Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 114467 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114467 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
Matthew comes over with some practice jerseys. “I can’t wear a New York jersey,” Justin says. “Someone might take a picture of me.”
“I’m going to take a picture of my skate up your ass,” Matthew says. “Tuck it into your pants.”
I skate to the right of Evan and take my spot, waiting for everyone to get in place. I’m so nervous I might puke. I haven’t been this nervous since I got drafted. I skate in circles while I move my head side to side. “Relax, it’s not a real game,” Evan says, and I just nod at him. One of the coaches comes out with a puck and a whistle, and he drops the puck. I try to skate around Justin, but he’s on my ass the whole time. I try to deke him from left to right, but with every turn, he’s on me. I try to protect the puck and pass it over, but it gets intercepted, and we hustle back to the other end of the ice. The first shift is rough; my heart speeds up, and I’m out of breath by the time I get to the bench and switch with the second line.
I watch them play and see Matthew go toe-to-toe with his father. He tries to read his father, but he doesn’t, and just like that, he has a breakaway and scores with his back hand. He isn’t even on my team, and we get up and tap the board with our sticks. I climb over the boards and take my place again on the right of Evan, and this time, I don’t wait for him to win the face-off, I just take off to the left of Justin. Luckily for me, Evan wins the face-off, and I’m just a touch out of reach from Justin when the defense guy sends me the puck. Landing on the blade of my stick, I handle it like glass, gently skating into the zone with Justin so close I can feel him. I make it to the left and then slip the puck back to the outside of the blade, and when I’m just on the side of the goalie, I lift it just a touch and it falls behind him. I know it’s just a pickup game, but that goal is everything.
Chapter Ten
Zoe
I run out of the house and down the stairs to the waiting car. I smile at the new driver and get in, putting my purse next to me. I am running late, which I never do, but I just closed one of my biggest deals, and I’m on cloud nine.
I send Viktor a text that I’m on way, and he doesn’t reply.
When I finally pull up in front of the address, I spot him on his phone. He is wearing black jeans and a white T-shirt with a leather jacket and boots. I swear, if you didn’t know any better, you would think he was a biker. When the car finally comes to a stop, I grab my purse and get out, smiling at him when he looks up. “Sorry I’m late. It was a last-minute deal, and I couldn’t leave.”
“I just got here,” he tells me and puts the phone in the back pocket of his jeans. Being this close to him, I can already smell his musky cologne.
“Let’s get in there.” I turn and lead the way up, ignoring that I’m even thinking about him when I pull the gray door right next to a bookstore. “This is on the fifth floor,” I tell him over my shoulder, buzzing the number 5E, and the door buzzes to let us into the lobby. I look around and see a sitting area on the right, and when you walk in a bit more, you see that the mailboxes are on the left. I walk to the elevator located right in front of the door. We get off on the fifth floor and see all the doors are painted with gold numbers on them. When we get to the apartment, I knock and then turn to Viktor. “Put your poker face on,” I tell him. “This guy can smell when you want things, and if he knows you want this, he won’t budge on his price.”
“I don’t know if I have a poker face,” he whispers, and I look over at him and see his face looking at me a bit scared. He closes his mouth and looks away and then back at me. No matter how he puts his face or how he looks at you, he’s hot as fuck, but I cannot tell him that. “How was that?”
“Just don’t make eye contact,” I tell him. The door opens, and my poker face comes out along with a fake smile. “George,” I say when he opens the door. I take him in from head to toe and cringe inwardly. He’s wearing a custom-made suit, which isn’t the problem; it’s the amount of hair gel he puts in his hair. You see exactly where the comb brushed through it. His fake tan makes me almost gag in my mouth because he looks almost orange. This is why he looks so greasy.