Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Once the pressure of bodies released from all sides, Burgess’s burst of adrenaline capsized, and he became all too aware of the obnoxious throb in his lower back. Coupled with the fact that Gauthier had outskated him, irritation welled in Burgess like black oil out of the ground, his gloved fist bashing into the glass before he could stop himself.
As soon as Burgess performed the action, he regretted it. Losing his temper was endlessly amusing to the rookies, Corrigan and Mailer, and he’d been providing them with way too much entertainment lately.
“Oh shit,” Corrigan shouted. “Dad is touchy today.”
Mailer chewed on the end of his mouthpiece. “He’s going to turn this car back right around if we’re not careful. No Disneyland for us.”
“If I was your dad,” Burgess drawled. “I’d have abandoned you in the parking lot a long time ago.”
They laughed in unison and clinked their sticks together, thrilled to have gotten a response out of him beyond his usual death glare. As far as Burgess knew, Corrigan and Mailer had met post-draft, but somehow, they’d morphed into virtual twins already. That afternoon, they’d walked into the locker room with matching Orgasm Donor sweatshirts talking about their romantic escapades the night before when nobody asked.
Burgess might be old for hockey, but he wasn’t old. Still, he couldn’t remember being as young and ridiculous as these two.
“You want to get back to practice, clowns?” Burgess asked, tightening his right glove. “Or is it getting in the way of outfit planning?”
Corrigan belted a laugh. “Don’t feel left out, Dad. We can get you a sweatshirt, too.”
“But only if you’ve donated at least one orgasm in the last month,” Mailer was quick to interject, bashing his shoulder into Corrigan and getting one in return. “Do you qualify?”
Had he donated any orgasms recently?
Only to himself.
“Since I’m your dad, Corrigan, why don’t you just ask your mom if I qualify?”
Mailer doubled over laughing while Corrigan’s smile slowly melted off his face. Gauthier skated behind Burgess and they traded a fist bump without looking at each other. Really, that jab had been way too easy—and he liked to think he was above mom jokes at this point—but shit talking was a vital part of the hockey lifestyle that wasn’t going away anytime soon. And when it came to insults, offense was the best defense. Honestly, didn’t the kid deserve it for buying such a ridiculous sweatshirt?
Coach McCarren blew the whistle again and they resumed the scrimmage, but Burgess struggled to keep his mind on the game. Which royally pissed him off. Because now he was thinking about the fact that he hadn’t donated an orgasm in over a year. Had it been a one-night stand on the road in Anaheim, maybe? The memory had been archived almost as soon as it happened, so trying to recall the woman’s face only produced a blurry profile. Might as well admit it, his love life sucked. He loved sex. Who didn’t love sex? Hookups were great while they were happening, but as soon as they were over and he had a while to reflect, they just seemed to serve as a reminder that his marriage had failed. He’d failed.
There was no reason he couldn’t enter into a new relationship. Hell, his ex was already engaged to a new dude—congrats to them. He even sort of liked the dentist she called her fiancé now, which was saying something, because he didn’t like many people. But a relationship with a new woman meant eventually introducing her to Lissa. That’s what held him back. He wasn’t even solid with his daughter. What made him think bringing a new face into the mix was a good idea? Nah, Burgess stayed in on his nights off. Didn’t date. Refused offers from the players’ wives to fix him up with friends and sisters and cousins. Too much work.
He’d rather lust after his beautiful new au pair, who already found his aggression on the ice alarming and had serious and well-founded trust issues with men. Jesus, after her revelation on the roof after dinner, he’d stayed awake all night replaying her ordeal in his head, unable to control his rapid-fire pulse, his only solace being that Brett could never hurt Tallulah again. If her tormentor was still alive, he didn’t think he’d be able to function. This woman was so much braver than he gave her credit for. Not only was he outrageously attracted to her, he admired her like hell, this vivacious grad student who would now live with him.
So much easier than casual dating, right?
Wrong. The complications were mounting—yet he only seemed to welcome them.
Great. Let’s get complicated.
Corrigan received a pass from Gauthier and blew toward him on the ice, not a hint of restraint or caution in his stance. Not protecting the puck. Was he just that cocky, or did he have so little fear of Burgess handing him his ass?