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)
“Thank you.”
He blows out a breath as he adjusts the fidgety baby in his arms. His tone shifts back to the commanding locker room voice I’m used to at the Sea Dogs arena. “And Bryant? Don’t be afraid to use your top hand a little bit more when you take a wrist shot. It’ll help with control.”
Instantly, I can visualize holding the stick, lifting it, smacking the puck. As if I’m already practicing the move, I flick my wrist, picturing the path of the shot. Yeah, that does feel good. “I’ll do that. I appreciate it.”
I guess that’s how team chemistry works.
A few minutes later, I’m waiting outside the coffee shop, feeling pretty fucking good as Max and Asher pile into my car, with expectant eyes. In the passenger seat, Max peers at my face, studying me intensely. “Hmm. Don’t see any new bruises or scars.”
“And you won’t,” I say.
From the backseat, Asher claps my shoulder with pride in his grip. “Look at you, man. Look at you.”
I peer into the rearview mirror, doing just that. Yeah, I like what I see. I like it here in San Francisco with my team, my home, my life. There’s only one thing I wish California had.
A permanent job for Josie.
For now, we drive to her library and bring several boxes of books to donate to the children’s section, handing them off to Thalia. Then, I give her a box of a dozen headphones I bought too—I ordered them online for same-day delivery. “For anyone who wants to read with their ears but who doesn’t have their own headphones.”
“This is amazing,” Thalia says warmly. “And I promise they will be flying off the shelves and put to aural use.”
“Glad to hear,” I say, and it’s time to hustle over to morning skate, but it’s also time to see my girl. Yet before I can head up the stairs to the second floor to find my sexy librarian, Josie’s flying down them in her pencil skirt and blouse, flats slapping the tiles, hair twisted up. At the bottom of the steps, she’s breathless as she says, “How did it go?”
Max points at me. “He has no bruises.”
“That’s good?” Josie asks, with a bright smile.
It’s her place of work. So even though everything inside of me screams to haul her against me and kiss her senseless, I curl my hands around her waist and drop a chaste kiss to her forehead. “You’re with me.”
I can feel her smile against me as she whispers, “I am.”
I tear myself away but not before the sound of clapping rips through the air, chased by a loud wolf whistle.
“Told you so, Josie.” It’s Eddie and he’s on the stairwell, clapping, then turning to Thalia. “I was right, boss.”
Josie’s boss is smiling. “Yes, you were.”
Josie blushes. “You did.”
And I guess they don’t mind a little show of affection, all these book lovers. So I give Josie a kiss on the cheek, savoring her cinnamon scent, then I go.
On the way to the rink I remind myself to make the most of the next five weeks. But here’s what I want to know—does she really have to leave?
37
THE FIVE-WEEK PLAN
Wesley
The question vexes me as I head to the arena for morning skate, then home afterwards for a pre-game nap. Though I’m not sure I’d call it a nap. I doze for a couple minutes here and there, but mostly I stare at the ceiling, wondering.
I should feel lighter after talking to Christian. I should be fucking ecstatic. I got what I wanted. We figured this out in a little more than a week. She’s not a secret. She’s mine.
But…is she?
I want more, and I don’t know if I can get it.
I know this—I have to try to put these wants out of my mind or they’ll get in the way of my job. After I grab a prepared meal from the fridge and polish off some salmon, asparagus, and pasta, I head to the rink, trying to slough off these thoughts of the future.
Dark futures, indeed.
As I pull into my parking spot in the players’ lot, my phone trills with Eric Bryant Management flashing across the screen. I tense, but it’s better if I take the call before the game. Dad’s calling from his office, but he is my father. He’d never give me bad news before a game because it might mess up how I play. It’s gotta be good news. “Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, son. How’s it going?”
“Great,” I say, thinking of Josie this morning and how it felt to embrace her in public. Too bad that’s not enough for me since I don’t feel great right now. Not that I’d tell him. He doesn’t want me to be distracted by romance. “What’s up with you?”
“Tip for you for tonight’s game. I’ve been studying the defense on LA, and there’s a real weakness on their second line,” he says, and as I get out of the car he dives into detail on what he’s been seeing in tonight’s opponent, then with the goalie in particular. “I think you have a great chance to play hard and aggressive and win. Your stats this season are great. I’m thinking we could even get an early renewal.”