Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
When I reach them, Jenna says hello first, and I’m pleased she doesn’t drop her gaze, duck her head or make an effort to ensure her hair is hanging over her shoulder to cover her scars. We had a lot of fun at Not-So-Thanksgiving Dinner last night and I’m pleased she feels at ease with me.
“I don’t see any stuffed animals,” I comment to the ladies.
Emory shoots me a glance, putting her hand on Felicity’s lower back as she prepares to toss another ring. “We just got started on the games. Decided to hit all the rides first.”
Felicity makes a toss, and it falls short of the playing board. She’s not discouraged as she looks to me, then points upward. “I’m going to win that big pink unicorn.”
“Let’s see you do it,” I reply, leaning against the wooden post at the corner of the stall.
Determination causes her facial features to scrunch up. She takes another ring and tries to lob it underhanded. The ring hits one of the outside stakes and bounces off.
She tries three more times before I step in. Pulling a twenty out of my wallet, I hand it to the vendor, who hands me a stack of rings in return. While I’m a professional hockey player and fairly gifted in the athleticism department, it takes me almost the entire stack to win the pink unicorn for Felicity.
Her smile is infectious as I hand the fuzzy stuffed animal over. She beams up at me. “Thank you, Jett.”
“You’re welcome,” I reply, thinking that happiness was the best twenty bucks I’ve ever spent.
“What game should we play next?” I ask her.
“Actually,” Emory cuts in, cutting a glance to Jenna, who nods. She squats down to get face to face with her daughter. “Aunt Jenna is going to take you around the carnival for a few more games before heading home, and I’m going to go with Jett to get a drink.”
Felicity frowns, and points to a food stall right beside the ring toss. “They have drinks there.”
“Um, yes, they do,” Emory stammers a bit, shooting me a helpless look. I just shrug, having no clue how much truth a seven-year-old can handle. I don’t even know if Emory is recently out of a relationship with Felicity’s dad or if she’s explained dating.
Emory smiles at her little “mini-me” in bemusement. “Jett and I are going to go somewhere that serves adult drinks and only allows adults to go in.”
“But why?” she asks, head tilted in curiosity.
“Because… because…” Emory stammers.
“Oh,” Felicity says, as if something just dawns on her. “So you can talk to him more about his “intogram” account.”
“Instagram,” Emory says with a laugh, and shoots me a conspiratorial look. “And yes… we’re going to talk more about that.”
Like hell we are, but I merely nod in agreement.
There are hugs, and Emory presses some money into Jenna’s hand, warning her not to let Felicity eat too much junk at the carnival. As we’re leaving, she says, “I’m not sure when I’ll be home, but I’ll text you later to give you an idea.”
I could take that to mean so many things, and in my dreams maybe it means she’s coming home with me tonight. Both of us have admitted that this is heading toward a bed, but if it doesn’t happen today… I’m okay with that too.
More than anything, I want to learn more about Emory, and doing that over a drink or two sounds like a great way to spend the rest of my day.
We say our goodbyes and I lead Emory through the carnival, and out to the parking lot where I’d left my Urus. A few fans stop me on the way, and I don’t hesitate to pose for photographs and sign jerseys. It’s Fan Day after all, and I’m not surprised in the slightest when Emory takes pictures of me with various fans. I guarantee one will make its way onto the Vengeance IG account before we reach the bar.
When we make it to my vehicle, I move to the passenger side and open the door for Emory. She shows no signs that she knows this SUV costs over two hundred grand. In this moment, I’m glad she doesn’t because now it just seems like an arrogant waste of money.
I gently close the door behind her, move around the back, and enter the driver’s seat. After I start the engine, I tell her, “There’s a cool little bar a few blocks down—”
“Actually,” Emory says, her voice cracking slightly. She coughs and turns to look directly at me. Her voice is strong and without any doubt. “Actually… you live downtown, right? Maybe we could just go have a drink at your place.”
I’ve had many women come on to me over the years, and I’ve always prided myself on maintaining control and being suave in my flirtations. But Emory’s request has rendered me slightly speechless.