Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 22733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
“You really are a work horse.” He smirks, shaking his head as he walks over to the wall-mounted resistance cables. “I guess it’s time to give the people what they want, sunshine.” He grabs the handles, then steps back until the heavy bands are taut across his back. His feet are shoulder-width apart, thighs flexing, and he begins to pull his left arm back in a slow, controlled motion that makes every muscle flex.
Click. Click.
“Keep your jaw set like that. Now look slight to the left.” I raise my camera, step closer to get the right angle, and say, “Perfect.”
“Like this?” he mutters. He does another heavy pull, turning his head so his profile is illuminated perfectly. “Am I soft enough for you yet?”
“You’re getting there,” I tease, stepping up to his flank to capture the sweat beginning to bead at his collarbone. “Though a smile would convince them.”
“I only smile when I get what I want, Jett.” He pauses mid-rep, turning his gaze directly at me.
“And what’s that?” The question slips from my tongue before my brain turns on a filter. He holds the band, keeping it steady with one arm, his breath coming in a low, even cadence as he looks down at me, his eyes dropping deliberately to my mouth before his teeth catch on his bottom lip.
“You know what I want,” he rasps quietly, so low that Doc can’t hear over the sound of the ice machine across the room. “And it has nothing to do with a better public image.” I stand there, completely undone by the sheer weight of his focus, forcing a small smile as I tap the camera screen to save the video.
“Okay, back to work.” I’m rewarded with a deep, throaty laugh as he lets the resistance handles move back into place. He grabs a gray towel off the rack, throws it over his shoulder, and moves to another area in the room.
“Whatever you say, boss lady. Don’t forget we’re on the road bright and early tomorrow, and you’re with me.” I’m greeted with his back as he makes his way out of the treatment room. I’m supposed to be taming his wild reputation, but as I trail after him, I’m realizing the only thing that’s going to be ruined is my ironclad rule.
SEVEN
ROWDY
My shoulder gives a faint twinge as I haul my heavy duffel bag over my good side, but for the first time in months, it’s not a warning sign. Doc officially cleared me yesterday afternoon. No more daily PT sessions, only maintenance, stretching, and basic exercises whenever it feels tight. I’m as close to one hundred percent as an enforcer can be, but after the hours of travel time, my entire body feels like it’s been hit by a damn freight train.
All day, we’ve been on the move, flying out of Houston with the rest of the team, a long haul with a lot of turbulence, and by the time our chartered flight touched down in Seattle, Jett and I were dead on our feet.
“You know, normally when I’m in Seattle, I stay at my cousin and his wife’s house or with a friend,” she mentions as we walk through the doors of the hotel. “But since I’m working, it looks like you’re stuck to me like glue.” I look over my shoulder and nod my head, giving her the high sign to move next to me. My hand slips to her lower back once she’s where it’s easier to talk to her. Jett’s dark hair is slightly rumpled from sleeping against the window on the plane, her black leather jacket is slung over her shoulders, and her camera is tucked away in her backpack on top of a rolling suitcase that I’m wheeling in for her.
“Hi, welcome, can I have your name, sir?” the hotel clerk asks when we make our way to the front desk.
“Bouchard and Monroe.” I look down at Jett. Exhaustion is written all over her face, a far cry from her usual razor-sharp focus.
“Here you are, Mr. Bouchard. Room 912 facing the water and a king bed like you requested.” She slides the keycard across the counter. “Hmm, let me double-check one more time.”
“Is everything okay?” Jett asks.
“Well, I can’t find your reservation,” the receptionist says with her eyebrows furrowed and a look of what I can only assume is worry.
“It might be under the coach, Mitch,” I offer.
“I guess I can stay with friends after all.” Jett shrugs her shoulders. I don’t voice my opinion. I damn sure think it, though, and that thought is Mitch would throw a goddamn conniption fit.
“It doesn’t look like we have a room in your name or under your name of the hockey team at all.” Jett looks from the clerk to me, and then back at the clerk, biting her lower lip.