Total pages in book: 14
Estimated words: 13963 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 70(@200wpm)___ 56(@250wpm)___ 47(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 13963 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 70(@200wpm)___ 56(@250wpm)___ 47(@300wpm)
Go Wildcats!
Ever since Riggs started playing hockey in first grade, I’ve been a diehard fan. I’ve only missed a handful of games over the years and love watching him on the ice. He looks larger than life on skates and with the shoulder pads. His dark hair, longer than usual, peeks out from the back of his helmet.
It’s sexy.
As soon as a shiver dances down my spine, I shove those disturbing thoughts from my head and refocus my attention on my date. Nick keeps pace with me as I ground to a halt outside the front door. I’m more than ready to say goodnight.
This date has turned out to be a total bust.
I give it two out of five stars along with a solid would not recommend.
Only wanting to put an end to this evening, I mentioned several times on the way over that he didn’t need to walk me to the door, but he insisted.
Nick nods toward the house as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “So, you live here?”
“Nope. A pipe burst in my apartment this morning, so I’m staying with a friend for a couple days.” My fingers wrap around the door handle as I pop it open a few inches. “I mentioned it earlier when you picked me up.”
His gaze flickers my way before he cranes his neck to get a better look at the mayhem ensuing inside. “Oh, yeah. Right. Must have slipped my mind.”
Or you just didn’t care enough to pay attention.
Instead of inviting him inside, I force a smile. It took less than fifteen minutes in his company to realize it wasn’t going to work out. The only thing we have in common is that we’re both hockey fans. But there’s zero attraction to speak of. He’s the exact opposite of what I’m usually attracted to.
Full disclosure—this little experiment was intentional on my part.
Last month, I noticed that all the guys I normally go for all have a similar vibe. They’re muscular athletes with dark, messy hair that’s a tad too long. It wasn’t until I took a step back and analyzed the situation that I realized they all resembled my bestie.
So, I decided to look for someone who was the complete opposite.
Unfortunately, that backfired.
Now I just want to say goodbye and find Riggs. I’m sure he’ll laugh his ass off when I admit how sucky tonight was. Although, I certainly won’t be telling him the reason why.
I should probably get off these dating apps.
Clearly, they’re not working.
“So, this was nice. Thanks for walking me to the door…” My voice trails off, hoping he’ll get the hint that tonight is officially over. At least it is for us. Although, he hasn’t picked up on any of the subtle clues I’ve been dropping like breadcrumbs so I’m not sure why I’m expecting something different now.
“Yeah, it was definitely a good time.” Instead of meeting my gaze, he stares past me through the crack in the door before laying his palm against the thick wood and shoving it farther open. His eyes widen as he points. “Hey, isn’t that Ryder McAdams?”
I glance inside the living room and find the blond defenseman. “Yeah, it is. Do you know him?”
His gaze flickers to mine for a second as he shakes his head. “No, but I’m a huge fan.”
Of course you are.
A sigh escapes from me.
This is one of the reasons I don’t advertise that I’m friends with Riggs Stranton. Or that my brother is Brody McKinnon. I got enough of that when I was growing up. People who only wanted to befriend me in order to get closer to them. I want to be liked for me. Not because my brother played in the NHL for more than a decade. Or my bestie has the possibility of turning pro in the not-so-distant future.
“Wait a minute…is this the hockey house? Is that where you’re staying?” His voice escalates with every word.
“Yup, my friend is on the team,” I reluctantly admit.
He perks up and nearly shouts, “Well, why didn’t you say so? Now you can introduce me to all the guys. How could you forget to mention something so important?” He shakes his head.
“What?” Before I can tell him that wasn’t in the cards tonight, Nick pushes past me. More music and voices drift out to the porch as I stare after him.
Irritated by the turn tonight has taken, I reluctantly step inside and close the front door. A dozen or so of the guys are wearing Santa hats and ugly sweaters. Colby McNichols has a red hat along with a big white beard, minus the festive sweater. He’s lounging on a chair with a girl perched on his lap. She’s stroking her hands over his bare chest. The guy looks like he was carved from marble.