Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
After a theatrical pause, Maeve blows on her unpolished fingernails. “Asher built me an art studio.”
“Wesley built me a library,” Josie adds, in her own not-so-subtle brag.
Isla holds up her hands. “Okay, okay, we get it. Your men are obsessed with you.” Just then, Rowan skates by on the ice, glancing up at Isla. Is he bowerbirding for her? I’ll have to ask her sometime.
Leighton cuts in, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and meeting my eyes. “So…how is it working out living with a guy who’s been into you since last season?”
I jerk my face toward her. “What?”
“Oh, come on,” she says. “When you did your in-game performance, he could not take his eyes off you.”
“I was engaged,” I say, but inside my heart is beating fast. Is this true?
“Remember that picture I took of you after? The man was so eager to stand next to you…” Leighton grabs her phone and flicks through photos at Mach speed, finally landing on a shot of me in a blue—bedazzled—skating costume standing next to Tyler in the tunnel after a game. I reshared the promo shot at the time, but I look with new eyes at the way his arm wraps around my shoulder.
“Really?” I wish I sounded less breathless.
Isla leans closer, tapping my knee. “So how is it, then, living with the guy you wanted to do unholy things to earlier in the summer? Who maybe still wants to do those things to you?”
I groan, pressing my hands to my face as I slump in my seat. Of course they know about my Night of a 1001 Confessions. I have no filter around them, and my so-called friends love it. I lower my hands. “The job is great,” I say firmly, trying to steer the conversation back to neutral territory.
Skylar snorts. “Yeah, I don’t think she was asking about the job.”
Heat rushes to my face as memories of last night flood back—offering to massage Tyler, touching his shoulders, running my hands over his back. I was bold. With Chad, I was never bold. Everything with him was so ordinary. But Tyler? Every moment feels supercharged. He brings out something wild in me, and I just want to touch him. Slide my hands along his beard. Tug his shirt off. See if he has tattoos. Does he? I need to know.
My face burns hotter, and Isla smiles like she’s won the lottery. “Guess I don’t need to offer my matchmaking services to you, then.” She pats Skylar on the shoulder. “But maybe Skylar can help you two decorate a bower together.”
My friends are too much, and they all break into laughter. “Do I even get to say anything?” I ask as warmups start in earnest on the ice.
But before anyone answers, a few rows up, a group of women start singing “Daddy’s Home.” That’s Tyler’s fan song, and my gaze snaps to the rink as Number Forty-Four skates past the glass. He does a double take when he spies my sparkly jersey. Even from a couple of rows away, I can see his brows lift my way.
Leighton leans closer, her grin as sharp as ever. “I don’t think you need to say anything. It’s crystal clear.” Then, with a note of seriousness that softens her usual teasing, she adds, “But how are you going to handle working for him and living under the same roof?”
Isla gives me a sympathetic look too. “She’s right. That can’t be easy. But we know this job is important to you. We want to help you figure it out,” she says, always a problem solver.
And suddenly, the mood shifts. Not quite somber, but a reminder of the stakes. If I lose this job to lust, what would I do? Go back to the Garlic Palace? Fine, it’s not the worst fate in the world. But this job gives me the freedom to keep growing my coaching business.
I can’t lose it by throwing myself at my boss again.
“It’s fine,” I say, trying to convince myself. “I’m ridiculously, insanely, outrageously attracted to him,” I say, because why deny it? “But I also used to get up at four-thirty a.m. every day to skate growing up. This girl has discipline.”
I turn my focus to the game, cheering as the Sea Dogs attack the puck from the first puck drop. Tyler blocks shot after shot and when he pushes his opponents around, a primal thrill rushes through my chest.
I remind myself: I am disciplined. I am disciplined. I am disciplined.
But when Tyler pushes someone into the boards with that delicious scowl? My discipline is definitely on thin ice.
Before the game ends, I say goodbye to my friends and head to the family suite to gather the kids. I thank Lauren again for helping out. “Please,” she says. “Thank you for giving me a little extra time with the grandkids.”