Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Being with Ronnie was fun. Outgoing, adventurous, he’d always made friends easily. Other kids tended to gravitate to him like moons around a planet. And because he’d include me, they would too.
Even Vin Kiminski.
I might not like him now, but I hadn’t always felt that way. There was a time I’d worshiped him and thought he could do no wrong. Vinnie was the best of us. The fastest, the funniest, the most loyal.
But tigers had a way of showing their stripes. Vinnie had proved he was a pompous ass, a show-off, a condescending prick, and if you asked me, a fair-weather friend. Ronnie deserved a break in the form of a lottery ticket or a string of good luck. He didn’t deserve a supersized helping of Vinnie. None of us did.
However, the rink was Ronnie’s baby, so there wasn’t much I could do other than say “I told you so” when Vin skipped out of town in the middle of summer to catch a last-minute flight to Saint Tropez. Trust me…it would happen. He’d take one look at Ronnie’s motley crew of pee wees and juniors and come up with whatever excuses necessary to steer clear.
On the other hand, leaving the diner every afternoon to help out here was cutting into my bottom line too. It was smarter to embrace the idea of a superstar fill-in, no matter how long he stayed. Every little bit helped, right?
But Vinnie. Ugh.
I eyed the “bananas” in question as Gavin, our teenage assistant, skated into the scrum to restore order. “You really think Vinnie can handle kids that young?”
“No way.” My brother smirked. “But he’d be great with the juniors. If he agrees, Gavin will help him and you can step aside for the summer or coach the younger kids with me.”
I’d been angling for a small hiatus to concentrate on a few side projects, so I should have been a thousand percent behind this idea, but I was too cranky about you-know-who to be reasonable.
“Of course. That makes sense,” I snarked. “The guy who stole his cousin’s pot and regularly hosted beer pong parties on the rink’s roof after practice is a perfect choice to lead impressionable teens.”
Ronnie elbowed me in the ribs. “Lighten up, Nol. That was a long time ago.”
True. I had to shut up. I sounded bitter to my own ears, and that was not a good look on me.
I glanced at my watch as I stepped away from the ice. “When are you expecting him?”
“Anytime now.”
I froze. “You mean…today?”
“Yeah, today.” Ronnie blew his whistle when the scrum got a tad too scrappy. “I gotta get out there and help Gavin. Are you stickin’ around?”
“Uh…”
“If not, tell Erica to let Vin know where to find me,” he called out, skating backward and pivoting away.
I released a beleaguered sigh as I pushed open the door to the lobby area and headed for the front desk, where a teenage receptionist with a high ponytail, pink-tinted lips, and a black Elmwood Ice tee sat chewing gum and scrolling her cell.
“Hey, Erica. If anyone is looking for—”
“Did you hear?” She smacked her gum, finishing her text, then glancing up at me. “I’m freaking out. My brother is going to lose his mind. And my friends…don’t get me started. Everyone wants my job now.”
“I bet. Well, you know where to find Ronnie. Later.”
“Wait.” She stood abruptly and pointed at her wrist. “Do you think it would be weird if I asked Vinnie to autograph my arm? I want a tattoo before Lisa Shoemaker beats me to it.”
Wow. “Not weird at all.”
“Should I call him Vinnie or Mr. Kiminski?”
“Go with your gut, Er. Gotta run.” I pasted a smile on my face and hooked my thumb toward the parking lot. “See ya.”
The afternoon sun felt like a welcoming warm bath after the chill inside the rink. Goose bumps melted away as I plucked my sunglasses from my shirt and slipped them onto my nose. I dug my keys from my pocket, frowning at the Jeep parked too close to me—so close I’d have to hop in through the passenger side and heave my ass behind the wheel.
What the fuck?
The lot wasn’t full. It was midweek in June, not a game day in January.
I pointed my fob, unlocking my truck as I studied the Jeep’s license plate for clues to the owner’s identity. I was more focused on getting the hell outta there than finding the asshole responsible, though. This wasn’t going to be pretty, but I was flexible. A little shimmying would do the trick. And hopefully, I wouldn’t tweak my knee in the process.
“Damn, Nolan. Someone did you dirty,” a deep voice drawled behind me.
I spun on my heels, my breath catching in my throat as I came face-to-face with Vin Kiminski for the first time in…years.