Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Oh my God. Men. “Eric, people have them all the time. It’s not a character flaw.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m going to do better. I’ll have a chat with the team psychologist so I don’t end up snapping at anyone else or taking stupid penalties.”
“It’s hockey, E-Train. Sometimes you take a penalty. But nobody thinks last night’s loss is all your fault.”
“Don’t they?” He rolls his neck. “I do.”
“Really? Even though that makes no sense? But since you brought it up, I’m more upset that I have to go to that wedding shower than I am about the game or about you snarling at me like a toddler yesterday.”
He gives me a sheepish smile. “God, tell me about it. Can you picture me dancing in front of people?”
“Actually, sure.” Hockey players usually have impressive rhythm. And all the women there will be drooling over him no matter what.
He shakes his head. “I’m not fun at parties. I can’t remember the last time I went out dancing. And making it into a contest is just weird. How does that even work? Wait—I’ll google it.” He pulls out his phone.
I move to where I can see his screen, where he’s searched: how to win a dance-off. “You want to win, huh? Even if you don’t know what it is?”
“Well, obviously.”
I chuckle. “Do you want me to tell you the rules? My sister makes everything into a competition, so I’m already familiar with this form of torture.”
“Hit me,” he says, looking up.
“You can enter as a couple or a group,” I tell him. “You choose a song, and you dance to a minute’s worth of it. Then it’s someone else’s turn. It’s stupid, but I can survive anything for sixty seconds.” Even my sister’s bullshit.
“Are you a good dancer?” he asks. “I bet you are.”
“I love dancing,” I admit. “Although not in front of my family.”
“We can still be teammates,” he says with a shrug. “If you want. But if you get a better offer, by all means take it.”
My heart lifts. “I don’t think you understand—if I’m dancing next to a professional athlete, nobody will even notice me.”
His expression turns confused. “If you say so. Can you pick our song? I don’t have a feel for these things.”
“Okay.” I guess we’re really doing this. “I’ll get back to you with some ideas.”
He snaps his fingers suddenly. “Maybe we’re overthinking this. What if I just bribe the DJ? A crisp hundred-dollar bill says our names never get called.”
I cackle in spite of myself. “That’ll never work.”
He sighs, and his smile turns sheepish. “Maybe it’s selfish, but I’m glad you have to go to this thing, too.”
“You bastard. You’d push an awkward family wedding on me just to even out the suffering in the universe?”
His forehead crinkles. “That’s not it at all. But if you’re there, at least I’ll know someone besides the bride.”
Huh. I wouldn’t have guessed this man would ever feel awkward at a party. He’s Eric Freaking Tremaine. “They’ll love you. You’ll be, like, royalty. I’m the one who won’t have any friends in that room. Only my family, and when it comes to them,” I shake my head, “it’s complicated. Sharks are friendlier.”
“Well, that’s kind of terrifying. Is Maribel marrying into a crime syndicate?”
I hesitate, because the mafia is almost less complicated than my family. But I don’t want him to worry about his friend. “Theo is the best of the bunch,” I say eventually. And it might even be true. I just don’t know him well enough to say for sure.
Eric pokes his phone. “So… when is this party anyway?”
“Saturday,” I grumble. “Eight days from now.”
“That soon, huh?” He grimaces at his phone. “And I suppose I need a gift.”
“Unfortunately.”
“How are you getting up there?”
“No idea,” I admit. “I guess I’ll look at rental cars.” Amtrak to Boston would be more relaxing, but then I’d still need a car to drive up to the seaside town where the wedding events are all taking place.
“Ride with me,” he says with a shrug. “I have a car.”
A car. As if his Porsche Taycan Turbo S in midnight blue was just an ordinary ride. “I’d-um-sure?” I sputter.
“I’ll be nice, I swear.”
It’s cute that he thinks that’s the problem. “I’d love to ride with you,” I say, trying again. “That’s a really nice offer.”
“Cool. That’s settled.” He glances at his phone again. “Now let’s solve this gift problem. Do you know what kind of taste Theo has?”
“Not a chance. I don’t even know where they’re going to live.”
“He’s buying a house,” Eric says, so I guess it’s nice that one of us knows where my brother is moving. “Maybe my mother knows if there’s a registry.”
“Would she?” I suppose that info might be buried somewhere in my inbox. It’s been a busy month.