Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
“I want to give you nicer things, Chloe. What you’re used to.”
Neither one of them addressed the fact that giving her nice things wasn’t the traditional role of a stepsibling. Or that it was something a spouse might say. The irony went unnoticed. Or ignored, rather. “Out of everything I’ve ever had, you are the nicest.” She let those words fly right out of her, unchecked. “And the truck is part of you. Keep it.”
They were standing at the passenger-side door of said truck now, toe-to-toe.
There was something about the way Sig looked at her that said he was replaying her statement in his head on repeat. Good. Good, she was desperate and sexually frustrated today—maybe that made her too honest. And maybe it rubbed off on Sig.
Briefly, he looked back over his shoulder at the arena, turning back to face her with a locked jaw, leaning down to speak against her temple. “I’ll keep the truck as long as you never give another man your phone number. How does that sound?”
Heat slithered up her thighs. “Sig . . .”
“Just make the promise. Don’t think about why you shouldn’t.”
“I promise.”
His mouth dipped to her neck, exhaling against her rioting pulse. “That’s a good girl.”
Her sex flexed so dramatically; she choked on a moan.
Seconds ticked by while she reeled, and Sig visibly struggled to get himself under control.
Finally, he opened the passenger door and boosted her inside, giving her a long, starved look while he engaged her belt buckle. “Maybe we should put off the driving lesson for another day.”
Chloe closed her eyes and nodded. “Good idea.”
SIG ACCEPTED A slap on the back from Burgess while sitting in the last row of lockers. He was taking his time getting dressed after practice, because he had an uncomfortable phone call to make and he didn’t want to put it off any longer. And call him crazy, but there was something about the stench of freshly used hockey equipment that he found comforting.
When Sig heard the final locker slam, he rooted through his duffel bag and took out his phone, smacking it against his palm a couple of times, before hitting the third speed dial on his list, just below Chloe and Burgess.
Rosie. His mother.
It rang three times before she answered. “Hi, Sig.”
“Rosie. Hi.”
Sig couldn’t remember the last time he’d called his mother by anything besides her first name. That formality had a lot to do with the way he’d been raised. Act like an adult. Tough it out. Suck it up. That had been the rhetoric at home and on the ice. At home, those lessons had been out of necessity. Mom wasn’t home to make school lunch or drive him to practice, so he’d figured it out himself. Sig didn’t hold a single ounce of resentment over being treated like an adult so young. Nah, he was stronger and more capable, thanks to that. Upon reaching college, he’d excelled while everyone else learned to take care of themselves for the first time. He had Rosie to thank for that, along with working herself to the bone to pay for hockey, food, shelter.
Unfortunately, the formal relationship with his mother also meant they didn’t have a lot of heart-to-hearts, back then or now. He had more meaningful conversations with Chloe in the first week of their acquaintance than he’d ever had with Rosie. Hell, anyone.
That’s what was going to make fishing for information about his father so difficult. But he’d been waiting for months to get a call from Sofia or Harvey saying they’d called off the wedding. That Sofia’s high-priced lawyers had turned up something questionable from Harvey’s past and advised her against the marriage. That they’d decided to be friends, instead. He’d lived for that phone call, so certain that it would arrive.
But it hadn’t.
And Sig couldn’t continue to leave his future with Chloe in someone else’s hands.
If he’d given her that driving lesson last night, she’d have ended up on the rear gate of his truck with her legs spread. Every time he left her for the night, it got a little harder, verging on impossible. They gravitated toward each other like magnets. He missed her voice when he wasn’t hearing it. She made every single day better just by being alive. Being his best friend, as well as his . . .
Fuck. There had to be a solution here.
“How is the weather in Boston?” Rosie asked.
Sig shook his head to clear it of visions of his hands tugging Chloe’s panties down to her ankles, her knees opening to let him see it all. “Right now, it’s raining,” he said thickly, clearing his throat hard. “But it’s not too cold for January.”
“Ah. Good. I’ll have to get out east soon for my annual trip to watch you play.”
“Just let me know the game you want to see and I’ll handle the rest,” he said, automatically, knowing she’d probably wait until closer to the end of the season, as usual. She’d once explained she wasn’t one for crowds or public events and needed time to psych herself up for the spectacle. “Is everything good with the house?”