Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
I narrow my eyes. “You hate losing too.”
“No shit. But not the point. Anyway, Trina works at a bookstore.”
How does he know that? Also, cool. “Yeah? Which one?” I ask, intrigued.
“At An Open Book over on Fillmore,” she says, a little defensively. “I’m a manager there.”
Love that store. Frequent it a lot. But I’m not gonna tell her. I don’t want to let on that I am an oddity. The defenseman who got all A’s in school. Who listens to grammar and word podcasts. Who reads all sorts of fascinating shit on how the world works.
I had to do that. I didn’t know if hockey would pay the bills, and I needed a way to take care of my mom and sisters.
“And while I may not be a reporter, I am just naturally curious. I’m an investigator. And I bet you’re the challenger.”
Great. She’s one of those personality-test people. Which means she’s a people person. Which means she’ll try to actually understand why I’m a such-and-such personality. Which means she’ll want to know who fucked me up as a kid.
Like I’m going to tell anyone about my dad.
Easier just to answer her question. “Here you go. Teenage boys are little shits because they’re horny bastards. Like the guy who took my sister to prom and stared at her chest the whole time.”
Chase drops his head in his hand, laughing. “I remember him. You called him Boner Boy.”
“He always had a pillow on his lap when he came over,” I grumble.
“Well, at least he was trying,” Trina says, seeming to fight off a smile.
Chase raises his face. “Also, not all teenage boys are little shits. My little brothers aren’t,” Chase says, pride in his tone. He looks out for those turkeys like they’re his own.
“But I bet they’re horny for all the girls. And you’ve had to give them the ‘no means no’ and consent talks,” I point out, since his dad isn’t around to do that either, though for vastly different reasons than mine.
“Well, Jackson is gay, so he’s not horny for teenage girls.”
“I know, man. But you get my point,” I say, exasperated, turning to our VIP guest. “I just don’t trust anyone around my little sisters. Ergo, the seat belt law.”
“I don’t think a seat belt was the protection they needed at prom,” Trina stage whispers.
Cracking up, Chase offers her a hand to high-five.
Clenching my jaw, I yank my seat belt as hard as I can and put it on. “Put yours on too,” I bark at my friend.
With his charming smile that wins over fans, women, and reporters, Chase pats Trina’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about him. He has the manners of a Rottweiler. But I can translate Ryker speak. What he means to say is, ‘I’m secretly a softie and I don’t want a thing to happen to you especially while you’re out with us, so would you please put your seat belt on?’”
With an amused shake of her head, Trina complies. “Only because Captain Bossy asked nicely,” she says to Chase, flashing him a cute grin.
I look away.
“We have nicknames already? Nice. Also, accurate.” Chase rubs his palms together, then points to me. “What’s his? Please tell me it’s Big Bad Wolf.”
She lifts her chin a little defiantly as she stares me down, just like I did to her a few minutes ago. “It’s Mister Grumpy, but I think Big Bad Wolf works too.”
Her boldness is fuck hot too. This is a problem. “Yes, yes it does,” I say, staying stone-faced. I tip my chin at Chase. “You too, golden boy. Put it on.”
With a sigh, Chase takes off his suit jacket and tugs on the seat belt. “Sure thing…Big Bad Wolf.”
Then I tap on the glass and tell the driver to take us to Sticks and Stones, a bar with pool, Ping-Pong and other games. It’s the place Jasper picked—which reminds me…As the car cruises through the arena’s players’ lot, I turn to Trina. “You still want to go there? Some dude named Jasper picked it.”
She grins a little wickedly. That’s annoying. She’s too damn pretty when she smiles like that, kind of devilishly. “I actually picked it. Jasper asked me for suggestions. And it was my idea since I want to learn how to play both. They sound like fun, and I’ve been dying to give them a try,” she says. “His only idea was to go to a strip club with you two.”
I sneer. “Like I said, little shit.”
Chase snorts. “That’d have been a no.”
“Also, that’s weak,” I add. “Does this Jasper have zero creativity?”
She squares her shoulders. “Considering he banged our neighbor in our bed while I was working, I’d have to say yes, he lacks any and all creativity. I mean, try a little harder, right? Maybe get a room, or get creative and go to, I dunno, Target and pull her into a dressing room or something. Right?” she says, so clearly trying to stay strong and tough, but I can tell it still hurts. Instantly, I hate him even more than I did already. More than I hate the shit-tastic Bryce Tucker, AKA Pompous Fuckface.