Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I knew hockey was a brutal sport, but seeing it in person is a completely different experience. The speed. The violence. The way everything can shift from intense game play to full-blown mayhem in the blink of an eye is surreal.
And Knox…
I can still see the moment he lost control. He looked ready to tear the other guy apart limb by limb. A shiver works its way through my system, and not entirely because the memory is unsettling.
That’s the part I don’t quite understand. I didn’t like the brawl itself. I hate fighting. There were a couple times when production tried to engineer screaming matches or push cast members into physical confrontations because they thought it’d make good television and up the ratings. Even when Mom encouraged me to do it, I refused. Manufactured drama is exhausting enough.
Real violence is so much worse.
And yet…
I can’t deny seeing Knox like that affected me, making me feel hot and bothered. It’s definitely not something I’m proud of.
His thumb strokes over my thigh, dragging me from the confusing tangle of my thoughts. I turn in my seat and stare at his profile, taking in the hard line of his jaw and the focused set of his lips.
“Are you going to tell me what the fight was about?”
His gaze stays trained on the road. “Nah. It wasn’t important.”
I raise a brow. “So you guys just throw punches for nothing?”
“Yeah, sometimes.”
When his fingers slide higher, squeezing my leg before continuing their slow climb, my breath catches. It doesn’t take long before he’s too close to the vee between my thighs, and I shift against the leather, not about to let him derail my line of questioning.
My tongue darts out to moisten my lips. “Did he say something that set you off?”
Instead of responding, his pinkie brushes the seam of my jeans, and it’s enough to send electricity shooting through me.
I glance down at his hand before looking back at him. “Are you trying to distract me, McNichols?”
A smirk pulls at the corners of his mouth as he cuts me a quick look. “Aren’t I allowed to touch my girlfriend anytime I want?”
When his fingers press firmly against my center, I can’t hold back a moan.
“Knox.”
He chuckles. “Any other burning questions you’d like me to answer?”
I do my best to glare at him, but it’s difficult when he’s touching me like this and my body is betraying me at every turn.
“Is it… um…” I squirm as arousal pools in my core. “Normal for brawls to just break out like that?”
“It can be.” He glances at me. “In case you didn’t notice, the fans enjoy it.”
His fingers stroke over me again, and I exhale shakily as my head falls back against the seat and my eyes feather closed.
“Maybe hockey and reality TV have more in common than I first suspected.”
That earns a low laugh from him, the sound warm and rough in the quiet of the car. “You think so?”
“Possibly,” I murmur, trying unsuccessfully to gather my scattered thoughts. “Both involve questionable decision-making in front of an audience.”
His hand tightens slightly where it rests against me, the subtle pressure stealing the rest of my breath.
Humor simmers in his voice. “You calling that a bad decision?”
My lips part, but it takes me a second to find words through the haze he’s creating. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“Is that so?”
My fingers curl against the seat, my pulse kicking harder, as his hand shifts just enough to make it impossible to focus on anything other than his touch. “I—”
There’s a beat of silence, broken only by the growl of the engine.
“Maybe I need to do something to sway your decision.”
A quiet sound slips out of me, and my head presses harder against the cushion as I lose the fight to stay composed.
“You’re not even trying to be subtle, McNichols,” I manage, though it comes out breathy and weak.
“In case you haven’t noticed, subtle isn’t really my style,” he replies, completely unapologetic.
And the worst part?
It’s working.
His hand slides higher, and this time there’s no pretending he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing. My thighs part the barest bit, and the city disappears around us. All I feel is the press of his hand and the heat racing through me.
“I’m serious,” I say, even though my voice has become breathy, undercutting the effect. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
“Pretty sure you’re not actually focused on that right now.”
“I am.” Sort of.
“You sure about that?” When his thumb grazes me through the denim, my hips jerk in response. “Seems like you’ve got something else on your mind, Hollywood.”
A helpless laugh bubbles out of me. “You’re the worst.”
“No, baby.” His voice sounds like velvet over steel. “I’m just very good at redirecting your attention when needed.”
He pulls into the garage a few minutes later, and the second the engine cuts off, the silence inside the car turns charged.