacho went to Throw Me A Bone.”
Slowly Chase rises, cocking his head, one brow arched. Clearly that doesn’t compute for him. “Um, no.”
“No…what?”
“No, you’re not taking him to doggy daycare.” He’s as commanding as he is in bed, and the tone is dangerous for me to hear first thing in the morning. I’ll be ordering new panties before sundown.
But I focus on the conversation, not my reaction to his voice.
“Why?” I ask, letting the word stretch out because I’m really not getting his meaning.
He points his thumb at his bare chest. “I’m doggy daycare. I want to help with your dog. I’m free for the next several hours,” he says with a lopsided grin. “Coach stopped morning skate this season, so I don’t have to head to the arena until the early afternoon. So if that works out for you, I’d really like to spend the morning with Nacho. If you must know, we made plans already.”
We.
He’s talking about my dog the same way I do.
Dear god. My heart is thundering stupidly fast. Yes, it’s just an offer to take care of my dog, but it’s also the way to my bruised heart. “Sure,” I say, with a smile. “I’d really appreciate that. But what are your plans?”