Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“Nice to finally meet you,” says King, whose biceps are frankly alarming. His girlfriend Willa beams and offers me a little wave from across the table.
There’s Tempe’s boyfriend, Rafferty, who gives me a once-over like he’s inspecting a new roommate but ultimately grins and says, “Yup. She passes.”
Then there’s North and Farren, both super outgoing and welcoming. Mila and Penn, who seem like the golden couple of the group, greet me like we’ve been friends for years.
Somehow, I end up seated between Tempe and Mazzy while Lucky grabs a seat across from me. The table erupts in conversation—about the game, about King’s face-off that turned into a brawl, about the fact that Rafferty accidentally spilled a bottle of water on Coach’s pants and nobody’s sure if it was an accident.
I let it wash over me, all while sipping a mojito Mazzy insisted I try.
Lucky’s watching me… I can feel it. He’s relaxed, smiling, his arm slung casually over the back of Penn’s chair, beer in hand. The glow of victory suits him—he’s more handsome than ever because he’s happy.
And the entire time, I’m mentally replaying last night. Not just the mind-blowing sex, although that’s burned into my bones, but the morning too. Him barefoot in my kitchen, handing me a mug of coffee while toast popped out of the toaster. Kissing me slow, then nibbling on my neck, which resulted in him carrying me right back to the bedroom.
And when he finally walked out the door, I grabbed the back of his pants by the waistband and pulled him back to kiss me one more time.
It didn’t feel impetuous, or reckless, or like a heat-of-the-moment decision. It felt like exactly what I was supposed to do.
Like my heart didn’t give me a choice.
“I saw your TikTok from the overlook,” Mila says, breaking me out of my thoughts. “It was sweet. And weirdly poetic for a guy who thinks Flamin’ Hot Cheetos are a food group.”
Lucky shrugs. “I contain multitudes.”
Rafferty snorts. “You contain a tripod and a ring light in your hockey bag.”
“He really does,” North mutters. “We had to move the stick rack to make room for his social media gear.”
Everyone laughs and Lucky just shakes his head, unbothered.
“Fine,” he says, reaching into his back pocket. “Let’s give the people what they want.”
Penn, who’s sitting next to him, leans away. “Wait… right now?”
He’s already pulling out his phone, switching it to selfie video mode, arm outstretched.
“What up, beautiful internet weirdos,” he starts, and the table immediately erupts into catcalls and jeering.
“Jesus,” Penn groans. “I don’t want to be in this one.”
“Too late,” Lucky says. “Say hi, team!”
Everyone waves. Some shout inappropriate things. Someone throws a french fry at the camera.
Lucky spins the phone to get the whole table in the shot, then turns it back in our direction. “In case you’re wondering how date two of four is going…”
He reaches across the table, takes my hand and tugs, forcing me to stand. Then he dramatically pulls me towards him. I squeak as he moves in, just inches from my face. The camera is still rolling.
“It’s going pretty damn well,” he finishes.
And then, right there in the middle of his TikTok, he leans forward and kisses me.
Not just a peck. Not a shy, camera-friendly kiss. But a real, warm, full-mouth kiss that says this is real and I want everyone to know it.
The table erupts in hoots and hollers.
When he pulls back, I’m breathless and grinning, caught somewhere between mortified and elated.
Lucky points at the screen. “Stay tuned, folks. Two dates to go. But I’m not worried.”
He ends the video and slips his phone away like he didn’t just detonate my whole nervous system.
Lucky returns to his seat, the guys fist-bumping him. My hands press to my blazing cheeks as I sit back down.
Mazzy leans close to my ear. “Girl. You better lock that down.”
Everyone’s laughing, Tempe’s already halfway into a story about Rafferty getting a parking ticket in a horse costume, and I feel like I should be laughing too.
But suddenly it hits me—how far this is from my everyday life. From bulletin boards and PB&J fingerprints and Buttermilk’s 7:30 pellet drop.
A wave of uncertainty hits me hard. Do I even belong here?
I excuse myself, claiming I need the restroom, and slip away before anyone can stop me.
After ensuring the door is locked, I take a breath, prop my phone on the edge of the sink, and open TikTok. I don’t rehearse. I just hit record.
“Okay… real talk from the women’s room. Tonight’s been incredible. I’m surrounded by pro athletes and their drop-dead gorgeous girlfriends. And they’ve been nothing but kind. You’ve probably already seen Lucky’s video he just posted, and yeah… that kiss was most definitely welcomed. But there’s still this little voice in my head saying… you don’t belong here.” I offer a sheepish smile. “I’m a kindergarten teacher with a nutjob rabbit. My idea of high-end fashion is clean jeans and ChapStick.”