Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Best to avoid all the player haunts then, so I dart around a corner, ducking into another hallway that doesn’t pass the workout room, the locker room, or the tunnel. I circle all the way around the arena, avoiding any possibility of bumping into a growly hockey star who made me come hard and also admitted he wouldn’t date his college crush today.
I stop for a second by the escalators, letting that confession hit me again. And it hits me even harder than his moans, than his dirty commands. Lake Axelrod doesn’t want to hurt the people he cares about.
Like me?
Yeah, I think he meant me.
My head spins from all this new information. I’ve got to get a handle on my thoughts, so I try to sort them into neat boxes as I resume my pace up to the ticketing level. I don’t know if there will be an extra seat near my friends right now. But as I weave past the early crowds on the counter, a text lands from Clementine that she’s running late.
I should be able to steal her seat for a bit. This’ll be good. Time with my friends will reset me. Settle my overactive mind. I dart past a gourmet sandwich stand, then a thirty-flavors-of-pretzels vendor, before saying hi to the ushers at the top of the bowl.
As I head down toward the ice, I’m strangely glad Clem isn’t here yet. I’m not sure how to face her after what happened earlier today with her brother. From the truths we shared with words and hearts at the table, to the ones we shared with lips and hands in his bedroom.
I don’t know how to organize any of this.
How to sort it.
Understand it.
Lake’s both my fake wedding date and my partner in trying to complete a bride’s unfinished bucket list. He’s also the guy who wants to show me how a good boyfriend treats a woman, with honesty, with passion.
Passion like Lake’s grunts. Like the sounds he made when he lost control once I came—once he tasted me. Heat climbs up my neck from the memory of his fingers in me, then in his mouth, right as I reach my friends. Trevyn, Mabel, and Skylar are huddled together in a row, talking and laughing, Skylar’s freckles dancing across her pale complexion, Mabel’s brown eyes sparkling with laughter, Trevyn’s witty smile coasting across his warm brown skin. When he spots me standing in the aisle, he snaps his gaze my way, and arches a knowing brow. “Why do you look like you just got some?”
Are you kidding me? It can’t be that obvious, can it?
I sink down next to him, acting all cool. “What are you talking about?”
He pats my hand placatingly, then swings his gaze to our friends. “Have you ever seen our girl’s cheeks so flush before?”
Mabel shoots me an assessing look. “Not since she started vacationing.”
Shoot. I am obvious.
“Oh, is that a euphemism for a little hockey action?” Trevyn asks.
Skylar hums appreciatively, then gives me an I know what you did look. “I told you hockey butts were the best. Did you find out for yourself about the perfect squish?”
This is bad. This is so bad. I’m so transparent they can already tell my fake date is real banging me.
“Yes,” I whisper, motioning for them to lower their voices. “But don’t talk so loud about it.”
“Why?” Trevyn asks innocently, but speaks in a whisper. “Everyone thinks it’s real with you two. And if it were real you’d be climbing his hockey body like you’re evidently doing, you minx, you. Ergo, it shouldn’t be a secret you’re getting the D.”
“And you deserve the D,” Skylar adds, “especially after that cad of an ex of yours, who I just walked past at his beer stand and hissed at. Which, for the record, represents serious growth. I had previously considered hiding a carton of rotten eggs under the beer taps.”
“Major growth,” I say, approvingly.
Skylar preens. “Thank you. I think so too. But back to you and your D face,” she says with a naughty glint in her eyes.
“Yeah, I don’t recall you ever showing up for a game looking like this,” Mabel adds as she waves her hand toward my face, since I must be wearing my thoughts on it. “You must be getting it good.”
It’s a compliment. Really it is. And the zing in my body confirms it. But I also feel so flustered, and I’m not sure why.
Before I can say another word, the lights dim and the ominous voice of the announcer booms over the sound system, taking everyone’s focus off me and onto the ice as purple strobe lights flash on the slick surface.
The deep baritone tells the tale of a fearsome fox who defended his den, like the Golden State Foxes will defend the net. When the light show finishes, the spotlight swings to the tunnel. “And now…your Golden State Foxes.”