Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Me: i’d miss you so fucking much
Me: stop texting me. Get your head in the game, Duke
Lachlan: yes, ma’am
I set my phone away and found Marissa staring at me when I looked up.
I frowned. “What?”
“I just. . .” She shook her head. I thought she would poke fun at me, but her eyes filled with tears. “Seeing you like this makes me so happy. I’ve said that a million times, but I thought I’d lost you for good.”
“Same.” I sighed. “I don’t know what it is about him.”
“Who cares?” She side-hugged me. “I just want you to stay like this forever.”
She had to let me go so she could walk into the stall that had just freed up. I walked into the next one. When I finished flushing and was ready to walk back out, I stood in the stall with my eyes closed as I took three deep breaths. Not to calm me down, keep the mask on my face, or bury my feelings, but to savor the moment. Everything about Lachlan felt right. I knew that didn’t happen often, and I’d lost too much to take any of this for granted. We made it back to our seats with thirty seconds to go. Valerie and Liam were already sitting in theirs, sharing nachos.
I looked over my shoulder and smiled at her when the horn went off to alert us that the game was starting again. I held my breath as I watched them start. We gained control of the puck, which earned a roar from the stands. I watched, enthralled, as they skated around the rink. As they played, Banks explained D-men and hip-checks and told me to call the penalty box the sin-bin unless I wanted to sound like an amateur. I bit back a smile. Maybe Banks should have played hockey instead of football.
“How do you even know all this?” I asked.
“My older and younger brothers play.”
My mouth dropped. “How the hell did you end up playing football?”
“Middle child syndrome, I guess.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I thought I was being rebellious. I’m good at it and love it, but I would’ve been okay out there.” He nodded at the ice.
I kept my eyes on Lachlan the entire time he moved. He skated with such ease and dribbled the puck well. I frowned and took out my phone, searching: is dribbling a thing in hockey? The answer wasn’t clear, so I asked Banks, who laughed but didn’t get a chance to answer because number eight on the opposing team ran into Lach and pinned him against the plexiglass. I held my breath.
Lach shook it off and kept skating. I would’ve been on the floor for at least a minute, catching my breath and letting myself breathe through the pain. The guy was sent to the sin bin, and the asshole smiled as he took his helmet off and skated over. I glared at him, which he caught and made him smile wider. I glared at him when he got to the sin bin next to us. He laughed, got near the plexiglass, and blew me a kiss. It was so fucking unexpected that I froze. The balls on this fucking guy! He was as hot as Marissa claimed but what the hell? My eyes swung back to the rink, and I caught Lachlan’s eyes on us. Oh. fuck. I did Astor the favor of not looking at him again. Lachlan would kill him.
“Holy shit,” Marissa breathed. “He’s pissed.”
“I know,” I whispered. “I hope he realized I was glaring at the guy and not checking him out.”
She laughed. “I don’t think it matters what you were doing. Astor loves to start shit. He does this every freaking game. It’s kind of funny. He’ll single a girl out and fuck with her throughout the game. It’s part of his charm.”
“Yeah, real charming.” I scoffed.
“Well, it’s supposed to be fun and games, but he started shit with the wrong person tonight,” she said in a low voice.
Astor went right back on the ice when his two minutes were up. The opposing team was passing the puck around, but Mason got in there and stole it, earning a cheer from us. He drove it back to the other side and passed it to Pres, who passed it to Lach, who shot it in over the goalie’s head. We jumped out of our seats and cheered. The lights went out, and strobe lights appeared on the ice for a moment. The crowd was deafening. This time, instead of giving the crowd a faux high five, Lach power skated across the ice and pushed Astor, who seemed to be waiting for him, and pushed him back.
That started a fight. This wasn’t the little push I was used to on the pitch. On rare occasions, we argued with the opposing team. This was a real fucking fight. They’d both dropped their gloves and gone at it, even as the whistle from the ref went off. My mouth was hanging open as I watched. I didn’t want Lach to get hurt, but I couldn’t deny that it was fun to see it unfold. This was part of the reason people liked this sport. I could tell from the way everyone was screaming and cheering. Lach reached up to remove his helmet, but Prescott was right there, stopping him from doing so, which made no sense.