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)
“I set the damn house alarm off again,” she says in frustration. “I keep forgetting about it. Just now I opened the side door to take the garbage out, and then it’s shrieking at me. The freaking alarm company calls and I tell them it’s a false alarm, so I have to give them a password to prove it. I couldn’t find the paperwork, as I couldn’t remember the password. It’s just…frustrating.”
Her last words come out clipped and I know she thinks I went overboard on security at her house, but I couldn’t help it. That Nanette chick is a psychopath. I was not happy to be flying to the East Coast for almost an entire week and leaving Brooke behind to fend for herself if Nanette didn’t get on a plane bound for New York liked I’d hoped. The way she flipped out and the violence was one thing, but she was also coldly calculating in her attempt to seduce me so she could hurt Brooke. It’s just fucking scary.
“You’ll get used to it,” I assure her. “In a few days, you’ll be a pro at it.”
“I suppose,” she says glumly, but then it’s as if a light is switched on. “But hey…you played so good tonight. Two goals and an assist. You are on fire.”
Chuckling, I tap my thumb on my knee. “Yeah…well, I was just on tonight. Sometimes you are just way in the zone, and I was there.”
“I’m proud of you,” she says. A warm sensation spreads through me from her praise. It really means something to me.
“What are you doing tonight?” I ask her. “Wearing anything sexy by any chance?”
“I’ll lie to you and say I’m wearing a red lace teddy with fishnet stockings and stiletto heels. Do you like?”
“I definitely like,” I rumble into the phone. “But seriously…what are you doing?”
“I’m actually doing some work,” she says, and I hear an enthusiasm in her voice that I’ve not quite heard before. It’s as if her spirit has lightened somewhat.
“Tell me about it,” I say, wanting to know exactly what my girl’s doing that’s got her feeling good.
And I listen to her talk to me about a new line of apparel that they hope to roll out in the winter and how she’ll be responsible for helping to pick fabrics and setting production schedules. All the things I never thought twice about when I wore a Vengeance T-shirt or a baseball cap. How in the hell that shit was made?
It’s pretty cool, actually.
She eventually winds down, guiltily apologizing to me. “Ugh…I’m sorry to ramble on like that.”
“Don’t be sorry. I enjoyed learning about that stuff. I enjoy learning about you, Brooke, so don’t apologize. Keep it coming.”
She gets very quiet and I’m wondering if I said something wrong. Before I can inquire, she says, “I don’t think this is a fake relationship anymore, is it?”
“Not in the slightest,” I agree with her. A satisfied smile she can’t see but can probably hear in my voice takes over my face. “Is that okay by you?”
“You know…I think it is.”
* * *
—
Tacker had come out of the bathroom not long after I’d hung up with Brooke. He’s dressed similarly to me in a pair of loose shorts and a T-shirt. I decided to end the call because she actually had work to do and it was a little after midnight and I was exhausted. I’m sure Tacker is too. He’s been playing at peak performance level, but it sure takes it out of you on the physical side, especially right after a game.
But he sort of putters around, rearranging the items in his suitcase, and taking a few moments here and there to text someone. I figure if he’s not ready to turn out the lights yet, I might as well try to get to know the dude.
“So where did you end up getting a place to live?” I ask him, figuring I’d delve into something personal—not dealing with hockey, but not too nosy.
“Apartment over off Ridge,” he mutters as he uses his thumb to scroll through something on his phone. “It’s about a five-minute drive to the arena.”
“Cool,” I say, and wait to see if he elaborates or offers more.
He doesn’t.
“Had a chance to explore the area?” I ask him. “Brooke and I did some hiking over at Papago Park and it was pretty amazing.”
“Nah.” He looks up, cuts me a brief glance, and then bends over to hook his phone into the charger plugged in beside his bed.
“I heard there was some good restaurants over that way.”
“Not much for eating out.”
Tacker pulls back the covers on his bed and sits on the edge, taking his phone back in his hands. His thumb swipes in quick succession, right to left. He doesn’t say anything else and I want to bang my head. He’s now officially become a challenge to me.