Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Ty
I’m going to the pros, baby! Deal made, contract signed. Now all I have to do is finish out my final season at Smithton and stay out of trouble. I like to have a good time, but don’t worry, I’ll behave.
What I won’t do is talk to that double-crossing influencer who’s been badgering me for an interview. No thanks.
I know Walker’s type—sweet as pie on the outside, a shark on the inside.
Get this…he wants to make a deal that sounds a lot like a bribe.
Not interested. No way.
But I am curious.
Walker
I’ve never worked so hard for an interview in my life. Ugh!
Look, I get that Ty doesn’t like me. As in…he won’t return my calls and avoids me like the plague on campus.
Too bad. I’m not giving up.
I don’t want to beg, but I’m willing to barter. Every man has his price—and something to prove.
Even Ty.
Something to Prove is a low-angst, geek-jock MM bisexual college hockey romance featuring a hockey star and the adorkable influencer who’s determined to win him over
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
TY
“You alone are enough. You have nothing to prove to anybody.”—Maya Angelou
Sunshine, blue skies, and good news went together like peanut butter and jelly.
“Congrats, man!”
“Way to go, Ty!”
“Go, Bears! Go, Jackals!”
I smiled, waved, fist-bumped, and high-fived my way across campus, adjusting my Ray-Bans against the late-summer glare from Lake Ontario in the distance through the canopy of trees.
The first week of my senior year at Smithton was off to a sweet start. I couldn’t go anywhere without being followed by an entourage of hockey fans who seemed as thrilled as my folks had been on draft day. Smithton took hockey very seriously, and the idea that someone from our little private college was going to the pros next year was a big fucking deal.
Like…a supersized big deal.
Langley thumped my shoulder, shaking his head with a laugh. “So this is what it feels like to hang out with a celebrity. I like it.”
“Fuck off.” I snorted. “They’ll forget about me after our first loss, so hey…I’m enjoying the love while it lasts.”
“Smart, but we’re not losing to Trinity. No fucking way.” Langley frowned so hard, his thick brows resembled a fuzzy caterpillar in midcrawl.
Gus Langley was the Bears captain and had been for the past three seasons. He was an inch shorter than my six four and built like me, thick and muscular. I had more tattoos, and though it was trim at the moment, I could grow a beard that put most guys my age to shame. Langley, on the other hand, had a scruffy chiseled jaw, a wild mane of chestnut hair, and his eyes almost always had that stoned “I’m having way more fun at life than you are” look.
Probably true.
He was a perpetual senior, a serious party animal, and a very questionable leader. Don’t get me wrong—everyone loved the guy, but Langley usually prioritized a good time over all else—even winning. Getting pre-riled up for an upcoming game wasn’t like him.
I paused in the middle of the quad and lowered my sunglasses. “What’s wrong with Trinity?”
“Their new coach is a prick and—” Gus paused, his attention fixed on something or someone behind me. “Incoming. Your favorite redhead.”
“Huh?”
“The little shit with What’s New, Smithton? Are you still boycotting him, or is that last year’s news?”
I pivoted toward the eager-looking man marching our way and barely suppressed a growl.
Listen, I considered myself to be a friendly dude. I tried to always be fair and congenial. After all, everyone was fighting their own personal battles and had reasons for their actions they might not be able to share. Live and let live…or something like that.
But that rule didn’t apply to the snazzily-dressed dickhead blinding me with a psycho megawatt grin.
“Hello, gentlemen! It’s good to be back at the old grindstone, isn’t it? And on such a gorgeous day. It feels like summer—which, of course, it is! I’ve never understood the rationale of starting school in August. The first week of September is perfect, in my opinion, but…no one consulted me.” The smiley jerkwad chuckled awkwardly, tapping the strap of his leather designer bag as I rearranged my expression into something cold, unapproachable, uninterested, and unfriendly.
So not me…I swear. I went out of my way to be nice to everyone—except Walker Woodrow. He could eat glass or black licorice or cilantro for all I cared. He was a two-faced opportunistic influencer who didn’t think twice about using unsuspecting Smithton students for content to promote his online channel.
Not cool. Walker had shown his true colors, and I didn’t want anything to do with him or his show.
Honestly, it bummed me out that he’d turned out to be a creep. I’d been a fan. Walker was a clever host—engaging, upbeat, witty, smart, and interesting. He took random places, people, and events in our small college town in Upstate New York and somehow made Smithton seem like the ultimate destination. Apparently, tourism had increased by three hundred percent since he’d launched What’s New, Smithton?
Three hundred percent.
His channel had a million subscribers. I shit you not. By all accounts, Walker had done more for our local economy than all of Smithton’s sports programs combined. That was both remarkable and a hard pill to swallow. I mean, c’mon…his tour of the kitchen at Vincento’s, a sixty-year-old greasy institution in a two-hundred-and-fifty-year-old town, couldn’t compare to Smithton’s division conference hockey game, right? Wrong.
People from all around the freaking globe had tuned in for his interview with the owner, Vincento Senior, which included tips on how to knead and throw pizza dough. Yep, hundreds of thousands of folks had watched an octogenarian fire up a woodburning pizza oven while less than a thousand had shown up to cheer on the Bears. And I’d been one of them. Well…after my game, obviously.
Sue me. I’d liked the peppy redhead’s vibe and though I’d deny it with my last breath, I’d thought Walker was cute with his wayward curls, tawny-brown eyes, and tight compact body.