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)
And the motherfucker winked.
It was so hot I nearly dropped the phone, but managed to hold my hands stable until the clip ran out.
Vince tore his attention from me just as quickly as he’d given it, slipping his helmet back on and fastening the chin strap just in time to line up for what coach had planned next. I watched the clip play back, and the intensity was even more powerful the second time around.
I debated what text to write to accompany the clip, but everything I thought of just didn’t match the energy.
He was the story.
Just him.
So, I put nothing more than a winky-face emoji with its tongue out at the lower left-hand corner of the screen, and I tapped the button that sent the story live into the social media atmosphere.
I’d just tucked my phone away and pulled out my camera for a few shots when Coach McCabe blew his whistle, and the team gathered around where he stood for a quick chat before they were all skating off the ice and toward the tunnel I was standing in.
I pressed myself against the wall, trying to be invisible, but I didn’t miss the chance to capture them all on video as they hopped the boards and took off their helmets, making their way back toward the locker room.
Each of them eyed me either curiously or like I was already annoying them as they passed. A few of them goofed off for the camera, smacking their ass as they passed or making faces so close to the lens that they fogged it up.
Vince held back, making himself the last player off the ice, and he paused right in front of where I stood, ignoring the camera and focusing on me, instead.
“Having fun, Maven King?”
“That’s one word for it,” I said. I debated recording the exchange, but tucked my phone away, instead. “Nice shot out there.”
“I did it just for you.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I did,” he insisted. “I just imagined you jumping up and down when I scored, chanting my name. It was great motivation.”
“I’m sure you would love to hear me chant your name, but I’m not one of your fan girls.”
He tilted his head, smirking like he had a comeback to that, but he kept it locked behind those curled lips of his. Then, his eyes flicked down, and his scarred eyebrow arched high.
“Let me grab you one of my jerseys from the team shop,” he said, staring a bit longer before his gaze found mine again. “Looks like you’re a little cold.”
He was already hobbling toward the locker room on his skates when I glanced down, immediately mortified to find my nipples so hard they were distinctly visible through my top.
I had dressed for a hot Florida day, not an ice rink.
Idiot.
“I’m not wearing your jersey,” I shot at him, folding my arms over my chest.
He turned, walking backward through the tunnel on his skates. “Wanna bet?”
“Only if you want to lose.”
Vince shrugged, smiling like he’d already won. “I’ll take my chances.”
And then he turned and disappeared down the tunnel, just in time for Coach McCabe to stop right in front of me and block my view.
“Sorry I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself before,” he said, extending a hand.
I was still shaken up from the exchange with Vince, which was supremely annoying, and I blinked out of the daze with a smile as I took Coach’s hand in my own.
“It’s perfectly okay. You’re a busy man. I just want to thank you for agreeing to all this.”
“Well, it wasn’t my choice, if I’m being perfectly honest,” he said, withdrawing his hand.
“Oh.” My cheeks heated.
“I want you to feel welcome,” he said. “And I am happy to give you the all-access my general manager promised. However,” he amended, holding up one stern finger. “The last thing we need on this team is a distraction.”
“I understand,” I said before he could continue. “I’ll be like a fly on the wall, sir.”
Coach gave me a quick once over, then smiled and shook his head. “I don’t think that’s possible for you, Miss King.”
Heat blasted my neck once more. It wasn’t like he was checking me out, more like he was just a man appreciating the beauty of a woman.
Also, a coach realizing what a distraction I could be to his team.
“I’m sorry I didn’t dress appropriately.”
“You can dress however you feel comfortable,” he said quickly. “I’m pretty sure you could wear a burlap sack and still stop traffic. All I’m asking is that if the guys start yucking it up for you, if Vince or anyone else starts to lose focus because they’re wanting to be a part of all this.” He waved his hand. “Just… help me keep them on track. Okay? We have a real shot at a winning season this year, and I don’t want that to go up in flames.”