Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“I’m not sayin’ I woulda been into it, but it makes for a mush better story, ya know? Mush mush better.”
Uh…I had nothing.
“I hate to disappoint you, but I’m not in the habit of propositioning men for sex.”
He cocked his head curiously. “ ’Cause you’re shtraight?”
“No, because I’m not a creep,” I retorted, wondering why I was sparring with a drunk.
“Are you straight? Or gay or bi or somefin else?”
“That’s none of your business,” I snapped.
Denny huffed in mock dismay. “You propositioned me, remember? I should know what I’m getting into.”
I was officially unsure where I’d gone wrong.
I should have introduced myself in the bar pre-tequila. That was on me. I hadn’t been able to figure out how to get him alone at first, but I hadn’t been overly concerned ’cause I’d learned more about Denny Mellon than I’d bargained on from the bartender and the locals over a couple of beers.
They’d said Denny was intense, smart, competitive, and that he had an instinct for hockey that couldn’t be taught.
It was nothing I hadn’t heard from rabid fans and sports analysts who were cautiously optimistic that the rookie was the one to watch. He was special. The media was already swarming and big endorsements would surely follow. We wouldn’t be able to afford him this time next year.
The locals had also said he was painfully quiet, but this guy hadn’t shut up since I’d tracked him down in the parking lot and now, I had to admit, Denny Mellon was throwing me off my game. He shouldn’t be here, and we definitely shouldn’t be talking about indecent proposals.
Sure, he was sexy as hell, but this was not a one-night stand in the making, damn it. This was business.
I scowled. “How drunk are you?”
“Very.” Denny’s eyes twinkled merrily as he reclaimed his water, gulping the rest till the screech and crinkle of plastic echoed off the walls. He smashed the bottle in one hand and tossed it into the trash before flopping onto the sofa. “I told you…tequila. It hits funny, you know. One minute, you’re fine and the next, you’re hot and horny. Tired, too. Or maybe just hot. I’m kinda hot. Are you hot?”
“No, I’m fine, and I—what are you doing?”
Denny jumped up again, unzipping his leather jacket as he strode to the sliding glass door.
“Need fresh air,” he announced, pulling the curtain aside and unlatching the lock.
I grabbed another water bottle and hurried after him to the balcony. “Are you going to be sick?”
“No, I never felt better. ’Cept my skin is like an oven.” Denny yanked his tee over his head in a whoosh, stuffed the fabric into his back pocket, and thrust an arm toward me. “Feel it. Seriously.”
I set my hand on his forearm and yes, he was warm to the touch. He also happened to have the body of a god. No kidding.
Every dip and valley from his pecs to his torso and abs was defined as if he’d been sculpted by a master. He was all lean muscle, not an ounce of extra fat anywhere. I was no stranger to exercise and I liked to think I was in decent shape, but I couldn’t begin to compare to an athletic specimen like Denny.
My gaze stalled on his tapered waist and the hint of a happy trail under his exposed belly button. Keep it together, Cunningham.
I swallowed hard, thrusting the water at him with more force than necessary. “Drink this.”
Denny tipped his chin in thanks and guzzled the whole thing, dragging his wrist across his full lips before letting out a monster belch. “Did ya hear that?”
“Yes, I heard that. Please don’t smash the plastic. It’s—” Crunch. I snatched the empty bottle from him with an exasperated growl. “Okay, this was a mistake. You need to go home.”
“You’re right, but MK has my ride.”
“You’re in no shape to drive anyway. Do you have Uber here?”
Denny giggled. Yeah, a real live giggle. “In Elmwood? No, sir. We do not. We have a taxi…one taxi. I don’t know who’s driving tonight. Sometimes it’s Darren. He’s nice. Sometimes it’s Sal. He’s a ashwipe, but ’s okay. I’m gonna walk anyway.”
No, no, no.
I wasn’t sure why or how he’d become my problem, but I couldn’t in good conscience let Denny Mellon drunkenly stumble home in the pitch-dark on a country road leading to a sleepy town.
“Do you live nearby?”
He furrowed his brow thoughtfully. “I live in Denver.”
“I meant here in Elmwood.”
“Oh, yeah. I live here too. I have a house.”
“Great. Where is it, Denny? Concentrate.”
He nodded hard enough to give himself whiplash. “First I gotta walk up the hill into town and go to Main Street and three more blocks to Spruce and one more block to—”
“I’ll drive you,” I intercepted. “C’mon.”
“No, no. I wanna walk. Fresh air feels good.” Denny’s face contorted as he stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “I’m just tired. Gimme a second to cool off. Do you have more water? I gotta dilute the tequila.”