Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 86068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
I tilt my head to the side and try to picture him without the beard. “Really?”
He nods his head, leaning back against the bench. “Oh, yeah, the team I played for was old school.” He starts talking, and something in his voice makes me know that something deeper is going on. “I had to be clean cut. Hair was to be kept short and no facial hair whatsoever.” I have to bite my tongue not to ask him what team he played for.
“Wow,” I say, but I’m itching to ask him so many more questions. It’s the first time that curiosity is killing me. It’s the first time I want to pry and ask him all the freaking questions but I have to respect his space. “So you used to play?” I prod, not really invading his privacy since he mentioned that he used to play. So technically, I’m not intruding.
“Yup,” he says, his tone tight, “walked away two years ago.”
“What’s your name?” I ask, and he laughs. “I mean, I could always google Xavier and hockey, and I’m sure I’ll find you.” I roll my lips to stop myself from laughing. “Don’t worry, I would never google you.” I chuckle. “But my sister, now she’s another story.”
He laughs out loud. “No need to go on Google.” He stares at me. “Xavier Montgomery.” I put my fork down. “So how about the weather?”
“Is that code for you don’t want to talk about hockey?” I ask, swallowing down the lump.
“There is nothing to say.” He sits up. “I used to play, and now I don’t.” He shrugs.
I pick my fork back up. “The weather has been amazing.” I change the subject just like he wanted to. “Was it sunny today?”
“It was.” He nods his head. “It’s going to be sunny for the next four days.”
I clap my hands in happiness. “Yes.” I smile at him. “So how long have you had this boat?”
“Two years,” he replies, and I can’t help but try to piece together his past. “Hung up my skates and then bought the boat.”
“See?” I fold my arms in front of me. “I didn’t even have to ask you why you bought the boat.”
“I see that. In case you are wondering what boat I had before.” He gets up from the bench. “I didn’t have one.”
I gasp. “Did you know how to drive the boat?” I ask, his head going to the side.
“Are you asking me a question?” He smirks at me as he picks up his empty plate. “Is there something you want to know?”
“Oh, no.” I shake my head. “Don’t you even try it. I’m just saying you shit all over me when you asked what boat I had before.” He looks down, trying to hide his smile. “You hypocrite.” I get up laughing, grabbing my plate and the salad bowl. “Don’t even.” I shake my head, turning to walk down the steps and back into the kitchen. Beatrice gets up from her bed, stretching and then coming over to me. “Did you know he was a liar, liar, pants on fire?” I squat down and hold her neck. “You were there. You heard him, right?”
“Okay, fine,” he huffs when he walks into the kitchen, two plates in one hand and the veggie tray in the other. “I could have been a bit nicer.”
“Could have been?” I shake my head. “Could have been?” I fold my arms over my chest.
“Did you even drive a boat before you bought this one?” I ask, and he puts the plates in the sink before looking at me.
The smirk transforms into a huge smile when he leans against his counter. “Two questions?” He holds up one hand with two fingers while the other hand holds on to the counter. “Is this a record?”
I grit my teeth together and glare at him. “I called you a jerkface,” I inform him, “so you don’t have to ask me that.” The sound of his laughter is everything. “Also, FYI, I’ll be calling you that again once I get back home.” I have this sudden visual of me going over to him and wrapping my hands around his waist while I lean back and he kisses me. “I should go.” I put my hand to my stomach, wondering if he put something in my food.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks me and my eyebrows pinch together.
“Probably working,” I answer him.
“What time do you finish working?” he questions me, and I wonder if he’s doing this on purpose.
“Are you trying to get me to ask you why?” I put my hands on my hips.
“Are you wanting to ask me why?” he counters. Forget about me wanting to kiss him because now I’d love to throat punch him.
“No,” I lie through my teeth. “Don’t care.”
“Now that’s a lie.” He laughs. “Do you want to go out tomorrow?”