Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
I flash back to the night we went grocery shopping and her comment about pole dancing. Then to my whole reason for having a list in the first place—to get out of my comfort zone. No reason I shouldn’t offer my friends as tributes too. “Hey, Ev, what if we all took that pole-dancing class with you?”
Everly’s eyes brighten. “You’d all want to?”
Yes, I just threw Maeve and Fable into the fire without asking. But I know my girls. Maeve is already nodding a big yes, please and Fable shrugs happily then says she’s in.
“I guess we have our next girls’ night out,” I say, as warmth spreads in my chest. But it’s bittersweet, too, since these girls’ nights out will end in the new year if I can’t find a grant or a job.
Before the puck drops, a loud, ominous voice booms through the rink, telling a tale of the Sea Dogs rising from the depths of the ocean, while electric blue and iridescent orange light displays of the logo and mascot play on the ice. Videos of the athletes fly by on the jumbotron.
When the announcer warbles the starting lineup at the end of the light show, I cheer for the goalie and the five other guys as they rush out of the tunnel and hit the ice, including the one whose last name I share—Christian Winters. But it’s not till Number Sixteen jumps over the boards a few minutes into the game that I cheer the loudest.
It’s a sound ripped from the depths of my heart—loud, exhilarating, ravenous. I’m not sure I can cheer any other way for Wesley.
Especially when he looks my way with a very public, private smile.
The game is raucous, with players jostling for the puck in the corners then slamming against each other as they fight even harder for it. Wes plays fast and aggressive but never dirty. Just sneaky, finding the puck and stripping it from his opponents.
But even so, neither team scores during the first period.
During the second period, the coach must have mixed up the lines, since Wes is out there with Christian a couple times, and they pass the puck back and forth as they fly up and down the ice.
“C’mon,” I shout, like my sheer will can force a goal. Then, the noise amps up to an electric level as Wes slings it back to my brother, who smacks it right past the goalie’s outstretched glove.
“Yes!” I shout, jumping to my feet and hugging my friends, like we all did it.
When we let go, I catch sight of us on the jumbotron, embracing each other to celebrate a goal scored by my brother and my secret boyfriend.
I like this secret. No, I’m falling hard for this secret.
After a decisive 4-1 win, the three of us meet Everly in the corridor, since she told us to come here post-game. She’s ushering the players out of the media room, and I tense briefly.
Will it be obvious after all? Will my brother figure us out before we figure us out?
When Christian emerges from the pressroom, sweaty and elated, he beams my way. “You’re here, Jay-bird! Bryant told me you were coming,” he says, then wraps me in a gross hug.
“Eww. You smell.”
“Like victory,” he says, then Wes comes out next, looking insanely hot in his sweat in a way my brother does not.
His brown eyes are practically burning off my clothes. I feel singed from the heat of his stare.
Christian looks down at my outfit quizzically. “You’re wearing a Bryant jersey,” he says, but it’s toneless—an observation.
My pulse quickens.
I could say he’s my roomie. I could say he’s my friend. Instead, I lift my chin and say, “Yes, I am.”
That’s all. I don’t need to explain anything more tonight, no matter how Wes looks at me.
Everly pipes up, “Christian, can we get a picture of you two for social? It’d be great to have our captain and his sister. Hockey’s a family-friendly sport, after all.”
“Course,” he says, then drapes an arm around me.
As she shoots, Wesley watches, a knowing smirk on his handsome face. When Everly lowers the camera, she says to both players, “Thanks again. I’ve got everything.”
After the guys head into the locker room, my phone pings with a text.
Wesley: Wait for me by the players’ entrance. I want to take you home and show you how much I appreciate the way you cheered so fucking hard for me.
I shiver as I read it. I look up, turning to Everly, grateful for her deflection. “You’re a savvy PR woman.”
“That is true,” she says, then takes off while Fable and Maeve read the room, hugging me goodbye.
“You’re going to get gleamed so good tonight,” Maeve whispers.
Yes. I am.
Since I have a plan.
35
YOU LIKE TO WATCH
Josie
I’m waiting at the foot of the staircase, wearing only his jersey and a pair of white cotton panties. Music beats low from upstairs, something sultry with a lot of bass.