Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
All in all, it’s far too formal for my taste but that doesn’t make it any less beautiful.
I’m nearly bowled over when three little boys whiz by, chasing each other with empty wrapping paper tubes. I grin as Drake’s kids hurtle past a round table holding a translucent vase, nearly hitting it with one of the tubes. My grin goes wider as Drake appears from nowhere and snatches two of the kids by their shirt collars and calls a halt to the other. They all three sheepishly hand over the tubes to their dad whose glare isn’t intimidating at all. I met the little rug rats last week when Drake brought them by the arena.
“Bain,” someone calls out, and I turn to see Stevie with Hendrix holding her hand.
I walk over to them, standing just inside what looks to be a formal parlor. I get a bro hug from Hendrix and a real hug from Stevie. I’ve gotten to know her well this past month, especially since we’ve been hanging at her bar quite a bit in our off time. I admire the spitfire of a woman who isn’t afraid to break up a brawl in her establishment.
And well, Hendrix… he’s fucking over the moon about this woman. I think his days as a single guy are truly over.
“Some house, huh?” I say, glancing around.
Stevie leans into me and whispers, “I feel like I’m in a museum.”
“Exactly my thought.” I glance around, then back to Hendrix and, in particular, the drink in his hand. “Where’re the libations?”
He points across the foyer to another large room that houses more expensive-looking furniture. “There’s an open bar. All top-shelf liquor.” He then points past the staircase. “Dining room is laid out with a buffet. Try the tenderloin. You will not be disappointed.”
“And the shrimp,” Stevie chimes in.
“I’ll hit the bar first. Catch you two later.”
I meander into the other room, stopping to talk to some players. I’ve been able to meet a lot of the significant others since I’ve been here, but not all of them. At the bar, I order Blanton’s neat and tip the bartender a twenty. She hands over my drink and I turn slightly, lifting the glass to my lips.
A thrilling zing of excitement sizzles through me as a woman walks into the room from another entrance that looks to lead from a music room. She’s tall but curvy, her body accentuated by a pair of well-fitting dark jeans tucked into black boots that come up over her knees. The heels are thin pegs of four-inch sexiness. Her cranberry sweater is one of those fuzzy ones that you know would feel like heaven against your skin, and I’m a fucking lecherous dude so I can’t help but notice how nice her breasts look in it.
Dark blue eyes scan the room casually, not as if she’s looking for anyone in particular but just checking out the scene. I’m a sucker for blonds and her long hair, ribboned with highlights, falls over her shoulders.
As much as blonds do it for me, her mouth is catching my attention more than anything. Full lips shiny with gloss, and as she smiles at someone who walks by, I see her teeth are perfectly straight and gleaming white. She could definitely pass for a supermodel and I can only assume she’s a girlfriend of one of the guys… or a puck bunny.
In either case, that would make her off-limits to me, but until such time as I confirm she belongs to someone else, I can’t help but be drawn toward her.
Winding my way through the crowd, her gaze turns to me as I approach. And she doesn’t just meet my eyes but rather checks me out. I’m talking about full-blown, slow visual roam over my face, down my chest, past my hips to my legs and then a leisurely climb back up so that by the time we’re staring at each other, she has me feeling a bit hot under the collar.
And fuck me to high heaven, she bites her lower lip just briefly, as if she’s considering something about me.
I need to know what it is.
When I come toe to toe with her, I can see she’s even taller than I first thought, although those boots have something to do with it. Regardless, I like that she doesn’t have to break her neck to look up at me as I top out at six foot seven. She has to be at least five ten herself.
Pointing upward, I say, “It must be fate.”
She appears confused as her eyes lift to the spray of holly leaves, cranberries and tucked inside… mistletoe. It’s hanging on the archway that opens between the two rooms.
The woman tilts her head, brows furrowed. “Fate?”
“That’s mistletoe.” I point upward again. “It’s good luck to kiss under it.”