Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
But before the doors could shut, a hand shot out to stop them — along with my warring thoughts.
And Jaxson stepped into the frame.
Where I had very clearly just showered and thrown on the first thing I found in my suitcase, he looked like he’d had a professional tailor come up to his room to dress him for the night.
His hair was styled neatly, his short beard freshly trimmed, and he’d traded in the athletic shorts and Ospreys shirt for an olive-green Henley and cream dress slacks fastened to his waist with a belt. He’d shoved the sleeves of that Henley up to his elbows, his tattoos snaking out from under the fabric, and when he stepped inside the elevator, he twisted just enough to give me a view of his sculpted ass in those slacks.
And I understood instantly why he wore a belt, because his waist was narrow, but his ass was rock solid and big enough that I knew those pants had to be custom made to fit it — along with his tree-trunk thighs.
Fuck.
He was so hot it should have been a crime.
Jaxson arched a brow at me as he sidled up at my side, his hands casually sliding into his pockets. “You were just going to leave me behind, huh?”
My stomach fluttered with him looking at me like that, and now my mind was whirring with a completely different train of thought.
“You were late,” I teased, lifting my chin.
“And if you were late, you would have been fine with me not waiting?”
“Of course not. Didn’t you ever listen to Shania Twain? I can be late for a date,” I said, pointing to my chest. “But you’d better be on time.”
I sang those last words, shimmying my hips even though I knew I was a little out of tune.
“I’m Canadian. Of course, I know that song,” he said. “But this isn’t a date, so I guess I’m in the clear.”
I wanted to keep the joke rolling, but those words hit me harder than I wanted them to — even with Jaxson smiling behind them.
I knew it wasn’t a date, but the fact that he was so insistent on reminding me of that little fact had my eyes falling to my feet. I felt like a twelve-year-old again, a little girl crushing on her brother’s friend with absolutely zero hope of him ever feeling the same.
I took only a split second to feel that rejection before I slapped on my happy face, just in time for the elevator doors to open and reveal the bustling second floor.
“Last one to the bar takes a shot!” I said loud enough to make heads swivel in our direction.
Then, I took off in a sprint, laughing at the curse word Jaxson muttered under his breath before he started jogging to catch up.
And I left all my sad girl emotions in my dust — right where they belonged.
The Bar is Really in Hell, Isn’t It?
Jaxson
Grace reminded me of an Aston Martin DB5, the way she zoomed through the crowd in the hotel and pulled up at the first empty stool at the bar. She was enigmatic, stunningly beautiful without trying to be, the kind of girl who turned every head but never noticed.
She was classic.
Her long, platinum hair was a little darker tonight, still damp from her shower. She wasn’t wearing makeup, nor was she wearing a bra under the spaghetti strap sundress that draped down to her ankles. Even in a crowded bar in Atlanta, she looked like she belonged on a beach, like she was a folklore goddess who’d just walked out of the sea.
I caught up with her just in time for the bartender to place a shot glass filled with some sort of amber alcohol down in front of me, his smirk telling me he both pitied me and was jealous I was there with Grace.
There was nothing to be jealous over, since she was anything but mine.
But I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him that.
“Drink up, buttercup,” Grace sang, clapping her hands together when the same bartender started making her a martini.
“What is it?”
“Tequila.”
I slammed it back without even a little grimace, and Grace’s eyes widened before she blinked three times.
“Well, okay then,” she said on a laugh. “I didn’t realize I was partying with a monster. You didn’t even flinch.”
“Come on, babe,” I said, taking the seat next to her. “I’m a professional hockey player. No one drinks like we do.”
Her cheeks tinged pink, but she didn’t reply, just picked up the menu in front of her and pointed to a dish. “I’m getting this. Strawberry Pavlova and lavender frozen Greek yogurt.” She made a face like she was drooling just thinking about it, and then promptly did a little dance in her seat.
“That’s dessert.”
“And?”
“Don’t you want dinner first?”