Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
“Not hard enough,” Chloe muttered, realizing she was nervously worrying the hem of her pink Gauthier jersey and tried to stop, but in the dozen or so Bearcats games she’d attended since moving to Boston, she’d never actually seen blood oozing from Sig’s face. Shouldn’t he be taken out of the game? Or at the very least be examined by the trainer?
As if sensing her spiking nerves, Sig looked over at her and winked.
I’m fine, he mouthed.
Chloe melted back into her seat with a relieved exhale. Of course Sig was fine. It was just a little blood and her . . . confidant/guardian/future stepbrother/etc. could handle anything—and she meant anything. Low water pressure in her shower? Sig fixed it. She didn’t know which combination of trains and buses to take to the conservatory? Sig arrived with coffees and showed her the perfect route. Her landlord banged on her door, demanding she pay the rent and she’d already spent half of it on cream blushes? Sig knew exactly what to do.
He was so wonderful, sometimes she cried about it in the shower.
The only thing Sig couldn’t do was kiss her.
Chloe was trying to smile through the pressure in her breast when a man knelt in front of her, smiling in an apologetic way. “Sorry, I just don’t want to block the game,” he said, gesturing at the furious matchup taking place over his shoulder. “I’m Irving Randell from the Boston Globe. I don’t officially report on the Bearcats yet, but I’m hoping to one day. Right now, I’m kind of a grunt. However, I do moderate the message boards.” He dipped his chin at Chloe. “Have to say, you’ve been a real topic of conversation lately, Miss . . .”
Chloe started to answer, but stopped when Tallulah leaned over with a wary expression. “A topic of conversation how, exactly?”
“Usually, the hockey message boards are trade speculations or fans complaining about calls from the night before—”
“As they should,” Chloe said earnestly.
“Yes. But a thread popped up recently titled ‘Pink Jersey’ and the response was . . .”—he made an explosive sound—“. . . wild. It’s the longest message board thread to date. As in, ever. In the history of the Globe website.” He squinted at Chloe. “You’re at every single home game and your presence has even been noted by fans watching from home. Mainly, because of your . . . enthusiasm in the stands. People want to know who you are.”
Chloe was distracted by the violent scuffle taking place over the man’s shoulder. Thankfully, Sig wasn’t involved in this one. “Oh, I’m—”
“Wait a sec, Chloe,” Tallulah interrupted, squeezing her arm. “Maybe you should talk to Sig before you answer any questions.”
Irving raised a dark eyebrow. “So you do know Sig Gauthier? Personally?”
The fascination in the man’s tone finally captured Chloe’s attention. Had he actually said there was a thread on the Boston Globe website concerning her pink jersey? “If people want to know where I had my jersey made, I’ll share the Etsy shop!” She brushed at the sleeves. “As far as I’m concerned, everyone here should be wearing a Gauthier jersey—he’s the best player on the team.” Wincing, she reached for her friend’s knee. “No offense, Tallulah.”
“None taken,” her friend responded with a dry smile.
“You’re the au pair turned girlfriend of Burgess Abraham,” Irving said, tossing a brief glance at Tallulah. “Right? And you’re sitting with Pink Jersey. Which is why a lot of people have speculated, considering Abraham and Gauthier are such good friends off the ice, that maybe Pink Jersey is . . .”
“From Glinda’s Glitz Haus,” Chloe replied, back to being transfixed by the game. Didn’t this man realize they were tied with five minutes to go in the third period? Crunch time had arrived, bitches. “Yes. It is,” she murmured, distractedly. “Fast shipping. Excellent packaging, too. Are you going to plug her on the website?”
Irving opened his mouth and closed it again. “I mean . . . sure. Sure. But I think what people are really wondering is whether or not you’re Gauthier’s girlfriend.”
“Oh! What?” Chloe’s heart sprouted legs and started running circles around her chest. Gauthier’s girlfriend. Those two words side by side reminded Chloe of the cold plunge back at the country club. How it felt to submerge herself in that shockingly cold water, before running with her teeth chattering to the hot tub and warming back up again. Freezing followed by hot. That’s what the phrase “Gauthier’s girlfriend” did to her system. Flash froze it. Baked it.
Someday, a girl would call herself by that title.
But it wouldn’t be her.
Who would she become to Sig when he eventually found someone he liked enough to date? Their relationship would have to change drastically, wouldn’t it? No more falling asleep together on her couch in front of the television. No more extralong hugs that led to even longer looks, the occasional nuzzle or stroke of her hair. No more calling him just to hear his voice. That wasn’t stepsister behavior. Two more months and they would officially have to stop toeing the danger line that was etched into the ground between them.