Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
I love it when he uses my full name. No one else really does. Of course, I also love it when he groans out “Pen” like the two syllables of “Penny” are simply too much for him at that moment. Hell, he could call me anything he wanted to then, and I’d respond to him.
“Ugh! You two have ruined my appetite.” Dominic huffs, pushing his bowl away as though he can’t finish it. The only problem is, he’s already eaten the whole thing and the bowl is empty. “Fine, you tell Mom and Dad.”
“They’ll be here in the morning, right?” I ask, grinning. Our parents are coming to town to watch the first-round playoff game, ready to cheer both Dominic and me on inside the Hawks arena.
“Yeah, they said they’d see us at the game because they know we have routines to maintain. Speaking of, I’m gonna break my own rule here, just this once—” He cuts his eyes left and right, pinning both Griffin and me. “No sex during playoffs. It’s bad luck and bad for endurance.”
Griffin laughs. “If you think I’m not fucking Penny as soon as we get back to my place tonight, you’ve lost your damn mind.” My brother opens his mouth to argue, but Griffin cuts him off. “You brought it up, so no whining now. But don’t worry, I’ll be good for the game.”
“Are you sure? Maybe a little sexual frustration would be good for you?” I suggest. “It’s worked all these years, and it is just one night. We could abstain, and I could not take one for the team so to speak.”
“Nope.” And like that, Griffin’s declaration tells me that it’s time to go.
“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” I tell the reflection of Griffin in my mirror. He’s sprawled out in my bed, his feet hanging off the bottom edge and his arms folded behind his head, which makes his biceps look enormous. He’s watching me put on my makeup, and not resting the way he should before such an important game.
We stayed at his place last night after dinner with Dominic, and when he got up early to go into the arena for morning skate with the team, I came home, figuring I’d see him after the game because I didn’t want to interfere with his routine. Instead, he’d come knocking on my door by noon, asking why I’d left. We’d ended up in my bed for a while, just talking and cuddling, but it takes me a lot longer to get ready than it does him, so I snuck off to shower an hour ago. He’s been watching me ever since I came back in—with my face bare, my hair wet, and wearing nothing but my favorite silky floral robe.
And yet he doesn’t care. He sees me at my rawest, and the look in his eyes is just as hot as if I were dressed my sexiest. If that doesn’t help the ol’ ego, nothing will . . . but I’m still worried about him and his routine.
“Afraid if I go to sleep, I’ll wake up and this will have all been a dream,” he confesses.
“You mispronounced nightmare,” I quip, setting down my makeup primer and turning around to face him. But he’s serious. I think this is bigger than us, or the upcoming conversation with my parents. This is about hockey. “Are you nervous about tonight’s game?”
He sighs heavily, heaving himself up to a sitting position with his elbows resting on his knees and his head hanging low. “I’ve wanted to win the Stanley Cup for my entire life. It’s been the one constant north driving me, even when life was so fucking bad that I wanted to quit everything. And now that we have a shot, I’m terrified I’m going to crash out in the first round.”
“One, I don’t think that’s going to happen. And two, what if it does?” I challenge.
He tilts his head to side eye me, deadpanning, “Your pep talks suck.”
I go over and sit down beside him on the bed. “You’ve already won, Griffin. Think back to when you first picked up a hockey stick. What did you want?”
“Stanley Cup,” he quickly answers.
“Okay, fair. But I know what Dom was like, and so I bet you wanted to go pro. You are. You wanted to play against the best of the best, and you are. You wanted to earn that cup, and you will. I have no doubt that a younger version of you will get every single one of his wishes. If it’s this season, awesome. If it’s next season, that’s okay too. You’ve wanted it, you’ve worked for it, and it’ll be yours. When it is, I’ll be screaming louder than anyone in that arena, because I am already so proud of you.”