Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
As I walk through the front doors of the event center with Clarke, I spot a woman with blonde hair waiting by the escalators. She seems lost, staring into space and glancing up at the ceiling. I do a double-take and realize she’s Regan Turner, head of communications for the Flyers and daughter of Mike Turner, the general manager.
“Regan,” I say as we approach.
Her face lights up when she sees us and waves.
I wave and walk over to her with Clarke at my side. Regan closes the distance between us, her blonde hair pulled into a ponytail over her shoulder.
She extends her hand to me and studies my face for a second. “Hey, I know you. You’re Will Roman’s younger sister. Mia, right?”
I nod. “And this is Clarke Murphy,” I say, pointing at my co-worker and friend.
“It’s O’Connor now,” Regan says, holding out her hand. The massive diamond ring on her finger could buy me three meals a day for years. Damn.
“You got married,” I say. “Congrats!”
She smiles. “I married a sexy computer programmer if you can believe that. I’m helping him run his start-up company. My replacement starts next month.”
I pat her on the shoulder. “Good for you. I bet you’re dying to get away from all these professional athletes. They can be a real pain in the ass. I would know.”
She laughs. “Yeah, you do. Your brother is an interesting man. Well, we’re happy to have you here today,” she says with a polite smile. “If you follow me, I’ll take you to meet the team.”
Dressed in a black mid-length skirt that fits her petite frame perfectly, Regan makes the casual pants and sweater I have on seem frumpy in comparison. I feel underdressed for the occasion. We exchange pleasantries as we walk down the hall, the nerves creeping up the back of my throat. Most of the time, nothing fazes me.
Why am I so anxious?
Ethan pops into my head again, reminding me of the reason for the sickness brewing inside my stomach. I have to focus and tell myself I’m not here for Ethan. I’m not even here for the other players. This is my job, not an extension of my personal life.
After Ethan left, I searched for him, even though I had no idea where to start. Because of his absence and all of the unanswered questions he left behind, I decided to major in journalism at Strickland University where Ethan was supposed to attend college with my brother. I’m still climbing the ladder at The Philadelphia Inquirer in hopes of one day becoming a real investigative journalist.
All of the good stories are handed to reporters with more seniority. So, I have to wait my turn and bide my time until I make my lucky break. I thought I could make a name for myself with a case like the Old City Records drug ring, a story I’ve been following for months. But every single lead has taken me down a road to nowhere, proving to be a waste of my time.
As we step into the pressroom, my eyes immediately fall to Ethan as if drawn to him. My insides clench from the pang of desire mixed with hatred for my older brother’s best friend. If only he were still the boy I once knew. Then, it would make these unwanted emotions less annoying.
Ethan slides his chair out from the table, his legs spread wide, and my mind drifts to dirty places. He gives me a sexy-as-fuck look, the corner of his mouth turning up into one of his signature smirks. My heart beats faster, adrenaline shooting through my veins from the intoxicating effect Ethan has over my body.
I want him even though I shouldn’t step within ten feet of him. He probably has diseases from all the puck bunnies he’s hooked up with over the years. Yeah, I’ll go with that excuse. Lying to myself is easier than admitting my feelings for the man I loathe or at least try to hate.
With his eyes fixed on me, Ethan drags his hand up his thigh and pats it, telling me to sit. Asshole.
“Baby sis,” Will says, cutting through the group of muscular hockey players to get to me. He pulls me into a hug and taps me hard on the back. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
I cough as he releases me, stepping out of his rib-breaking bear hug. “I wasn’t supposed to tag along, but Clarke asked me to help her out.”
“Clarke,” he says with disdain in his tone, peeking over my shoulder at Clarke, who’s talking to the general manager. “The Inquirer couldn’t send someone else with you?”
“This is Clarke’s interview.” I lean closer and keep my voice to a whisper. “Would you please be nice to Clarke? She’s my only real friend. The two of you are always at each other’s throats every time you’re in the same room.”