Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
The WAGs are already here in force. A gaggle of women laugh and gossip by the bar, several more are gathered in the middle of the seating area, whispering furtively behind their hands, and two leggy women in tiny miniskirts pick at carrot sticks at one of the café tables.
I spot three older women seated to my far left—mothers of the players, maybe?
I decide they’re the least intimidating clique and start that way, only to be intercepted by the carrot stick duo.
“Hey! Are you Charlotte?” A twenty something blonde in a crop top with “TORRANCE IS THE GOAT” bedazzled across the front bounds in front of me with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever. “Torrance said Baylor’s new girl would be here, and I should be sure to say hi.”
“Hi. Yes, that’s me.” I extend my hand, mustering a smile. “And you are?”
“Sierra!” She clasps my palm in both of hers, her acrylic nails sharp against my skin. “Torrance and I have been together for eight months. Almost nine. It’s so crazy how time flies when you’re in love, right?”
“It really is,” I say, managing to suppress my middle-aged cynicism, but just barely. I do remember that time flew when I was in love, but mostly because Teddy was so hot and cold that it kept me in a constant state of anxiety.
“This is Luce.” Sierra gestures to the second woman—mid-twenties, dark hair in a sleek ponytail, wearing designer jeans and a Voodoo jersey knotted at her waist, showing off her toned stomach.
Luce’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes as she rasps, “Hey. I’m Zane’s girlfriend. He’s new. Offense. Just traded to the Voodoo this year. We saw the princess thing on Insta, by the way. So cute. Great publicity.”
“Thank you.” I glance around, wondering if I should find a seat or not. “It was for a good cause.”
“Come on, sit with us!” Sierra grabs my arm, bouncing us both to the closest couch. “The couches are so much more comfortable than the other seats. And this way you can sit crisscross applesauce if you want.” She settles in beside me, kicking off her sandals before crossing her long, tanned legs. “I have to get comfortable before I go live, or the vibes are all off.”
I blink. “Live?”
Luce settles on Sierra’s other side, pulling out her phone. “We’re doing a joint live story for the opener. Engagement has been insane this week, so we want to be sure to build on the momentum, you know?”
I make a vague sound of agreement. I have an active social media presence for the business—you can’t get away with ignoring social media these days—but it’s something I leave to my PR girl. I have enough on my plate at work without worrying about creating content while I’m knee-deep in customer service and vendor wrangling.
Sierra angles her phone, checking her reflection in the camera. “Okay, so I’m thinking we chat about what it’s like in the WAG VIP room, show them the bar and everything. And then grab some of the warm-ups, especially the goalies humping the ice.”
Luce lets out a throaty laugh. “For sure. They can’t get enough of that shit.”
“What filter are you using?” Sierra’s lips turn down. “I feel like my usual is making me too pale. And my eyes look weird.”
“Yeah, that one doesn’t pop in this kind of light,” Luce says, scrolling through her phone. “Try the sun-kissed glam. We don’t want to look pale now that we’re bikini queens.”
“So true!” Sierra taps at her screen with a soft squeal. “I’m so glad One Hundred Degrees wanted us both! How perfect is that!” Seeming to remember, I’m alive, she glances my way with a smile. “We’re both influencers for our favorite swimsuit brand. I’m so psyched.”
“And it’ll give us a reason to stay bikini-ready through the season,” Luce agrees. “I’m determined not to let the holiday plump fuck me this winter. It cost me at least four figures last year, I swear.”
They dive into a conversation about engagement metrics, sponsored content, and ways to circumvent the new “bullshit algo that suppresses everything,” which sounds exhausting. I work hard, but I honestly would rather be dragged naked across burning coals than have to worry about pleasing an algorithm.
Anyone who thinks the machines haven’t already won is kidding themselves…
I turn my attention to the ice, where the players are trickling out for warm-ups. I scan the jerseys, looking for Nix’s number.
My heart jerks as I spot him.
There he is, gliding across the ice with a mixture of confidence and grace that’s ridiculously sexy…
But then, mastery is always hot, and it’s obvious in the way he moves that he knows exactly what he’s doing on the ice. He knows exactly what he’s doing off the ice, too, a fact that has had me reaching for my vibrator more often in the past week than I have in months.