Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Ty swiveled toward me, his brow creased in confusion. “What?”
“You heard me.” I dusted my hands and folded my arms across my chest. “That’s my dirt. It’s not something I share lightly so…there you go. Please keep that information to yourself. I’ll check in with Robin and get back to you to set an appointment. Let me show you out.”
He caught my arm, blocking the door with his huge body. “Wait up. Are you serious?”
“Very much so.”
I sidled around Ty and hustled down the stairs.
He met me in the foyer, frown lines etched in his forehead in deep grooves. “I don’t believe you.”
“That’s fine.” I shrugged nonchalantly.
“You’re telling me that Ketchum Clomsky, one of the greatest players in NHL history is your dad?”
I doubted my father was ever considered the “greatest ever,” but okay… “Yes.”
Ty scratched his temple and shook his head. “That’s kind of a big fucking deal.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah, Clomsky’s my hero. I slept in his jersey when I was a kid, and I had a poster of him over my bed. The one where he’s shaving ice, staring at the camera like a beast. I think my mom moved it to my closet after I left home for college. She wouldn’t throw it away. She knows my hockey collection is sacred and—”
“That’s nice,” I cut him off. “I’ll contact you tomorrow at the latest.”
Ty didn’t budge. He studied me like a bug under a microscope, leaning against the jamb, arms crossed. “If it’s true, why doesn’t everyone know?”
“I don’t want everyone to know. It’s my secret and according to your warped calculations, we’re even now.”
“It’s a weird thing to lie about.”
“Agreed, but I’m not lying.” I gritted my teeth. “It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not. I just don’t want you to blab. Do I have your word?”
Ty huffed. “Literally, no one would believe me anyway. Can I ask another question?”
“May I ask, not can I ask,” I corrected irritably. “And no, you may not. I have things to do. Good day to you.”
“You’re an awkward little asshole, Woodrow.”
“Well…” I sputtered. “Ditto.”
He studied me for a long moment, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…I kinda like you.”
“Yeah, well…I don’t like you.”
Ty stepped into my space. My small foyer suddenly felt like an oven—too hot, too cramped. I immediately lost my train of thought. He was still smiling, but it was wolfish and wicked and almost scary. And was it my imagination, or was he even closer now? I could see specks of gold in his blue eyes and the jagged white lines of an old scar above his right brow.
He leaned in as if to whisper something. And maybe I was under a spell, because against all good reason, I leaned in too. I could feel his breath on my lips and the heat from his body. He smelled like spearmint gum and a woodsy cologne and…now my heart was in my throat, and my vision was blurry.
Something was about to happen. Something big.
I could feel it coming, but I wasn’t sure of the source. Was it me, was it him? Did it matter?
A nanosecond later, we crashed into each other, our mouths fused like two magnets in a mashed up kiss.
Oh. My. God.
I was kissing Ty Czerniak.
Ty Czerniak was kissing me.
His lips were soft and pliant and molded perfectly to mine. There was no aggression, no fight, no push or pull…just a steady connection.
And then it was gone.
He straightened, knitting his brow with a finger on his bottom lip. “What was that?”
“I don’t know,” I choked out, still reeling.
“Did we just…kiss?”
“Maybe?”
“Huh.”
With that, Ty dug his keys from his pocket, opened the door, and headed to the black Jeep parked at the curb.
I watched him slide dark sunglasses on his nose and turn on the engine, making the mundane tasks look impossibly cool. Darn him for making a liar out of me. I wanted to dislike Ty for being so difficult and pigheaded, but I understood his misgivings, and yes…that lip-lock confused the heck out of me.
What was that? Had we really kissed?
No, it was frustration. That had to be it. We’d both been worked up for different reasons, simmering angrily until we’d boiled over and…kissed.
Okay, that didn’t make sense.
Nothing about my reaction to Ty Czerniak made sense. I already regretted sharing that sacred bit of intel. I should have kept my gob shut, but…the cat was out of the bag. Let’s hope it didn’t come back to bite me in the butt.
CHAPTER 9
TY
We scheduled the interview for the following Thursday afternoon. According to Walker, now that I was a willing participant versus a flight risk, promoting my appearance was paramount—his words, not mine. He tagged me on a zillion social media posts featuring cringy headlines like “Chat With Ty the Hockey Guy” or “Smithton’s Hockey Hero Tells All.”