Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Yeah, but I didn’t want to share him, and I honestly didn’t know how to explain our “affair,” as she put it, to someone who’d literally checked off every box on her HEA list. Court and I weren’t a forever thing. We weren’t going to get married, buy a house, have children, or buy a minivan. We were going to have a lot of sex and enjoy each other’s company for a few weeks and agree to remain friends. And I was totally fine with that.
Besides, I had other things on my mind.
I set my cup on the rustic farmhouse coffee table and leaned forward. “Penny Henderson told me you talked yesterday ’cause you had an idea you wanted to run by her. I’d rather hear about that.”
Stacy wrinkled her nose and bit her lip. “That’s all I said. She called to see how I was feeling and commiserated for a minute about her own experience with bed rest. And when she mentioned that I probably missed you at Rise and Grind, I had an opening to discuss…business things. But Dave came home and she had a customer, so it didn’t add up to much.”
“Oh.”
We studied each other as if looking for clues. Or maybe that was me. After her outburst about selling last month, I was low-key worried she was preparing an exit speech. Now, I wasn’t sure what to think. I had a feeling there was something she wasn’t telling me, though.
“Back to Court…” She wiggled on her cushion, rubbing her hand over her swollen belly. “I heard he’s kicking butt at the rink.”
“I’ve heard that too. Every hockey parent in town gushes about him over their morning coffee. The kids love him.”
“I bet, but I was talking about his training. Dave sees him with Vinnie and Riley at the gym a few times a week and yesterday, Dave stopped by the rink to watch our niece play. He stayed late to chat with my brother and caught the first half of a scrimmage with the coaches and a few of the juniors, and apparently, Court is a beast on the ice. I never followed his hockey career, but they say he’s improved a ton since he’s been home.”
Oh.
Now…this was weird. See, my best friend never discussed hockey. Ever. Stacy might comment about a player’s hotness, but even saying, “I never followed his career” was a no shit, Sherlock statement ’cause I’d always known that she wasn’t a hockey girl. Except she seemed to know more about Court’s progress than I did, and that was…embarrassing.
Sure, half of me was consumed with trying to keep Rise and Grind afloat on my own during our busiest time of year, and the other half of me wanted to spend every available second naked with Court. It wasn’t as though Court and I didn’t talk—we did. He reported daily rink hijinks with the Mighty Mites, frustrations or breakthroughs with the juniors, and funny bonding moments with the other coaches.
What he didn’t talk about was his own game or his future. And I hadn’t asked. I thought I was giving him space ’cause no one liked a clingy lover, but I wondered if I was guilty of protecting myself. Perhaps I hadn’t quite evolved from the scared teen I’d once been…so sure of rejection that I didn’t bother trying.
I had to fix that.
9
COURT
“The goalie needs to mind the crease. What is he thinking?”
I did a double take, widening my eyes at the curly haired cutie sitting on the edge of the sofa, gaze locked on the action on the screen. I knew Ivan liked hockey. He’d grown up a Bruins fans like practically everyone in our corner of Vermont, but he’d seemed passively interested rather than fanatical.
However, the guy scowling at the flat-screen with his fists clenched was a mystery. Kind of a scary one too.
Check this out: I’d agreed to help him pick out a Christmas tree in Fallbrook, then schlepped five boxes of holiday shit from his garage into the house and ordered pizza. I told him I’d watch the game while he decorated the tree. Sounded reasonable, right?
But after he’d changed into Elf-themed PJ bottoms, he’d settled in front of the TV instead, beer in hand and morphed into the textbook definition of a rabid fan, yelling encouragement and dismay at his team from the comfort of his living room. Hey, I was pretty much planning to do the same thing, but I didn’t think I’d have a partner in crime. He was supposed to be decorating.
Maybe he wanted me to help him, and this was a classic case of reverse psychology.
I took a slug from my bottle, eyeing him curiously. That was another thing. Ivan never drank beer. Ever. He liked funky gin concoctions and fruity wines.
Yeah, something was definitely up.