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)
“’Kay,” he says. “Gimme a minute to get the bottle from the cellar.”
He hustles off, and I prop my face in my hands and close my eyes. I’m still so sleepy. The Legends played deep into overtime last night to tie up the series. Then we woke up early in the morning and flew here, heading straight to the arena for a practice after the flight.
I indulge in a fantasy of sleeping in late tomorrow. Even though it will never happen.
“Problem?” asks a low, sexy voice.
I yank my head up and find Eric Tremaine standing in front of me. “All good,” I say quickly. “Just buying some wine for the boss. You know how he is.”
“Yeah, I do.” Tremaine smiles, and my stomach does a little flip.
Gah.
The bartender reappears and makes a show of opening the bottle. It would cost ninety dollars at a store. God only knows what the hotel is going to charge us.
Not my problem, though. The bartender pours out the bottle into five goblets and lines them up on the bar. “You got four friends?”
“They’ll be along later,” I say. “Can I see the bottle? That’s a nice label.”
“Sure.” He hands it over.
Eric frowns at me as I set the bottle on the bar and grab a laminated appetizer menu off the bar. “What are you doing?”
“This will make a good funnel. Hold the bottle steady, would you?” I curl the menu into a cone shape and poke the end into the bottle.
He grabs the bottle and secures it, no questions asked. That’s just how he rolls—one minute he’s wiping up the rink with his opponent. The next minute, he’ll turn around and help the cleaning staff collect empty cups after a meeting because “everyone’s job matters to the team.”
Like, sir? That’s not allowed. You can’t be both the most intimidating person on the ice AND the kind of guy who remembers the security guard’s grandson just started kindergarten. Pick a lane.
He leans in, steadying the bottle, and I can smell his shower soap as I pick up one of the goblets and decant it carefully through my makeshift funnel back into the bottle.
“Interesting way to enjoy a glass of wine,” he says with a chuckle.
“Hush. Mr. Sharp wants what he wants, and sometimes I have to get creative. Just hold still for another minute, would you?”
“Hey, miss?” the bartender says, suddenly paying attention to me. “You can’t take that to go!”
“Sure I can,” I insist, grabbing the second goblet. “You sold it to me in glasses, like a good employee. What I do with it is my business. Now, where’s my check?”
He blinks at me a second before walking away to charge my boss’s card.
I make quick work of the other wineglasses while Eric snickers to himself. “You deked him.”
“He had it coming. Thanks for the assist.”
“My pleasure.” He gives me another dangerous smile.
Five minutes later, I’ve delivered the bottle to the Palmetto Room—along with one of the goblets, which I’ve washed and dried carefully in Chef González’s kitchen. I text the boss that his wine is waiting at his table.
Then? I head into the lobby, where there aren’t any bosses or hockey players. And I flop down for a moment’s rest. Honestly, it’s tempting to go upstairs to the comfortable room I share with Zoe, the Legends’ skating coach, and also my best friend.
But I can’t do it. The allure of my bed would be too great. So I check my email instead.
The first message I find makes me feel even more exhausted. It’s from my half sister, Tessa, and the subject line is T-MINUS TEN DAYS UNTIL THE JACK-AND-JILL WEDDING SHOWER! PUT ON YOUR DANCING SHOES!
At the sight of it, a little wave of despair rolls over me. The playoffs are exhausting, but once they’re over, I’ll be steeling myself for a family wedding. My half brother is getting married, and I have to show up and smile for the photos.
I dread it.
My brother and I aren’t close, and I’d hoped I wouldn’t be invited. Unfortunately, my invitation had arrived on thick, expensive paper—the kind with rose petals embedded into it. It was the most pretentious document I’d ever seen in my life. And the worst part was a brief personal note from my father, telling me that he expected to see me there.
But before we even get to the wedding, there’s this shower that I’ve also been ignoring. I’m pretty sure I deleted the first email about it, assuming that I’d be in the middle of the playoffs and unable to attend. And that might still be true.
It had better be, because I dread this party, too. My half sister is a predictable creature. She loves shouty caps, designer cocktails, and backhanded compliments, not necessarily in that order. So it’s not really a surprise that she’s been tasked with planning my half brother’s wedding.