Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
"I didn't think that," I say.
"Liar." He scoops my plate up, sauntering across the kitchen toward me. Once he reaches me, he sets it in front of me, then wraps my hair in his fist, craning my head back until it's at an angle, his eyes directly above mine. "This thing between us is just starting, beautiful. And once you're in Chicago, I'm not backing off until your heart is mine."
I swallow convulsively, a tiny surge of panic shooting through me—not because he means it. But because I think it might already be too late for that.
God help me, but I think I'm already falling for him.
Judging by the heated look in his eyes, he knows it, too. And he's freaking thrilled about it.
Chapter Eight
Briggs
By the time I get to the practice arena from the airport, I'm exhausted. Sleeping with Tia in the next room was impossible, especially after listening to her come. It's all I thought about all night.
She'd probably kill me if she knew just how many times I tried her door, just to see if it was still locked. Every time it didn't move, this strange mix of relief and frustration coursed through me, making me more jittery than ever.
Had the door been unlocked, I would have fucked her last night. My self-control was in tatters, torn to shreds by the way she moaned my name through the wall. And had I fucked her, I think she would have regretted it this morning. She isn't quite there yet.
She's close, so fucking close, but she needs time to sit with what she's feeling. She needs time to fully separate me from Daniel in her mind and process that I play hockey…but I'm not the same hockey player who destroyed her trust and her confidence.
I can be patient until then. Well, as patient as possible. Can I keep my hands to myself? As I proved this morning, absolutely the fuck not.
It's ironic, really. After weeks of wishing she were right here, right now, I'm suddenly relieved that she's in a different state for the next five days. The distance will guarantee that I can't fuck up what's between us before it even truly begins.
Will it piss me off? Hell yes. But I can live with that. I don't think I can live with moving too fast and unraveling the progress we've made.
"Well, well, well," Ryan shouts from center ice as soon as I step into the arena, his voice echoing. The sharp, familiar smell of the ice does little to clear my head. Neither does the sound of a puck ricocheting off the boards. "He's returned!"
Half the team turns to look at me.
I just shoot them a two-finger wave and head for the locker room to suit up. I'm not even halfway down the old, scuffed hallway when Karsen growls my name.
I glance up to find him at the far end, near the weight room, a scowl etched onto his face, his skates slung over his shoulder. Fuck my life.
He immediately stomps in my direction.
"What's up?" I ask, wary. Karsen is a damn good captain. He can also be a crabby bastard who rarely minces words. When he's pissed, you know it.
"Your mother was here earlier," he says.
My entire body goes rigid. "What the fuck?"
"She said she was looking for you," he mutters, stopping in front of me. "Claimed it was an emergency."
"Jesus Christ." I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Did she say what kind of emergency?"
"Nope." He eyes me sympathetically. Most of the team knows the situation with her. It's not like I've made it a secret or anything. "I told her that we'd let you know. She kept wanting to know where you were, but no one told her."
I drop my head, muttering a curse. I'd bet my left nut that there is no emergency, at least not one that matters. Her funding issue isn't my goddamn problem. But looks like she's going to keep trying to make it my issue.
"You need a restraining order, man," Karsen says.
"No shit," I mutter, tipping my head up to glare at him. "But then we have to deal with the goddamn fallout from that. You think the press won't be all over us filing a restraining order against our own mother?"
Harlan, Tye, and I are all professional athletes. Hattie is married to a professional athlete. And the press has spent too much time in our business lately with all the weddings as it is. If we file an order, they'll be all over it.
They won't stop digging until they know every sordid detail of our fucked-up family history—like how our father died leaving our mother, or how he was leaving her because she was abusive to Hattie, practically starving her because she wanted her to lose weight. It'll all be out there, and I don't want to do that to Hattie, not when she's finally fucking happy and thriving.