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)
I pop my earbuds back in and proceed to race climb him. It’s an unwritten rule of two pro athletes working out next to each other. You must school the other guy. Lift more, climb farther, run faster.
I always do.
With my pulse spiking, I’m chasing the sky as I watch a pack of Border Collies catch frisbees. Someday, I’ll be able to adopt a badass dog who can do tricks and shit.
But not too soon, since hockey comes first, second, and third. It’s everything to me, and it lets me fulfill a promise I made years ago. A promise I’ll always keep.
As I’m nearing the end of my cardio, my phone buzzes. I glance down at the text flashing across the screen. It’s from Gianna, the publicist for the Sea Dogs.
Gianna: Don’t forget the VIP event is tonight after the game! Be on your best behavior.
I chuckle at her note, then tap out a reply saying, I always am. But before I can send it she’s already written back.
Gianna: JK. I know you always are, Chase.
She’s right. I pride myself on my reputation as a good guy. It works well for me. It helps me pay all the bills and take care of my mom and younger brothers. That’s why I do everything I can to be the good guy man about town. I spearhead the Hockey Hotties calendar to raise money for both youth sports and rescue dogs, and I’ve got one helluva smile. It gleams. And I always talk to the press, even though I know firsthand that the media isn’t always friendly. That’s okay—it’s just part of the game.
Chase: I’ve got you, G. It’s all good.
Gianna: You’re the best. P.S. Tell Ryker to smile. No King of Grunts tonight.
Ouch. But that’s what a popular hockey podcaster nicknamed my friend, and if the skate fits…
Chase: I will definitely tell him. I’m working out with him right now.
Gianna: I figured as much! But remember, you’re rivals on the ice.
Chase: That’s what my Stanley Cup says too.
I finish the exchange and the workout, stabbing the end button on the StairMaster dashboard.
Ryker follows suit. “Did more floors than you.”
I peer at his screen. “Dammit,” I mutter.
We leave the gym and exit onto Fillmore Street, heading toward Doctor Insomnia’s Tea and Coffee Emporium. A good workout deserves a good cup of Joe. And that place is my regular haunt. “Here’s the deal. You need to be all sunshine tonight.”
He grunts.
“Nope. No grunts. Use those big words in your big brain when we meet our guest.”
He narrows his eyes, then drops a pair of aviator shades over them and emits a menacing growl. As if he scares me. “C’mon. You can do it. Be a good guy and say you’ll be sunny tonight.”
With a death glare—yes, I can tell those are daggers behind his mirrored shades—he says, “I will be so fucking refulgent tonight.”
I cringe. “Do not be repugnant. Just be nice.”
He snickers. “Refulgent means luminous. As in sunshiney. Like you said.”
Like it’s happening in slow-mo, I raise my middle finger. “And this means fuck off, word nerd.”
“Aww, was it hard for you to learn something? Or did it drive you crazy?”
I scoff. “You know what drives me crazy? When you act like you’re an irascible bastard,” I say, flinging one of his fancy words back at him.
Ryker cracks a rare grin. “See? My word nerding rubs off on you. Such a surprise for a Golden Retriever.”
“Did you mean team captain? Since that’s what it says on my jersey.”
He growls again. But I’m not fooled by his grumpy routine. Only one thing I’ve done has ever really pissed off Ryker. A year ago, when he thought I stole his girl. Dude didn’t speak to me for a week. But I didn’t know Abby was his and I will never do it again. We made a pact after all. “By the way, what’s the etymology of avocado?” I ask.
That perks him up. “It comes from an Aztec word for testicles.”
I cringe. “This is why I don’t need to learn your weird words.”
Ten hours later I’m rinkside, in my uniform, and ready to destroy the Avengers. The game starts in twenty minutes. But first, my goalie taps my knee with his stick.
“Listen,” Erik begins from his spot on the bench next to me. “Lisette needs to know if you want to be at the singles table next weekend? She says it’ll be fun.”
Fun and singles tables don’t usually go hand in hand. But that’s my cousin Lisette for you. I invited her to a barbecue at my house a couple years ago, and she hit it off with my teammate. “Was the table by the dumpster in the alley unavailable?”
He rolls his eyes. “She wants to introduce you to some of her friends.”
Yup. Knew that was coming. My cousin’s been trying to return the favor and set me up with someone ever since Erik proposed. “Let me think about it while we play. You do the same,” I deadpan.