Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I handed money to the valet, stealing one last glance at Jake before uttering the two sentences that would alter my life…forever.
“Hop in. I’ll give you a ride.”
14
JAKE
Trinsky cranked the volume on a rock song I didn’t recognize and drove west, one hand casually draped over the steering wheel, the other tapping a beat on his thigh. He’d removed his sport coat and rolled up his sleeves before we’d left the studio, griping about being hot and uncomfortable.
Ironically, I was the uncomfortable one now. Instead of soaking in the California sunshine on a beautiful summer day, I was hopelessly distracted by his beefy inked forearms and strong profile. Damn it, I should never have gotten into his car. I couldn’t be in his vicinity and remain neutral. It was impossible.
He either irritated me or turned me on. And that second one tied me in knots. I didn’t like that this feeling hadn’t gone anywhere. I’d been counting on a change of scenery to serve as a reset button. We didn’t have to be friends or even enemies. We could be ambivalent acquaintances.
But my skin didn’t overheat around other ambivalent acquaintances, and I didn’t blush like a teenager at the memory of what we’d done in that tent…and against that tree, and…
I lowered the volume and twisted in the lush leather seat. “You’re killing my eardrums.”
“We can put on a little yacht rock if that’s your jam.”
“I do not listen to yacht rock. I don’t even know what that is.” I snorted.
“It’s corny dad music. Although…some of it’s okay,” he conceded. “What do you listen to?”
“Everything. I’m on a podcast kick now.”
Trinsky lifted a brow. “Me too. My brother hooked me up with a good history one. The latest installment covers the Etruscan civilization.”
“Etruscans? That’s…interesting.”
He knit his brows and cast a quick look my way. “It’s fucking fascinating shit. Did you know the Etruscans were master metal workers, and they did these amazing murals? The Romans didn’t like them, though. Not sure why. Gotta tune in to the next podcast to find out.”
My lips curled of their own volition. I did not find him amusing at all—I tried not to, anyway. “You’re a dork.”
“A dork! Ha. I haven’t heard that one in a while.”
“If the shoe fits.”
I noted the swaying palms lining Wilshire Boulevard, the coffee shops, banks, and boutiques with colorful awnings. I’d been here dozens of times for games and had done all the touristy things, but the city was so sprawling that I never really felt like I knew it. Boston was charming, sometimes edgy, yet steeped with poignant history while LA had a vibe all its own. It was glittering and pretty with a deceptive coolness cloaked in smoke and mirrors. Nothing ever was as it seemed. Sometimes it was better, sometimes not.
Like Trinsky.
“You’re a funny one, Jakey,” he singsonged, squeezing my knee.
I yelped and smacked him, which made him laugh and made me want to strangle him. It was better than the floaty, woozy feeling in my lungs. But the ensuing silence was suffocating. I simultaneously wanted to jump out of the car and stay here, with the road stretching on for miles.
No, I didn’t want to say good-bye. It was an unfamiliar feeling where Trinsky was concerned…and I still had so many questions.
I wanted to know more about the charity he was involved in. Where did he live? Did he have a lot of friends in the area? What about a girlfriend? Shit. Did he have one of those? Was that secret hand sign he made on air for her? Why would I care? Did I care?
“Hey, what was that secret signal?” I flubbed through my own version of one. “Was that for your girlfriend?”
He stopped at a red light and glanced over with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You jealous?”
“Fuck off.”
But also…yes.
Trinsky chortled merrily. “I don’t have a girlfriend. That was for Eddie…my brother.”
“Oh. Sign language?”
“It’s sort of an inside joke. Eddie is learning ASL. I know more than I let on, but it makes him laugh when I intentionally fuck up, so…I do.”
I smiled. Mason Trinsky knew sign language, listened to history podcasts, and was involved in a children’s charity. Who the hell was this guy? At least two of those three things were connected to his brother, which indicated he was close to his family. Geez, he might be a dick on the ice, but he was proving to be less of one in his real life.
“That’s pretty cool,” I admitted. “How old is your brother?”
“Sixteen.”
“Does he play hockey?”
“No,” Trinsky replied.
“Mmm. I thought maybe hockey ran in the family.”
He snickered. “Dude, I’m from Hermosa Beach. We have surf and sand…no ice.”
“How’d you get started? No, never mind. I’ve heard the story.” We’d spent too many years in the league and countless summers of camp together. I might not know much about his personal life, but I knew his hockey origin story. “Your friend’s dad worked the Zamboni for the Kings practice rink and used to take you after school.”