Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
None of that, though, changes the fact that she’s actually a nice woman. She and Erik sat at another table during dinner, but I noticed that no one really talked to her. She would sometimes insert herself into the conversation, but was often glossed over. She got looks of veiled disgust from the women sitting at their table, and it was clear that they were snubbing her and probably only because she was so overtly sexy.
Therefore, after dinner, I suggested Bishop go hang out with some of the players to help calm down the tide of swirling rumors that were sure to be circulating after we showed up hand in hand. I immediately sought out Sarah, who was standing by herself in the bar area. She looked visibly relieved when I approached her.
Turns out that she just moved to the area from Detroit and loves it here. She was a huge fan of their hockey team, the Cardinals. Sarah’s actually quite knowledgeable about the sport, and we’ve been talking about it. Occasionally I glance at Bishop as he hangs with a group of players. His eyes sometimes wander over to me and it makes my belly flutter when he smiles at me.
Eventually Bishop breaks away from the group and heads to the bar. I’m surprised when he makes his way over to Tacker, who is sitting by himself.
I know all about Tacker Hall. Because I’m not into professional hockey in a deeply vested way but rather as more of an exuberant fan of my father’s team, he and I don’t talk a lot about his job. But since coming to Phoenix, he has opened up to me somewhat about his concerns about Tacker’s place on this team. I think my father feels Tacker’s sadness keenly, since he’s feeling much the same way after we lost my mom seven months ago.
While my father had some input into the players they chose in the expansion draft, his concerns about Tacker joining the team—mainly about him fitting into a competitive dynamic—were not heeded by the management.
This was ultimately okay, because by the end of training camp this week, my father saw real potential in Tacker to actually be a leader. His emotionally withdrawn demeanor apparently does not play out on the ice. The man is clearly still tortured about losing his fiancée, and that’s evidenced by the way he closes himself off, seeking solitude rather than socialization.
But my dad had disclosed confidentially to me today that he was going to name Tacker as the captain. Like my father, I’m hopeful that this will help to continue to draw him out so he can start truly living life again.
Not wanting to ignore Sarah, I turn back to her and ask, “How did you meet Erik?”
Her eyes light up with excitement, twinkling orbs of blue as she gushes, “I met him at a bar last night. And well, the attraction was instantaneous.”
Her cheeks get a little pink and I can see slight embarrassment in her expression, but it doesn’t stop her from admitting to me, “Actually…we sort of had sex in the bathroom. Sorry if that sounds whorish, but I’d never met a hockey star before.”
I smile at her in understanding. “Hey, it’s cool by me. Sex is great as long as it’s safe.”
I wasn’t about to tell her that we actually have quite a bit in common, since I slept with Bishop the first night I met him. Clearly I’m not opposed to one-night stands, but I think I will keep that information to myself.
I quickly change subjects. “What do you do for a living, Sarah?”
“I’m studying to get my real estate license, but I work as a bartender in the meantime. I was actually working last night when I met Erik.”
I turn slightly to look back over at Bishop, and now I’m surprised to see my father standing there with him and Tacker. I wonder if my dad is telling Tacker that he’s going to be the team’s captain.
“So you and Bishop seem like a great couple,” Sarah says to me, and it forces my gaze back to her.
I really hate not looking at Bishop. He is extraordinarily handsome tonight in a gray suit so dark it could pass for black, but it has thin threads of light blue running vertically in a wide, plaid pattern. He paired it with a pale blue shirt and a blue and yellow tie. It must be an unwritten rule, but hockey players clean up very, very well. Again, he wears his long hair swept back from his face and perfectly held in place by some type of miracle hair product. I have to find out what it is, because when my fingers get into his hair, it’s not stiff or sticky but feels just fabulously thick and soft.