Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
She put the brush back and wrapped her arms around my waist. “I’m clean, Sawyer. It had been a year since anyone before you. Is that what you’re worried about?”
“What? No.” That thought had never crossed my mind. “If anything, you should be worried about me. Aren’t you?” Sure, I’d always used a condom, but it wasn’t like I kept a book with the names of every girl I’d ever slept with.
“Are you clean?” she asked, not a single hint of worry in her voice.
“Of course I am! But you didn’t know that!” And I hadn’t protected her.
“I already knew you were,” she answered with an easy shrug.
“How?” Damn it, if she didn’t stop rubbing against me like that, we were going to end up on the bathroom floor, not the bed.
“It’s like you said. I trust you. Remember?” She kissed me lightly, then spun and walked out of the bathroom.
I watched her walk away with a sense of awe. Never fuck without a condom. That was the first advice I’d been given by my coach in the locker room my freshman year. Too many girls wanted the pro-athlete life, and they were willing to get knocked up to get it.
But even the thought of Echo pregnant didn’t turn me off. It revved me up higher in some primal way. Not that I wanted a kid now, or anything. I just knew if I was going to have one, I’d want Echo to be its mother. Not that it mattered, either way. She was on the pill.
“Hurry up, and I might just show you how much I trust you again before you have to get on that plane,” she called after me.
I spent the next three hours buried inside of Echo, twisting her into every possible position that would give her an even better high. She was insatiable, and by the time I crawled out of bed around six-thirty, I’d rung so many orgasms from her that she was finally sleeping.
“Are you leaving already?” she asked, peeking up at me with sleepy eyes.
“Yeah. The Thurston thing freaked Coach out, so we have to get to the rink an hour earlier for every game and every flight to test. No biggie.” I kissed her forehead.
“Okay. Good luck. Save pucks. Have a good flight. All of that,” she murmured, already closing her eyes.
“I love you,” I whispered at her temple.
“Love you,” she replied, slipping into sleep.
I kissed her forehead one more time before finding my discarded clothes. By the time I reached the rink, I felt oddly energetic instead of exhausted.
We had a conference championship to win.
16
Echo
The boys were Conference Champions, headed to the Stanley Cup Finals in the next couple of days, and it was time to celebrate.
A line of people wove around the brick building, the golden streetlamps casting the historic jazz club in a warm glow. The night sky was clear and peppered with stars, the air warm and full of that ancient breeze only downtown Charleston could manage.
“Whoa,” Faith said, her arm interlocked with mine as we walked past the line. “You said this place was popular, but I didn’t realize…” she halted, tugging me to a stop. “Shouldn’t we head to the back of the line?”
Langley clicked up with Harper in tow. “Yes, Echo, I’m all about using the Reapers for good press but I don’t want to drop the boys’ names just to get into a club.” She motioned behind her, where a trail of Reapers followed us like little ducks. I chuckled at the image, since they weren’t little at all. In fact, each NHL star looked downright intimidating as they followed our lead.
“Really, Langley?” I shook my head. “I know the owner,” I jerked my head toward the building. “She has free drinks at Scythe for life so I can come here whenever I want without the wait.”
Langley nodded, impressed.
“Now that I’m not using the Reapers’ name to get into this place, let’s use me and have a good time!”
The girls cheered with me and within minutes we were strolling through the doors of one of the oldest jazz clubs in Charleston. Ownership had changed throughout the years, as did the name of the club, but one thing that stayed the same? The quality of local music played live on the same historic stage as when the building was erected.
“This is the closest thing Charleston has to a speakeasy,” I said into Faith’s ear to be heard over the band.
“Hey, Echo!” Coraline hustled out from behind her elegant mahogany bar, the liquor bottles back-lit by warm red lighting. “You came with a crowd this time?” She eyed all the Reapers and their queens behind me.
“Sure did,” I said. “These newbies needed a taste of real Charleston.”
“No place better,” she said, winking at me. “Hold on a sec, honey.” She hurried and grabbed one of her waitresses and brought her back to our group. “Take this crew to the balcony lounge,” she said to the waitress. “Bottle service?” She eyed me.