Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Now, she is working for the Nashville Assassins, and I couldn’t be prouder. Or happier for her. I miss her, greatly, but I know she is being worshipped and loved. She deserves to be loved properly. We all do.
Hmm, maybe I should consider these hockey players…
I don’t even look at Eliza as I open a box, unloading the newest delivery of fantasy romances I ordered. I know one of these boxes contains a shipment of hockey romances, but I refrain from opening that box. I’ll get my hopes up, and the next thing I know, when I try to get with a hockey player, he’ll just hand me a puck instead of an orgasm.
“I just want to be fucked,” I groan, meeting my sister’s gaze. “I’ve spent so much time in therapy, trying to heal from all the shit we went through. And now that I love sex and enjoy it, I want to be pleased the way I deserve.” I shake the newest naughty Hades and Persephone–inspired novel at her. “I want to have endless orgasms and then be fed pomegranates. Is that too much to ask?”
Eliza snorts at me. “Not at all. You’ll be someone’s Persephone, Lou. Don’t worry.”
Always the optimist, my sister, but I know the truth.
The only way I’ll get what I want is if I write my own happily-ever-after.
Which will include a hunky, possessive guy who gives me all the orgasms and pomegranates.
CHAPTER 2
Ciaran
I pull down my hood a bit to cover my face when I hear the owner of Dirty Pages moving boxes and grunting. I know her assistant, who I assume is her sister, saw me come through the back, but she only shot me a grin as a half-dressed guy ran out the front door, and then the owner came down, yelling about how guys are trash. I only came for the book in my hand, but it’s real hard to continue reading when she’s going on and on about her opinion of men.
That we’re all selfish trash.
I mean, she’s not completely wrong.
I guess I should be more offended, considering I am of the male gender, but I get it. There are guys out there who just ruin it for all of us. Or maybe my opinion is a little skewed since I deal with the guys who are usually angry they didn’t make it right into the NHL. So to ease that pain, they sleep with anything with tits, drink, do drugs, and gamble their time and chances away.
It was the main reason I left the AHL team in Arizona. I drafted high, first round, but I didn’t make the roster for the Sharks. Instead of getting mad or blowing off steam through toxic vices, I dug in and worked my ass off on and off the rink. Was it enough?
Nope. I never saw the Sharks’ ice, but that’s okay. Things happen for a reason, and I have to trust myself. Or I’ll go crazy and end up like most of the washed-up AHL players. That won’t be me. I will see the Nashville Assassins’ ice. Hell, I almost made the roster this year and they love me there, but there were better guys, according to them. To me, I’m the best, but it’s just not my time yet. It’ll happen. It has to.
“I want to have endless orgasms and then be fed pomegranates. Is that too much to ask?”
I love pomegranates.
And I’m a dude, so I love to come.
But making a girl come? That’s what really gets me off.
Her request tears me away from the page I’ve read four times, and I almost volunteer as tribute. I haven’t hooked up with anyone since moving to Tennessee. I’ve worked my ass off on the ice, so surely I can do my duty to show this girl that not all men are as awful as she claims. It would be an honor, honestly, because Dirty Pages’ owner is hot—like, next-level hot. I’ve seen her around town, and while everyone loves to talk shit about her and how she is bringing porn to their town, I’m thankful for her.
I grew up reading. The earliest memories I have are of my grandma reading The Hobbit to me. When I wasn’t skating, I was reading. I never got into video games or Lego; it was books and hockey. When I stumbled upon my mom’s Harlequin novels… Well, let’s just say I didn’t need porn like my friends had. Then I got into audiobooks, and I thought life couldn’t get any better. I could listen to the book I was reading and work out. It was fantastic.
But the one thing I never could get into was e-readers. I think it’s because my grandma never had one, and neither did my mom. There were always stacks and stacks of books throughout the whole house. Hell, every time a sibling moved out, my mom turned the left-behind room into a library.