Series: Torn and Bound Duet Series by K. Webster
Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“What happened, Drew? Why did you leave the NHL?”
His blue eyes that had been shining with a mixture of love and lust dim. He completely shuts down, avoiding eye contact. What the hell happened?
I know it’s not because he lost his ability to play or some shit like that.
Drew is fucking amazing on the ice.
The very best.
It’s something else. Something he’s ashamed of. He did something, I think. But that makes no sense because he’s so by the book about everything.
Except us.
He breaks the rules of his coaching position by being with me.
Definitely not by the book there.
I shove that thought down and run my fingers through his messy hair. “Drew,” I rumble. “You can talk to me.”
Pain flashes in his eyes before he slams them shut. As though he can block out my questions and the world around him. Whatever happened kills him.
I could push and probe, because that’s what we do, but not now. Not when he’s so fucking vulnerable and sad. I’ll tug this information out of him eventually. Leaning forward, I press a kiss to his mouth that felt so good around my dick, and his eyes pop back open.
“Tell me when you’re ready. Might not be today or tomorrow or next week, but you’ll tell me because not only are we this now”—I wave at our naked bodies tangled together—“but you’re my best friend in the whole goddamn world.”
He nods. “I’m sorry.”
Rather than let him feel like shit, I palm the back of his neck and draw him to me for another kiss. We’re just getting hot and heavy again, our dicks hard and pressed together, when we hear voices.
Fuck.
By the time it registers, Drew barely has a chance to pull the covers over our bodies when someone fills the doorway.
“Holy shit,” Ashton says, gripping the top of the doorframe as he leans into Drew’s room. “I leave you two unattended for two hours and look at the trouble you get yourselves into.”
Beautiful fucking Mia peeks her head around him, her brown eyes widening in shock at the scene before her.
“Oh. Oh my God. Ashton, leave them alone,” she chokes out, her arms going around his waist to pull him away.
Ashton is wearing one of his devious smirks, but his hazel eyes are gleaming with an emotion I can’t quite put my finger on. Not jealousy. Because he has Mia. Right? Not anger because we’re cool now. It certainly isn’t fucking happiness, that much I do know.
“If you guys are done fucking, put some clothes on and come hang out with MiMi and me.” His gaze lingers for a moment longer before he releases the top of the doorframe to grab Mia and toss her over his shoulder, making her squeal with laughter.
“I guess there’s no hiding what we just did,” I say with a nervous chuckle.
Drew gives me a quick peck to my lips. “I don’t want to hide what we just did. Felt pretty damn good to me. Long overdue too.”
We crawl out of bed and I throw on some St. Louis Blues sweats I find folded neatly on the dresser. Drew smirks at me but doesn’t tell me no. He grabs another pair from the drawer and throws them on. I’m too hot for a shirt, so I head into the living room to see what Mia and Ashton are up to while Drew makes a beeline for the bathroom.
“Where’s Mia?” I ask, scanning the space.
“Ran next door to change,” Ashton says, not looking up from whatever he’s doing in the kitchen. “You two kids have fun?”
I walk into the kitchen to find him cutting oranges. “Yeah. How was your date?”
His eyes cut over to mine, a smile playing at his lips. “We didn’t have a happy ending like yours, but I did feed my girl.”
“Hopefully lots of carbs,” I tease, stepping closer to steal an orange wedge.
He stiffens and his hazel eyes take on the despondent look they had all week. “I fucked up with her, man. It should have been me who went to see her.”
I try not to take offense at his words. What Mia and I shared that weekend was amazing. I don’t regret one second of it. “But it wasn’t. I made sure she was okay.”
Rather than get jealous, his shoulders hunch. “Thanks for that. Was her mom really a witch?”
A disgusted snort escapes me. “She’s more than a witch. She’s a rotten, evil cunt. I fucking hate her mom.”
Fiery eyes meet mine. “I’m glad you were there to protect her from that horrible woman.”
“Me too.” I bring the orange wedge up to my lips and bite down.
Ashton’s gaze peruses from my mouth to my pectorals to my naval and then he shakes his head, continuing on his task.
“What are you making?”
“Bahama Mamas. Apparently some douchebag was after my rum.” He points his knife at the bottle on the counter. “MiMi wanted something fruity, so I figured I’d please everyone.” His eyes are once again taking in the way I eat the orange.