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)
But damn I am pissed.
“Honest about what?” I press. “That you don’t understand what I do for a living? Or that you think anyone who isn’t a pro athlete is basically useless?”
He lets out a little laugh, like I’m being dramatic. “Come on, babe. Don’t take it personally. I’m saying—you’re adjacent to greatness. That’s not nothing.”
Adjacent.
The word lands like a slap.
I sit back in my chair, studying him the way you study something mildly interesting but ultimately a let down—kind of like a limp dick or one that’s small and disappointing.
“You do realize a team can’t function without the people behind the scenes? Logistics, operations, scheduling, contracts, travel.”
“Sure.” He shrugs. “But you’re not calling the shots.”
Who cares? So what?!
“And neither are you, at your job,” I snap before I can stop myself. “This conversation is ruining my night.”
His smile dims.
“You literally told me your uncle got you your job,” I continue, heat rushing to my face now. “But somehow it’s my career being questioned?”
He shrugs. “That’s different.”
“Is it?” I grab my purse and slam the rest of my wine. “Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like you think men with money get to be important, and everyone else is… lucky to be nearby.”
Silence stretches between us as I glare.
His jaw tightens. “Wow. You’re reading way too much into this.”
“No,” I say calmly, pushing myself out of my chair. “I’m reading exactly enough into it.”
He exhales through his nose, annoyed now. “You’re being sensitive.”
My mouth gapes.
I am aghast at his audacity! The nerve of him, calling me sensitive. To my freaking face.
“And you’re being condescending. Which, frankly, is worse.”
His eyes widen. “Wait—you’re leaving? Are you fucking serious?”
“Totally.” I toss my hair. “I’m here to celebrate a milestone in my career. Not to be patronized by a man who thinks quoting Shakespeare makes him sound like he has some smarts.”
“Dude, this conversation has gone off the rails so fast.” He squints at me. “What’s the issue here?”
“You’re sexist, that’s what.”
He rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say, babe.”
“Oh my god. Stop calling me babe, asshole.”
This is as close to losing my shit as I’ve ever gotten, not including the time when, as teenagers, Declan slid on my new white sneakers to walk to the mailbox and stepped in the mud, completely ruining them.
Preston watches me spiral. “Guess I dodged a bullet with you.”
With me?! Oh my god, this guy.
“Trust me, Preston. You did not.”
I did.
I turn on my heel and stalk toward the exit, pulse pounding in my neck, cheeks burning, dignity intact. The cool night air hits me the second I push through the door. I suck in a breath, trying to shake off the bitter taste of that entire conversation.
“Unbelievable,” I grumble, fishing my phone out of my purse, already dialing my best friend before I even reach the sidewalk.
There was a time I might have also called my brother. Once upon a time, I dated a hockey player; I was young and even more naïve than I am now and thought he loved me.
But I was a teenager, and a fool, and when I thought I could go to Declan for advice, he told me you can’t date potential and the sooner I learned that—the better.
You’re smarter than that, Jules.
But it had only made me feel worse. And so, after my first heartbreak, I also learned if I had boy trouble, I shouldn’t trouble him with the details.
I call my best friend, Blaire Winthrop.
“Blaire—thank god I didn’t have sex with that man. Preston is a mega douche.”
“Oooh,” Blaire purrs. “Strong words. Tell me everything.”
“He mansplained nepotism to me. He implied I got my job because of my brother, which is rich coming from a man whose uncle literally hired him.”
There’s a pause on the other end.
“What an asshole!” Blaire curses appropriately. “I could have predicted this, but didn’t want to assume he was a dick based on how tight his pants were.”
I laugh. His pants were tight. “And then he told me I was being sensitive!”
“He did not!” Blaire sucks in a sharp breath. “Okay, that’s it. We’re burning down his entire block.” She pauses. “Honestly, Juliette? Considering your Hall Pass is a hockey god, I’m literally so shocked Preston’s aesthetic made your girlie parts tingle.”
They didn’t.
Not really.
But I’m taking chances. Saying yes more. Getting outside my comfort zone, a.k.a. out of my apartment. Dating outside my type because my type hasn’t worked out in the past.
Shaking my head, I step forward off the curb—and smack directly into a solid, immovable, warm wall of a human.
“Oof—!” I stumble, phone nearly flying from my hand.
A hand catches my elbow, steady and solid.
“Easy,” a low voice rumbles. “You okay?”
I look up. And immediately forget how to form coherent sentences.
Oh…
Oh, shit.
I know this guy. I have a crush on him.
Aaron Bishop.
My brother’s teammate. The Ice Wolves enforcer.