Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 49239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
“Nah. Any woman who’s beautiful and knows how to fix cars is a keeper.”
Her laugh practically makes my chest puff out with pride. I love knowing I brought that musical sound out of her. “Look at you, professional flirter. I bet you pick up women in your sleep.”
“Nope. I almost always dream about hockey.”
“Do you always win in your dreams?”
I scoff. “I wish. I have this dream all the time that I keep swinging my stick and I miss the puck.”
She laughs again. “If that’s the worst dream you have, I think you’re good.”
“The worst one I’ve had recently was being trapped on a submarine with a bunch of other people. We didn’t know how to get the submarine to go up to the surface and we were all talking about whether we’d run out of air first or start eating each other.”
“That...does not sound good.”
I grin. “Now you know about two of my recent dreams. You have to tell me at least one of yours.”
She considers. “I usually don’t remember my dreams. Let’s see... I worked in the kitchen at a steak house when Hannah was a baby. I spent almost all my time there making baked potatoes. I’d scrub them, butter them, salt them and bake them, hundreds of potatoes every night. So I had a dream recently that I was making baked potatoes at the restaurant. Not very exciting.”
“Do you like baked potatoes?”
“I absolutely love them, and obviously, I make great ones. I make them with butter, sour cream, bacon and chopped scallions.”
“Sounds delicious.”
Tess doesn’t seem to hate me anymore, which is good. But Ben’s comment about me being morally gray is fucking with my ability to hit on her. She’s divorced with two kids, and it sounds like she’s got a busy life between working and her family.
She’s still a woman with needs, though. A no-strings arrangement could be perfect for someone who doesn’t have time to date.
When she glances at her phone screen and reads a message, it’s followed by a single note of laughter. “Yeah, that’s not happening. My daughter wants me to whip up some macarons tonight.”
“For her French dessert?”
She sighs heavily. “I’m so screwed. I’m not a baker. And don’t the French eat fancy tarts and pastries?”
“French toast. Boom. Done.”
“Is that really French, though?”
I shrug. “They don’t call it Italian toast, do they?”
“Hey, I’m done sweeping.”
Zane’s standing nearby, looking annoyed by everything. I give him a skeptical look.
“There’s no way you did all that already.”
“Yeah, I did. What’s next?”
“Zee,” Tess says sharply. “I don’t like your attitude.”
“And I don’t like the way this guy is looking at you like he wants to take you out back for a quickie.”
Tess jumps to her feet, but I put an arm out in front of her.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “I was once a smart-ass kid myself. I know how to handle him.”
I stand, walking over to Zane. “I’ve got some hockey gloves you can wipe down and spray.”
He follows me toward the locker room, totally unaware of what’s waiting for him. Hockey gloves with layers upon layers of dried sweat smell worse than a fresh pile of shit. And I’m going to supervise Zane as he thoroughly wipes down every single one in the locker room.
“You know, this whole working off your debt thing can be easy or hard,” I tell him as he eyes the rank hockey gloves. “It’s up to you.”
He narrows his eyes. “Wow. Your patronizing, fatherly tone makes me want to be a better person.” He pauses to glare at me. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
Okay, then. The hard way. At least I reminded him there’s a choice.
Chapter Six
Tess
* * *
“Did you scrub the shit from under the rims?”
Zee glares at Dom, toilet brush in hand, and I hold back a smile from my seat on the bleachers about ten feet away. This is our second trip to the arena for Zee to work off his debt. I know what Dom’s doing, and I’m here for it. Until Zee drops the attitude, Dom’s going to keep making him do the worst possible chores he can find at the arena.
“Yeah, I did it like you told me to,” Zee says. “What’s next?”
“You said you’ve never ice-skated. You want to learn?”
Zee sneers. “No. Just give me the next job.”
“Cool.” Dom claps him on the shoulder and leads the way back to the locker room. “I’ve got a big pile of smelly jock straps for you to hand wash. You wouldn’t believe how sweaty your balls get playing hockey.”
My son gets his stubbornness from me. I always say it’s his best and his worst quality. When he wants something, he’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen. But when he’s feeling resistant, he’ll go to battle over pretty much anything.