Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46792 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46792 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Since I’m a law nerd, I find it fascinating. I move all of the flowers to the windowsill and take a deep breath, ready to dive in and get my mind off of Rowan and Harrison.
Rowan’s card is sitting next to my keyboard. I glance over it, thinking about moving it, too.
I can’t bring myself to, though. There’s something about knowing he went into a floral shop and wrote the message just for me, despite his busy hockey schedule, that gives me more butterflies than the flowers do.
He’s thinking of me.
And honestly, even though it’s not the least bit sensible...same.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Rowan
The sound of our team jet’s engine is lulling me into relaxation, but not sleep. It’s past 1:00 a.m., and many of my teammates are asleep. Sergei’s snoring from a couple of rows in front of me and Beck is curled up on the two seats across from me, his mouth open.
This road trip has been a grind. Lots of time in the air as we fly from city to city. The night before last, we lost to Seattle, but last night we beat Arizona. We boarded our plane immediately following the game to fly home.
I wish I could sleep, but I can’t stop thinking about Cam. I thought long and hard before sending her flowers again because she practically pleaded with me to leave her alone the other day. But I didn’t just leave Dom’s house and forget about her, and I want her to know that.
It’s a fucking punch to my gut that she thinks I’m bad for her, Sam and Tate. Even though I understand it, it still hurts. The easiest thing to do would be to move on from my attraction to Cam. She’s confused and off-balance, trying to be the best mom she can be.
Damned if that doesn’t make her even sexier to me, though. She’s a buttoned-up, wholesome mom who makes her kids eat their veggies. I fantasize constantly about taking her clothes off and teasing every inch of her with my hands and mouth until she can’t take it anymore.
I still wouldn’t let up, though. I’d work her up again and again, getting her close to the edge but never letting her come--for hours. I want her to forget she’s anything but the sexy woman who can make me crazy with just a look. A smile. A kiss.
And then, when and only when I’m ready, I’d let her come hard. But no matter how much I fantasize about what she’d look and sound like in those moments, I don’t know. It fucking kills me that other men have seen her come apart, but I haven’t. And when I think about the older work guy she’s not attracted to getting her into bed, I get close to losing my shit.
He doesn’t deserve her. I don’t care who he is. There’s no way he deserves her.
The question that haunts me day and night is, do I deserve her?
I’m connected to the plane’s Wi-Fi, so I open TikTok and scroll videos, hoping to get my mind off of Cam. I follow hashtags related to my team, and when a video showing Sergei glowering during a postgame conference comes up, I smile.
People are stitching the video of our burly blueliner’s pissed-off expression with all kinds of hilarious things. My favorite one is a guy who said that face is the one he makes while taking a big shit, working on his taxes or watching his toddler’s favorite kids’ shows.
I run across a video a fan took at one of our home games. She says I was smiling “right at her” every time I was next to the glass by her seat. I’ve never even seen her. I remember that game because it was just last week. I was smiling at a little boy who held a sign up to the glass that said, “Row ’em down, Coyotes.”
What if Cam sees that? She’ll think I troll the stands at games trying to score postgame hookups.
I used to. I’m man enough to admit it. But it lost its appeal a long time ago. I’m twenty-nine years old, which is starting to get up there in the game of hockey. Staying in top form and playing this game takes a lot out of me. When I finish games these days, I want to eat a good meal and go to bed.
Scrolling TikToks gets old quickly, so I return to my new favorite activity when bored: staring at my phone screen, waiting to see if Cam texts me.
It’s pathetic. Never in my life have I spent time wishing a woman would text me, but I’ve spent hours wishing Cam would. My eyelids feel heavy as I stare at the screen, hoping none of my teammates can see me. I probably look insane just staring at the screen like this.