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)
“Fuck off. This is how I get in the zone,” he says.
I smile. “I know, man. I know. Hence, I indulge you.”
Erik never talks hockey before a game so we shoot the shit some more till Gianna heads through the stands, coming from one direction, Ryker from the other. Even though he’s on the other team, he’s joining me over here for the pic, per his agent’s orders since the guy is making him do this event with me tonight. I pop up, moving away from Erik and the other guys.
“Our VIP guest has arrived,” Gianna says to Ryker and me with a bright smile. “Well, one of them. Her name is Trina and I’ll grab her in just a minute. Quick debrief—she’s meeting her friend Aubrey here shortly, but we’ll do a photo with Trina before the game since she won the tickets. I spoke with the Avengers publicist and Oliver wants you,” she says, looking at Ryker, “to lean into the whole friendly rivalry thing. Got it?”
Ryker gives a curt nod, but says nothing.
Gianna continues, “Then after the game, you’ll both take Trina and her friend to the bar they chose for your favorite thing.”
Sex. That’s my favorite thing. I don’t say that out loud but I fucking think it. “Ping-Pong,” I say brightly.
“Pool,” Ryker says.
“I meant bar games.” Gianna laughs. “Can you two ever agree on anything?”
We look at each other, stony-faced. “Hockey is the best sport,” I say.
“But that’s about it,” Ryker adds, even though the truth is we agree on a ton of things. That you’ve got to take care of your mom, look out for your little sibs, and play hard for every period, to name a few.
I’ve known Ryker since we were six and growing up in the same neighborhood in Denver. Our moms were and still are best friends.
But ribbing him is a daily hobby, and I’m devoted to it. Even more so when we face off against each other on the ice. While Gianna retreats to grab our VIP guest, we debate bar games. “Ping-Pong is the best. It’s fun, fast, and you can slam the hell out of a tiny white ball,” I say, making my case.
“Pool requires strategy,” Ryker puts in.
We argue a little more about which hobby rules until a warm, feminine voice lands in my ears, saying, “Pretty sure I’ll like both.”
I turn to the pretty voice and shut the fuck up because…
She’s a vision.
A woman with waves of chestnut hair, full red lips, and a clever smile stands five feet away from us. She wears jeans that hug her hips and cute little ankle boots, along with a Chase Weston jersey and a Ryker Samuels jacket. There’s nothing sexier than a woman with my name on her back. Not a teddy. Not a pair of stockings. Nope. My jersey is the hottest thing a woman can wear. She looks damn good in our gear.
Gianna’s next to her and makes quick intros. Trina extends her left hand, then quickly switches, offering her right instead.
She’s a little awkward, maybe. Which only adds to the instant attraction. After we shake, I nod to her outfit. “You’re like a Weston/Samuels sandwich.”
She grins, fingering the side of the jacket then the neckline of the jersey. “What do you know? I guess I am. Not a bad look.”
“Not at all,” Ryker says, and whoa. That’s more than I expected to hear from him. He hardly says anything more than thanks to fans these days.
But once Ryker says those three words, the beauty swings her gaze from him to me and back again. She has the most curious bright green eyes behind those red cat-eye glasses. I’m such a sucker for eyes.
Then, I blink. Oh, shit. Ryker’s staring at her like he can’t look away. He thinks she’s a smoke show too.
And the great fucking day I’d planned has just been iced.
3
SEX MEAT
Trina
Look, I’m not saying I suddenly like hockey or anything crazy like that. But I definitely don’t mind being smushed next to these two big hunks. I mean, fine. There’s a lot of gear on them. Shoulder pads and stuff.
But still.
They smell nice.
Is it normal to smell good before a game? No idea, but the bearded one smells like a forest, and the brown-eyed guy reminds me of an ocean breeze.
I inhale them surreptitiously as I smile for the camera, little me wedged between my ex’s idols here at the player’s bench.
The player’s bench.
I am so not going to mind posting this photo on my socials in, oh, say two minutes.
Take that, Jasper.
He’s been begging me for the last two weeks to return the VIP tickets. Pleading, crying, and prostrating himself in his pathetic effort to woo them back. But gee, my phone just seems to be broken. It refuses to answer his calls, texts, or emails.