Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“Trina!”
“What? I’m old, not dead.”
“You are neither of those things.” I lean her way, resting my head on her shoulder for a moment. “Thank you.”
“Aww, any time, girl. Just remember, I want the whole story. Every dirty detail.”
I don’t have to look at her to know she’s grinning. The funny thing is, so am I.
Chapter 17
Dominic
I have a proven daily routine that I stick to during hockey season—green smoothies every morning, lean protein for lunch and dinner, stretching, strength and speed training on the opposite side of lunch on practice days, sauna and cold plunge time. Except for game days, of course.
But one of the pluses of being a professional athlete is that my day-to-day schedule can be relatively flexible unless there’s a mandatory practice or a game. For example, if I want to play golf at noon on a Thursday, I can. Chalk it up to “stretching.”
I’m looking for Briar right now of course, but also, I want to get to know her world a bit better. Which is why I’m reading every plaque and sign around every exhibit, learning about the animals she cares about so much.
When I find myself in front of the gibbons, knowing they’re Briar’s favorites, I watch them a bit closer. They’re sitting, almost seeming bored despite the plethora of toys surrounding them. No, not toys. Briar calls them enrichments. But Caprice and the other gibbons aren’t engaging with the ropes, trees, balls, and tires in the enclosure.
I look left and right, seeing that there’s no one around given it’s midday, midweek. Gary’s not even at the little wooden hut-table combo he calls his post, ready to dispense education like the teacher he told me he used to be.
I throw my head back and . . . “Whoop whoop whoop whoop!” I screech, just like Briar did. The gibbons’ response is instant, their attention locking on me before one calls back, then another and another, until they’re a chorus of car alarm–sounding singing. I laugh and sing along with them, feeling like we’ve made each other’s day a little brighter.
“I thought something was wrong,” a breathless voice says behind me. I turn to find Briar bent over, hands on her knees. Her cheeks are flushed and she’s panting like she ran here.
“Oh, uh . . . sorry,” I stammer. “I was trying to play with them the way you did.”
Her brows furrow. “You were playing with them?” she echoes. “Why?”
“They looked bored?” It’d seemed perfectly logical a minute ago, but I’m doubting myself now. What do I know about gibbons? Not much, I realize.
Slowly, a smile starts to lift Briar’s lips, and then she starts laughing. “When I heard them, I thought a hawk had flown into the enclosure again. It only happened once, but I’ll never forget the sound they made.” She shakes her head, looking haunted, and I’m honestly not sure if the hawk won or the gibbons did, or if they were equally freaked out by the others’ existence. “And with Caprice’s baby getting more comfortable on her own, the whole group is extra protective right now.”
“Sorry,” I say, understanding why she looked so panicked.
She waves me off, no longer upset. “They’re usually calm this time of day. They’re not hungry, it’s after morning playtime, so they chill in the sun.” Her eyes are on the gibbons, checking each one out from afar, and then she glances back to me, equally analytical. “What are you doing here?”
I could be coy, but why bother? This woman has me by the short hairs and we both know it. “I came to see you.”
“Me?” She looks genuinely surprised, like being with her is somehow akin to a visit to the dentist.
“I have away games coming up and am already missing you, so like a complete sap, I thought I’d come to the place I knew you’d be, and walk around, hoping for a glimpse of you. Maybe get the chance to say hello. So . . . hello?” I pause, hearing myself for the first time. Some people would be calling me a simp at this point, but fuck them. For Briar? Simptown, population: me. “As I say it now, I realize how stalkerish that sounds. I can go—” I point behind me, willing to walk away but hoping she doesn’t want me to.
“No!” she says brightly. “It’s okay.”
I step into her, cutting the space between us in half. “It is?” I ask, my voice low and husky. She looks up at me, her eyes filled with something that seems like shyness. But this woman isn’t shy. She’s brave and bold, not in a loud, in your face way, but in her own quiet way.
Her hands fidget like she’s stopping them from doing what they’d actually like to do. Touch me, maybe? Fuck, I hope so. I reach out, taking one to weave our fingers together. Her hand is warm in mine and her lips instantly lift.