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)
“Anything for my favorite Bearcat.” Why was the guy frowning after delivering the world’s most welcome diagnosis? “Listen, Burgess. I feel the need to inform you that this isn’t great news, although it might seem that way compared to, say, a herniated disc. But if you don’t rest the injury, it could get worse. You’re going to compensate for the pain out on the ice and that could lead to injuries to other parts of your body. Knee, shoulder . . .”
“No, I hear you.”
Spoiler: he wasn’t really hearing him.
Muscle strain was all Burgess heard. Halle-fucking-lujah.
“I highly suggest you speak to the team’s trainers about physical therapy to keep the muscle from stiffening and to strengthen the ligaments surrounding it,” continued the doctor. “In the meantime, I can prescribe something to lessen the pain—”
“No thanks, doc. I appreciate the offer, but I’ll handle it.” He shook the man’s hand again, ignoring the concern etched into the man’s forehead. Doctors were paid to be overly cautious, that was all. They didn’t understand an athlete’s capacity to overcome minor shit like this with the power of adrenaline and will. Burgess had those things by the bucketload, especially now that he knew his body wasn’t falling apart. “Thanks again.”
Burgess walked out of the building in Back Bay and found himself . . .
Extremely interested in getting eyes on Tallulah.
It was just after lunchtime. Lissa was still in school and he didn’t have practice tonight, meaning he didn’t have to rush home and change. He was free.
He slipped his phone out of his coat pocket and looked at it, wondering if it was wise to call Tallulah. Maybe a better idea would be to let things happen the way they’d been happening. As in, taking his shirt off in front of her in the kitchen. That seemed to be the way to go. Let her get used to him. Let her come to him.
But nah, he was a fucking hockey player.
She’d given him an opening and it went against his nature not to take it. Despite Tallulah’s claims that she wanted to help him get back out on the social scene and meet new people, she’d offered him her mouth in the kitchen. And he might not be an expert on the opposite sex, but an unsolicited massage from this woman seemed like a good sign?
Before he could talk himself out of it, Burgess shot Tallulah a text.
Burgess: Good news from the doctor.
Tallulah: WHAT? TELL ME.
Shit, he was smiling like a goddamn clown. Someone passing by in a white sedan rolled down the passenger window and stuck their head out, yelling, “Sir Savage!”
He lost the smile and put on the most terrifying expression he could muster, earning him a furious round of honks and cheers from the occupants of the vehicle.
Bostonians, man.
They loved a villain.
Burgess: Just a muscle strain. I’m golden.
Tallulah: That’s amazing. SO MUCH YAY. No more massages needed, I guess?
Burgess: Actually, the doctor said massages were vital to my recovery.
Tallulah: Sounds sketch.
Burgess: Nope. He’s one of the best.
Tallulah: Hmmm. HMMM.
All caps coming from anyone else was annoying.
Why was it funny and adorable coming from Tallulah?
Burgess: Was thinking, if you want to go on one of your Boston adventures today before Lissa gets home, I’m available to be a badass.
Tallulah: GASP.
Tallulah: I’m in class right now, but . . . I could go for an adventure in about an hour?
Burgess: Do you have something specific in mind?
Tallulah: . . . I might.
Burgess: Tell me where to meet you.
Tallulah: Amory Park?
Burgess: I’ll be there.
Burgess stopped outside of the coffee shop across from the park, making sure no one was looking before leaning close to the glass and fixing what the September wind had done to his hair, licking his fingers and smoothing down a section on top. Any other time, he might go a full day without checking his reflection or the state of his hair once, but he was about to meet Tallulah. In the park. In the middle of the afternoon.
Not a date.
He had to keep telling himself that.
No number of reminders made him any less tense, unfortunately. Whether or not this was a date, he was spending his free time with a beautiful woman. She was spending her free time with him. It might have been over a decade since he went on an actual date, but didn’t hanging out in the park together fit the criteria?
Based on the drivel he’d overheard from the Orgasm Donors, Tallulah’s generation didn’t like to put labels on anything romantic. They called each other partners, instead of boyfriend and girlfriend. They dated in groups. Just because two people were sleeping together didn’t make it exclusive. In other words, the kind of vagaries that would give him a brain bleed . . . if they concerned her.