Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 25267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 126(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 126(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
She slides into the passenger seat, looking up at me through her lashes. “Me either.” I can barely fucking breathe. I’m dying to take her back to my place tonight but I want to do this right. Earn it. Win her goddamn heart and soul.
I tuck her into the passenger seat and shut the door gently, even though what I really want to do is slam it and then take her up against the side of the car like some kind of caveman. I slide behind the wheel, fighting for control. My voice is rough as sandpaper.
“I want to see you every goddamn day.” I grip the gearshift so hard my knuckles go white. “But I’ve got games. Four in a row, starting tomorrow. I’ll be living and breathing the rink till Thursday.”
She glances sideways, eyes glittering with amusement and something softer. “That’s a shame. Guess I’ll have to pine for you while you’re off being a hockey god.”
Fucking hell. She’s perfect.
“Are you free on Friday?” I hold my goddamn breath waiting for her answer. “I’ll make you dinner. No distractions. Just us and my grandmother’s famous pot roast.”
She grins, slow and wicked. “There’s no way I can say no to homemade pot roast.”
“It’s a date.” I take her soft hand in mine and bring it to my lips for a kiss. Driving her straight home and dropping her off at her front door with a quick kiss is the hardest thing I’ve ever done but I force myself to do it. I have to get this right. Fucking this up isn’t an option.
CHAPTER FIVE
MIA
At the ass crack of dawn, Monday morning in Seattle is doomy and gloomy with rain battering my front window. I’m hunched over my kitchen counter, counting the seconds until my coffee hits optimal, tongue-scorching temperature.
I’m not quite functioning yet. I have work in forty minutes and a catastrophic case of bed hair that needs my attention.
I take a long, scalding sip, savoring the caffeine jolt when my phone buzzes on the counter.
I turn it over expecting a message from Katie or Harper but I’m shocked to see Mick’s name flash on the screen.
Mr. Hockey God
Hey trouble. Surviving Monday or is Monday surviving you?
I laugh to myself and take another sip of coffee before I type out my reply.
Me
Surviving. Barely. Mondays suck.
The phone buzzes again. I glance. This time it’s a meme that says, “If Monday was a haircut, it’d be a mullet.” I snort into my mug, coffee spattering my hand.
Me
I can picture you with a mullet.
Mr. Hockey God
Ouch. You wake up cranky on Monday.
Me
I wake up cranky every day of the week.
Mr. Hockey God
We’ll have to work on changing that. I bet I can find a way or two to make mornings better for you.
I don’t even have a reply. So I toss my phone on the counter and head off to work on my bedhead.
Tuesday morning is crazy in the ER, but there’s a moment at 10:40 a.m. when the trauma bay is calm, and I’m in the back break room, inhaling a blueberry bagel when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
My heart pounds hard as I take it out hoping it’s a message from Mick.
Mr. Hockey God
How’s your day going?
Me
I’m surviving. How’s your day?
Mr. Hockey God
It sucks. I’m missing you.
A piece of bagel sticks in my throat and I have to take a big sip of diet coke to get it to go down as another message comes in.
This text is a picture of him with a mullet. I choke and end up spraying diet coke all over the pile of work schedules sitting on the edge of the break room table. Once I’m able to breathe without coughing, I send him another message.
Me
New haircut?
Mr. Hockey God
Yep, thought I’d look good for our date Friday.
I know he’s joking. It’s easy to see the image has been photoshopped but I can’t help myself from responding.
Me
I like it. It matches your bone structure.
Mr. Hockey God
Glad you approve. Have a good day, trouble girl.
Me
You, too.
Wednesday at 11:30 p.m. My home smells like citrus cleaner and exhaustion. After working three days in a row, I came home exhausted but wired. I decided to scrub my small apartment from top to bottom so I don’t have to do it tomorrow on my day off. Then I took a much-needed hotter than Hades shower.
Now, I’m slumped on the couch wearing my favorite snoopy pjs. I’ve got a heating pad tucked behind my back and the remote poised for a Netflix binge. I check my phone then tell myself it’s okay if he doesn’t text every day. I scroll through the hockey scores and see the Knights got badly tonight. Ouch.
My show is starting on the screen when my phone buzzes. Relief flows through me when I see his name pop up on the screen.