Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Zane laughs. “Translation—dry spell.”
River fires back. “Translation—you’re projecting.”
“Please, we all know that’s not true.” Zane lifts his hands, palms out. “I can still pull all the pussy I want. What can I say? I’m just built different.”
Laiken mutters, “Gigi is one hell of a lucky lady.”
“That’s exactly what I keep telling her,” Zane shoots back, smug as hell.
Even though laughter bounces off the lockers, I tune it out and stare at the screen, willing a message to pop up.
But there’s nothing.
The irritation that hits isn’t just about the silence.
It’s about her.
That woman is in my head even when she’s not talking to me. Every part of my day tilts toward her, whether I want it to or not.
Unable to help myself, I scroll through our previous thread of messages. Her replies are always short and to the point. While mine are constantly pushing the boundaries of our relationship.
She thinks that keeping me at a distance gives her more control.
The woman couldn’t be more wrong.
Especially when she’s already in my blood. And no matter how many times she tries to walk away, I know I’m in hers.
Steele slides into his shoes before rising to his feet. “Remember, the auction’s for the kids. Let’s keep our focus on that.”
Zane shrugs. “Just saying, Cap—no one’s gonna bring in more money than me. Those kids need to be thanking me at the end of the day.”
Knox mutters, “Jesus, you really need to get over yourself.”
Jax grabs his bag. “Hey, let’s get a poker night on the books. I need some easy wins.”
When I flick him a look, he grins. The guy’s all sunshine and rainbows. It irritated me at first, but I’ll admit—he’s grown on me.
The showers cut off one by one, and the steam fades as the room starts to empty.
What I need is for Rina to text me back.
I can take a fight. What I can’t take is her silence.
My phone buzzes, and a brief surge of excitement rises in me, then falls flat.
Hayes: How’s auction prep? Mom says don’t do anything stupid.
Me: Define stupid.
Hayes: The kind that ends up on TMZ.
I huff a laugh and type back.
Me: I’m not the one you need to worry about.
He sends the eyeroll emoji.
The guy knows me too well.
Me: Have you heard from Kia? She’s not responding to my texts.
Hayes: I’ll give her a call and see what’s going on.
With my brotherly duty taken care of, I pocket the phone, yank on my hoodie, and head out. Zane’s still yapping behind me, loud as ever. The guy needs to stuff a sock in his mouth before someone does it for him.
“You boys can thank me later when I break the record. It’ll be great press for the show,” he says before tacking on, “and the team, obviously.”
“Here’s an idea—maybe you should consider quitting hockey and focusing all your attention on your little reality show,” I toss over my shoulder.
A chorus of oofs and laughter follows me down the hall.
The temperature outside the arena is cooler, tinged with that pre-winter bite of November. It cuts through the heat that simmers low inside me but doesn’t come close to touching what’s eating me alive.
Once I reach my car, I pull out my phone and fire off a few more messages before I can talk myself out of it. Then I shove the device back into my pocket. I want her to read them and remember the way my hands felt on her skin this morning.
How easily she came apart in my arms.
More than anything, I want her to think about me just as much as I think about her.
Is that even possible?
7
Rina
My mother’s voice is a steady presence in my ear as I pace my apartment, half-listening while she rattles on about the latest grants she applied for.
“If I land the Guggenheim this time, I’ll be set for the year. No teaching load, just research. It would be absolute heaven.”
“That’s great, Mom.” I balance the phone against my shoulder as I sink onto the couch and tug a throw blanket around myself. She’s always been ambitious when it came to her career, and I can’t help but admire the drive that fuels her.
“And you?” she asks breezily. “Still busy babysitting hockey players?”
I roll my eyes even though she can’t see me do it. “I don’t babysit them. I manage the Railers’ brand. There’s a difference.”
“You could do the same thing for yourself, Rina.” Her tone turns crisp, professor mode sliding into place. “You should think about opening your own agency. You’ve got the brains and the talent. Why build someone else’s empire when you could build your own? One that would last?”
Her comments strike a nerve, the way they always do, pricking at the part of me that wonders if she’s right. Still, I brush them off with practiced ease. “Maybe someday, but for right now, I’m happy with my job. I enjoy it.”