Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 97994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Suck it clean. “Mmm.”
Brandy. Sugar. Cream.
Tastes like she did.
Juliette giggles. “Sorry. We should order real food like proper adults.”
I glance at the menu, then at her. “It’s your fault we’ve already had dessert.”
Her brows rise as she taps her chin. “Have we?”
I don’t dare respond to that.
She might be attempting to be coy and sexy, but we both know she’s full of shit. We both know bold and ballsy isn’t her style. Which is fine—I like the prissy, delicate side of her that she’s trying so hard to be.
Juliette props her chin on her hand and takes a sip of her ice water. “So, outside of intimidating women with your constant scowls, what does your life actually look like—when you’re not working?”
“My life is so thrilling,” I deadpan. “Protein shakes. Practice. Sleep. More practice. Repeat.”
“How riveting.”
“You asked.”
“True.” She pauses. “Who’s the person you trust the most?”
Not your brother, I want to say. Certainly not my ex-girlfriend.
“My sister.”
“Is she older or younger?”
“Younger by eighteen months. She’s the fucking best.”
Her eyes soften as she toys with her spoon. “You’re close with her?”
“The closest.”
“What’s her name?”
“Sutton.”
Juliette gives a satisfied nod. “I like that.”
“Which part?”
“That you didn’t say a teammate or some guy. You said your sister. It’s cute.”
I feel my mouth move into the shape of a smile. “You’re cute.”
She stills for several seconds, heat coloring her cheeks. “Careful, that sounds dangerously close to flirting.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “Yeah, well, I haven’t done it in so long I might’ve forgotten how.”
Her brows lift. “That so?”
“Tragic, I know. Years of emotional repression and getting hit in the skull with a puck will do that.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, on the off chance you say something sensitive, you’ve said it because of brain injuries.”
Juliette stirs her ice cream slowly, the spoon making lazy circles. The noise of the restaurant fades into something distant, like we’re sitting in our own pocket of space, growing more intimate every second we spend ensconced here.
I watch her for a second too long. “When things get hard for you, who do you call?”
Her expression shifts thoughtfully. “My best friend, Blaire—or my mom. Depends on the problem, or if Blaire is the problem. Ha ha. How long was your last relationship?” she asks quietly.
“Over a year.”
Juliette tilts her head to study me. “Do you miss her?”
The images of Bailey moaning with her tits in Declan’s mouth drag to the surface.
I shove it back down.
“No.”
The word comes out clipped—too sharp—causing her expression to falter.
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly, thinking she’s stepped on something fragile.
“Don’t be,” I tell her, managing something that resembles a real smile. “It made me good company for milkshakes.”
A joke.
A shield.
A neat little bow around a mess I don’t know how to explain without sounding bitter or broken or—worse—pathetic.
Juliette doesn’t laugh right away.
She watches me. Then softly, “That bad, huh?”
I shrug, staring into the melted mess of ice cream forming inside the dessert glass. “It wasn’t dramatic,” I lie. “No fighting. Just a bad breakup.”
Her hand moves from her lap to mine, palm pressing into my thigh to console me.
It’s warm.
The contact is innocent in intent, of course it is. There’s empathy written over her face, but my body doesn’t speak that language. It speaks restraint. Quiet determination.
I do not know how to mirror her expression.
My muscles lock. My pulse kicks hard against my ribs.
Our eyes snap together.
“Oh.” She breathes above a whisper. “I’m so s-sorry.”
I can feel the shape of her palm near my groin. The weight of it, lingering too close to the sun. The way it brands me through my jeans…
She hesitates before slowly removing her hand
My throat works but I don’t trust my words. Too dirty. Too revealing. Move your hand closer…
Instead, I lean back and rest my arms on the back of the leather booth, creating distance between my body and the part of me that doesn’t trust itself to move slowly.
But my eyes stay locked on hers.
The air between us is heavy with everything we’re not saying. With the knowledge that we’ve already crossed a line, and probably want to cross it again. The unspoken tension far thicker than blatant groping.
“You don’t have to be sorry,” I tell her quietly. “You were being kind.” I lower my eyes to the smooth expanse above her neckline, allowing myself a brief peek of her tits. “You want something else to drink before the server arrives?”
Juliette follows my gaze like she felt it, then looks down at her melting dessert with concern, as if it’s a wounded animal. “I was thinking about it, but I still have this. And I don’t want to waste it.”
God forbid.
“It’s sweating harder than I am,” I say. “You’ve stirred it at least seventeen times. Besides, I’m paying. Live a little.”
Her lips twitch—she’s fighting a smile—but the server appears, refilling our waters and waiting for our orders .