Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 51902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Was this excessive? I couldn’t be sure anymore. I wanted him all the time. It was getting harder to pretend I was only casually invested in him…or us.
“I happened to be in the neighborhood,” I lied, panting for breath.
Jett flashed his pearly white teeth and motioned for me to follow him to the side of the building. “I got a contract.”
“Oh, my! Congratulations!”
“Thanks. It’s with a developmental team. The pay will be peanuts and my dad will have a lot to say about that, but it could lead to something else. Or not. It’s a start, though.” His easy grin grew to epic proportions. “I don’t know why I’m so pumped. It’s not the NHL, for fuck’s sake, but it feels like validation. Like maybe I am good at this hockey thing.”
“You are. It’s terrific news and you get to play tonight.”
“Right?” He made a “mind-blown” gesture and cast a furtive look around. “I have to kiss you. It’s gonna be quick, but just know that I’d totally stick my tongue down your throat if I could.”
That was the only warning he gave before bending to press his lips to mine.
It was more of a peck compared to our usual standards, but we let it linger until I set my hands on his face and broke the kiss.
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
“And congratulations.”
Jett winked, then jogged away.
I leaned against the brick wall, staring after him. My heart was beating too fast, and my head was still swimming from his kiss.
This was a quandary. A hullabaloo of my own making. I’d done the unthinkable and developed feelings for the hockey jock. Big feelings. L-word feelings.
It was the opposite of smart—but gosh, it felt good.
My fingers flew across the keyboard, pausing to cross-check information from one of the dozen tabs on my computer or to flip through the stacks of reference books on the dining table. I’d lost all semblance of time, but it was dark outside and Layla was curled up on the sofa, alternately changing channels or scrolling her cell and occasionally snickering at a funny meme or sharing an interesting headline.
“Oh, geez, listen to this. Man develops fungal lung cancer caused by a lifelong habit of smelling…wait for it—dirty socks.”
“That’s…disturbing,” I commented, typing away.
“People are strange as fuck.”
“Agreed.”
She went quiet for a few minutes, caught up in videos of puppies and eyeliner tutorials. “I really should start my own channel. I’m talented, right?”
“Of course you are.”
“You’re my bestie. You’re practically required to assure me that my cat-eye technique is on point,” Layla lamented. “But I know it’s true. I am good. It’s a matter of going for it…and coming up with interesting content that people want to tune into. That guy I told you about, Walker What’s-his-face has followers in Japan, Brazil, Australia, Miami, and…everywhere checking in to see what’s new in Smithton. I mean…I live in Smithton and I barely care what’s happening here.”
I saved my work and pushed away from my computer, sensing that my friend required my time more than my thesis did. Discussing makeup wasn’t my forte, though.
“And what is new in Smithton?” I asked, sitting on the opposite end of the sofa.
Layla dropped her phone on her lap and raised a pretend microphone to her mouth. “Tonight’s headline: A family of raccoons broke into the trash bins behind the gymnasium. Mayhem ensued, but the perps are too darn cute, not to mention difficult to catch. Charges have been dropped. This just in…three stalls in the girls’ restroom at Bear Depot were cleaned out of toilet paper. Was it a heist? Is there at TP thief on the loose?”
I snickered. “Is that really the type of news that’s reported?”
“I haven’t checked in a while. My bad. I’ve probably missed a ton of locker room interviews with shirtless hotties. That’s Walker’s usual schtick. And now that we’re at freaking Valentine’s season, he’ll be covering hearts and flowers BS. Bitter much? I know. Jealousy has driven me to convince myself the guy is a hack, but…let’s take a peek, shall we?” Layla tapped on her cell. “I doubt it’ll be as entertaining as a band of lawless raccoons or a ring of TP—oh, my God.”
“What’s wrong?”
She didn’t reply, but blood had drained from her face and her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “I…um. Oh, fuck, Mal.”
“You’re scaring me. Did someone die or—”
She pushed her phone at me, a panicked expression marring her features. I pressed Play and immediately wished I hadn’t.
A bubbly redhead wearing a bowtie and a too-bright smile shuffled papers as he swiveled to the camera. “We love love in Smithton, and we love to give props to our campus lovebirds with our sneaky kiss cam. Thanks for sending in some of your favorite photos. Recognize anyone?”
No, not until a blurry picture of Jett and me kissing near the rink popped up. My hands caressing his face, my eyes closed.