Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
As soon as I return from my high, reality settles in. I just fucked Josephine in a park where anyone could see.
Fuck.
I lift her up, and as my dick falls out of her, my come follows.
Fuck, why does she look so hot with my come inside her?
I can’t be thinking this right now.
We could have gotten caught, and we’re lucky we didn’t.
She moves to standing and straightens her skirt.
“Now what?” she asks.
“We leave.”
“Together?” Her voice sounds soft and unsure.
“As much as I want to parade you around looking thoroughly fucked, knowing you smell like me, I don’t think either of us is ready for the consequences.”
“But . . .”
I take a deep breath. “I don’t want to, but I think we need to.”
“So that’s it?” I can hear the disappointment in her voice.
I stand, tucking my dick back into my pants, and step up to where she is. I tilt her head up. She looks so lost, and I hate it. What I would do to make her smile. To be the person who makes her feel alive. How does that even look? She makes me feel alive, but can I be that for someone else?
I don’t deserve her.
My whole life is a lie, and if she gets involved with me—guilt churns in my belly.
I should let her go.
Tell her that this is done. She deserves better than to be my dirty little secret. Because that’s all she can be.
If her father finds out, my whole hockey career would be at risk.
Would that be the worst thing?
Yes. You love hockey. I don’t have to play professionally.
Molly.
You play for Molly.
She needs this job.
I keep trying to get her to do something else, but she refuses, so until she finds something that she’s passionate about, I can’t take this away from her. This means there’s no future for me and Josephine, not while I play for her father.
“For now.”
“And that’s a bullshit answer.” The lost girl from moments ago is gone, replaced with one filled with resolve.
I lift my hand and run it through my hair, pulling at the roots. “I don’t have an answer for you right now. I want you, but—”
“No buts. You want me. And I want you. We are both adults. We’ll just be careful.” She walks away and turns to look over her shoulder at me. “Starting right now.”
Then she’s gone.
Leaving me wondering what just happened.
I’m pretty sure by not objecting, I just agreed to have a secret romance with the coach’s daughter.
37
JOSIE
Despite waking up in the same bed as I have for the past month, today feels different. I’m excited. Something I haven’t felt since being here in Redville.
It’s him.
I know it is.
He makes me excited for what’s to come.
With the game tomorrow, the Saints aren’t on the ice today. Instead, they had off-ice training, so I didn’t have to go to the practice arena.
I got lucky and have the day off, which is why I woke up at lunchtime instead of my usual seven o’clock.
It feels good to be lazy.
I stretch my arms over my head and groan. I can still feel him touching me.
It’s ingrained in my memory, and I hope it never fades away. Last night felt like a dream, but it wasn’t. Instead, it was the hottest fantasy that had come to life.
Apparently, sex in public places is our thing. A soft laugh bubbles up from my mouth. I wonder when I’ll see him next.
Now.
I want to see him now.
I reach my arm out to the table beside my bed and grab my phone.
Should I call?
A groan escapes. Just do it. Text him.
Do I even have his number?
Duh, when I worked for him, I took it down, even though I never contacted him.
Josie: Hi
Short and sweet.
I stare at my phone, but nothing happens.
I throw my phone across the bed.
Stop watching it.
A watched pot never boils, after all.
A full thirty minutes pass, and despite throwing my phone across my bed, I reach for it to see if he’s responded. He hasn’t.
Josie: Is texting NOT okay?
Shit. Why did I just text that?
I hover over the delete button, but if I delete it, he’ll know I deleted it. What’s worse, looking pathetic? Or looking like a wishy-washy, pathetic person.
Why did I think this was a good idea? Why do I have to be so damn impulsive?
I pass time on my phone, checking my emails, texts, and missed calls, not sure what I’m searching for.
Okay, I do know. Some verification my mother remembers she birthed me. When I don’t get it, I move on to double tapping every thirst trap of Dane on Insta.
Why hasn’t he responded yet?
Another five minutes pass, and I cover my face with my pillow and scream into it.
The phone finally chimes, and I throw the pillow across the room and jump to grab it.