Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 107687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
My heart swells. “Congratulations! Though…I did see the bump.”
She laughs. “Really? Everyone assumes I’m just fat.”
“No way! You’re glowing.”
“Thanks,” she says with a smile as she rubs a larger belly than I had realized. “I apologize for my mood swings. I’m known for them.”
I wave her off. “You’re a gem.”
She laughs. “You’re a liar,” she teases, and I grin. “But I like you, so it’s cool,” she announces, and I like her a lot too. I mean, this is only day one and I have a very long season in front of me, but I do like Shelli Adler. Not only for who she is, but for what she stands for. I want to be strong and powerful just like her. I know I can be; I just don’t know if one season will do it. Unfortunately, that’s all the time I have.
I cross my legs as she clears her throat. “The situation is, I had a list of players I wanted to bring up from the juniors, college, and our farm team. I’ve done some really great scouting, and since we need new players to replace those we traded off to make room in the salary cap, I’ve made sure to pick some great talent. But then I was informed that a player my mom promised a spot to on the team, no matter what, has left the Russian squad for the US.”
I make a face. “That’s a thing?”
She rolls her eyes. “It is for Dimitri Titov.” Shelli grumbles something under her breath and shakes her head. “I grew up with him, his dad played with my dad, his uncle is my dad’s best friend, and yeah, he’s family. But he wanted to play in Russia instead of the juniors! Though, now that he wants to come back, I have to make room for him. It’s beyond frustrating because he isn’t even that good. He’s got bad habits now from the Russian league, and I don’t want to deal with him.”
I bring my brows together. “This may be a dumb question, but are American hockey and Russian hockey not the same?”
Gone is her annoyance, and soon, it’s replaced by a grin. “Oh, Austen, I am going to have so much fun with you.”
But I soon realize that Shelli’s definition of fun is watching hours upon hours of this Titov guy playing hockey. First, it’s hard to keep up. She is talking a million miles a minute about everything wrong with him. It’s easy to say, she isn’t a fan.
For me, I’m trying to keep up and ignore how damn gorgeous this man is. He has beautiful olive skin and black hair that has a blue hue to it and curls at the back of his helmet. When they go in close for the face-off, I can’t even pay attention to whether he sucks at that, as Shelli says, because he has some penetrating blue eyes that are to die for.
It’s almost cruel that I’ve gone from being in a cult where women are basically an object rather than a partner or a leader, and never wanting to be touched by anyone, to now finding myself wanting to know everything about Dimitri, even if he sucks. It’s not long before I am reminded that I’m not learning about Titov the man, but rather Titov the hockey player. That is cruel in and of itself, but let’s be honest, when will I have time for a guy? I am in a crash course in Hockey 101 and Hockey Management.
As I watch game reel after game reel, I stop seeing the guys and start seeing the plays. Soon, I’m impressed by the fact that I can see these “bad habits,” and even I don’t know how he can break them. Though, I want him to. Not because he’s gorgeous—and I like the way he fights—but because of how much Shelli hates him and doubts him. For me, I’m all for the underdog.
Especially when he is a Russian fox like Dimitri Titov.
Oh, those are bad, bad thoughts.
Snap, snap, snap.
Okay, one more snap.
two
Dimitri
My sister moves by me, purposely hitting me with the side of the box she carries. Her long, black-as-night hair that goes well past her bottom sways back and forth as she walks to a spot in the living room and drops my box. I hear a crash inside and cringe as my dad hands me the US power cord for my Xbox. Pretty sure those are my photo frames from high school. Or maybe even my glass pucks.
Great.
“Katarina!” my mom complains, but Katarina doesn’t even acknowledge her.
She looks at me, her dark eyes like slits as she very aggressively says in Russian, “No, I refuse to take it easy with his stuff when he has brought me to this hellhole!”
“This hellhole is your birthplace!” I yell at her in Russian since it’s our first language. Apparently, it’s also the only language she will speak in America now that I’ve brought her here. She’s not happy about it.