Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
That fragile peace is shattered as slow clapping echoes through the rink.
My eyes snap open, and ice floods my veins.
For a terrifying second, I think it’s him.
That he’s found me.
My eyes lock on green ones, and a potent concoction of relief tinged with irritation rushes through me.
Hayes Van Doren loiters near the benches, a lazy grin tugging at his lips as he takes a swig of coffee.
Our last run-in flashes through my mind. The flutter at the bottom of my belly is a shock to my system.
I haven’t felt anything like that since—
I slam the door on that thought and harden my stance.
There’s no way I’m interested in this guy.
Not even a little.
His manwhore reputation is legendary.
He’s exactly the type of guy my dad would lose his mind over if I got anywhere near. Which makes him even more dangerous. Add to that the wreckage of my past, and I’m no longer the girl who can afford a distraction.
When I remain silent, his lips lift into a crooked smile as he raises one hand in a wave before raising the container he’s holding in the other to his mouth and taking a swallow.
I continue to glare, hoping my prickly demeanor will send him scurrying. It’s become a defense mechanism. Even as that thought rolls through my brain, I realize it’s an unlikely scenario.
This guy is much too cocksure of himself.
When he doesn’t take the hint that I’m not interested in striking up a conversation or anything else he might have in mind, I skate toward him, every movement deliberate, eating up the distance between us until I stop in front of him.
That’s when I realize he’s not sipping on his own coffee.
He’s enjoying mine.
Seriously?
My brows snap together.
Who the hell does this guy think he is?
Still breathing hard from my workout, I plant my hands on my hips and scowl.
The smartest thing I can do is shut down whatever this is before it spirals any further out of control.
A little voice inside my head wonders if it’s already too late for that.
“Have you come to ask me to fall to my knees so you can…” I pause, as if trying to jog my memory, then continue, “How did you oh so charmingly put it? Stuff my mouth full of cock?”
A grin moves across his face as his eyes twinkle with humor. He doesn’t look the least bit embarrassed.
“Yeah, sorry about that. Thought you were someone else.”
I roll my eyes at the explanation. “That doesn’t make it better.”
His tongue slides over the front of his teeth as he shrugs. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.”
My pulse trips as silence thickens the air between us. I hold myself steady, refusing to let him see just how much he gets under my skin.
“So… you’re Coach’s daughter, huh?”
I lift a brow. “I’m pretty sure we established that already.”
“I didn’t even know he had a kid,” he muses, eyes gleaming with something I can’t quite place.
“Color me surprised. Is that because you’re too wrapped up in your groupies to notice?” The words fly out of my mouth before I can think better of it.
His grin widens. “Ahhh, so you know who I am.”
I bristle, realizing I’ve given him exactly what he wanted—the upper hand in this conversation.
“Stop drinking my coffee,” I snap, spinning away and skating back toward the center of the ice.
“See you around, Tink.” His low and amused chuckle follows me as the sound vibrates through the empty arena and settles somewhere deep in my core. I refuse to turn around, even as I feel the tug of it.
The last thing I need is to encourage him.
After a few silent minutes, curiosity wins out, and I peek over my shoulder, only to find the benches empty.
I should be relieved.
Instead, disappointment bubbles up inside me, unwanted and annoying.
I force myself to skate through my routine two more times, trying to lose myself in the movement, but it’s useless.
His easy grin keeps popping into my head.
As soon as exhaustion sets in, I skate back to the benches and reach for my coffee, only to find the container empty.
Grrr.
6
Hayes
With my duffel slung over my shoulder, I push through the front door of the two-story Victorian I share with Ryder, Bridger, Maverick, Riggs, and Colby. Scratch that. Colby’s off playing house, married to Britt, a singer-slash-reality star who was once in hiding but is now living her life out in the open.
There’ve been more plot twists and shocking reveals around here than in a freaking soap opera.
Since Colby packed up, Bridger’s cousin Steele moved into the room. The house is still a rotating door of teammates, friends, and, of course, girls.
Tonight is no different.
A group of the younger guys are kicking back in the living room, cold brews in hand, eyes glued to the video game playing out on the high-def 70-inch screen. Half a dozen girls are mixed in, draped over the furniture.