Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
She was the reason I’d been traded. You did that to yourself, and you got over it. Besides, it’s not like she can get you fired or anything this time.
Great, now the ache in my chest was weighing in, trying to combat the logic.
She was one hell of a distraction, and I couldn’t afford that right now. Your game hasn’t suffered.
She lived in New York City and loved it, and I didn’t. Long-distance relationships never worked out. Everyone knew that.
My heart went silent.
“I think you can let go,” she said, stirring me from my thoughts.
“Okay.” I let her fingers slide through mine but stayed close as she skated on her own, pushing with her feet just like I’d shown her. “I think you might have it!”
“Think I can spin?” she asked with excited eyes and a smile wider than any I’d seen from her.
“I’d—”
She twisted on the skates and slipped.
I dove, managing to throw my body under hers as we fell to the ice in a tangle of arms and legs. She landed on my chest, her eyes wide before she sputtered out a laugh.
“Oops!”
I shook my head. “I probably should have explained the difference between hockey skates and figure skates, but hey, I guess you spun a little.”
“Thanks for catching me.” She lowered her head to mine and kissed me, her tongue sliding past my lips as she deepened it.
I let her have the control for all of five seconds before threading my fingers through the curls at the nape of her neck and kissing her until we were both panting and breathless. I fucking loved kissing her.
“Hey!” Asher yelled from somewhere in the rink. “Stop fucking around with your seven-million-dollar-a-year body and no helmet! And quit melting my ice while you’re at it!”
“Got it!” I called back, knowing I’d catch hell for it later. “What do you say I get these skates off you, and we make the most of our one night?” I asked Bristol. “We’ll order dinner in. You’ve more than earned your half hour, and I can’t think of a better dessert than the one right between your thighs.”
Color bloomed in her cheeks as she stared at my mouth. “Deal.”
I’d never unlaced my skates that fast in my life.
12
Bristol
“I understand that,” I snapped, totally done with this call. “But I don’t agree with it. I’m not one to exploit my friends, and the fact that you’ve called for that purpose truly shows the kind of business you do. I, nor my company, want anything to do with you.” Adrenaline raced through my veins as the elevator doors opened up to my apartment, and I stomped inside. I tossed my purse on the couch, shaking my head. “And you can bet your ass I’ll tell everyone I know just what kind of person you are. Call me again, and I’ll call the detective my brother keeps on retainer.” I quickly hung up before he could get a word in.
Cormac’s eyebrows climbed up his head as he rounded the corner—coming from my balcony patio outside—and I was so furious I couldn’t even register the shock that he’d actually used the key card I’d given him two weeks ago.
“Is this a safe space?” he teased, and I barked out a dark laugh that was immediately followed by a choked sobbing sound. Cormac’s arms were around me in an instant, and I fell into the embrace. “Hey,” he said, nudging me back enough to look down into my tearful eyes. “I know you missed me but tears? I thought you were better than that, Duchess.”
I snort-laughed, shaking my head. “I hate that I cry when I’m furious.”
He laughed, releasing me when I needed to pace. “I think it’s pretty cute.” I flashed him a glare, and he raised his hands in defense. “Want to tell me what that was about?” he asked. “You came in here sounding like you were ready to kill someone.”
I blew out a breath, my heels clicking against the tile as I paced the length before him. “It’s David Coolridge,” I sighed. “He’s gone from subtly demanding my best friend’s new contact information to downright demanding it.”
“I have no idea who that is,” he said, his voice low, patient.
“Grace?” I tilted my head, and he laughed.
“No, the David guy.”
“Oh,” I said, rolling my eyes at myself. “He’s the CFO over at Coolridge Gear.”
“The camping stuff?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Anyway, he dated Grace a few months ago, and she kicked him to the curb the second she realized he was a misogynistic prick. She had to change her phone number and everything.” All things I didn’t know until about a week ago when Grace had finally admitted to me why she’d been so snarky toward people with money lately. I hated that she felt she needed to keep it to herself, but I understood at the same time since most of my circle of friends had the kind of money—or more than—David Coolridge did. “Anyway,” I said, still fuming. “He realized who she was to me and has been trying everything under the sun to get me to fold and give him her info. Which, fuck that. He can threaten my reputation and business all he wants. I’m not some scared little girl.”