Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
I thought about all the gruesome stories Livia had told me from working with hockey players over the years, and I grimaced.
“Fair point. Maybe I’ll stay back here for now.”
Mrs. Lopez nodded her agreement before checking her watch. “Okay. I need to get everything ready for the team to fly this evening. I’ll see you then.”
She left before I could ask what she meant, and then my phone was buzzing hard in my hand. I answered the call from Reya, only to be greeted by high-pitched squeals.
“THE ACCOUNT ALREADY HIT ONE-HUNDRED-THOUSAND FOLLOWERS!”
I held the phone away from my ear, blinking, but a smile spread on my lips despite my eardrums nearly being blown to bits.
“And ESPN just shared your post!” Camilla added. “So that number is about to shoot up.”
“A Morning With Vince Cool,” Reya sang. “I mean, I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t a shirtless Vince Tanev in nothing but his PJ bottoms as our first official post.” She let out a low whistle. “Those thighs. Too bad we didn’t get the view from the back.”
Camilla giggled. “I think we broke the Internet.”
I barely got out a thank you before Camilla was rambling off a bunch of logistics, including the surprise that I would be traveling with the team tonight, and that they’d secured me a small condo rental in the same building as Vince, just a few floors down, for when we got back.
“Tonight?” I squeaked, glancing out on the ice where the guys were still practicing. “I… I wasn’t prepared for that. I need to pack. And why do I need to live in his building? My house is only twenty-five minutes away.”
“It’s an all-access, twenty-four-seven affair,” Reya reminded me. “Trust us. This will be easier on everyone. And you’ll be fully immersed. Gah. I’m actually jealous of you.”
“Same,” Camilla said on a sigh.
“I don’t even have anyone lined up to house sit or anything. My plants,” I whimpered.
Reya and Camilla cooed an aww before Reya said, “We will handle it. I have a copy of your house key from the photoshoot we did there when we announced you as the newest Babe.”
“Let us take care of everything else. You just focus on Vince Tanev, and give these hungry new followers what they’re asking for,” Camilla added.
They were making kissing noises and shooing me off the phone before I could argue, and when the call ended, I tapped the Instagram icon on my phone, and my eyes nearly bulged out of my skull.
They were right. One-hundred-and-eight-thousand followers and counting.
I’d posted that picture of Vince holding his handmade mug, that little smirk on his face while he stood there shirtless and bathed in morning light. A quick glance at the comment section showed me that I wasn’t the only woman in the world who drooled at the sight of him like that. It was impossible not to with how his abdomen rippled with muscles and lines, with how the waistband of those pajama bottoms hugged him in the most perfect way.
He was so hot it wasn’t fair, and now, the hockey world was panting and begging for more.
When I saw that ESPN had reposted the picture and tagged our account with credit, encouraging everyone to follow us, I almost squealed.
Excitement buzzed through me like an electric current.
This really was the opportunity of a lifetime.
So what, hockey wasn’t exactly what I pictured myself being known for. This was a way to get noticed, to break out as a Babe and establish myself in the eyes of our city and beyond.
Once I had their attention, I could focus on what I really wanted them to see.
Our community and the people who serve it.
My chest was still light and airy when I switched to the story mode and took a video of the guys on the ice, zooming in slowly on Vince as he ran a drill with his team. He was so calm and confident, carefree as he glided across the ice, his shoulders squared and hands gripping his stick like an expert. He wore a white practice jersey, and even under all the pads shielding his body, he moved with ease in the way only a pro can.
I held the phone steady in my hand as I framed him on the screen.
And as if I’d planned it, he shucked the puck right into the net with my camera rolling, ripping his helmet off in a victorious battle cry like it had been a game instead of practice.
His hair was drenched, and he shook it out as he shot off some smartass remarks to his teammates. They met him with a mixture of groans and insults, but a few of them clapped him on the back as they skated by.
Then, his eyes found me.
I had about fifteen seconds left in the story clip as he skated toward me, his face coming into view more and more. And with his mouth slightly parted and a grin curling on his lips, he pointed at my phone with his glove.