Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I move his way, intent on handing him the ice pack but my mouth goes desert dry as he takes off his shirt. Honed planes, a light smattering of hair across a golden chest and bulging muscles in his arms have me unable to move. I realize I’m frozen in place, staring at his half-naked form until his head twists to look down at his injured shoulder. It makes me move my eyes to that spot.
“Oh wow,” I exclaim when I see the ugly bruise on the front of his shoulder, extending slightly into his upper chest. “That looks terrible.”
“It’s not that bad,” he says blandly.
I take in the deep purple circle surrounded by a tinge of red and I know it’s going to get bigger. “That looks horrific and that only means it’s going to look worse over the coming days. Are you sure nothing is broken?”
Foster huffs in exasperation. “They made me get X-rays. I assure you I’m fine. I could’ve even stayed at practice, but they were being ridiculously overcautious. Doesn’t even hurt.”
Something about his bravado doesn’t sound right and I take my index finger, gently poking the bruise.
He flinches backward. “Ouch!”
I roll my eyes. “Big baby. Here, put this on it.”
Foster grins as he takes the ice pack, pressing it against the bruise, and I move back to the vegetables that I need to finish up. “I’ve got about fifteen more minutes of work here. I’ll get dinner in the oven and then I can go pick up Bowie Jane.”
“I can get her,” Foster says.
“You shouldn’t drive. You should rest and ice.”
“I’ll point out that I drove home from the arena just fine.”
I twist my neck to look back at him, dip my chin, and give him that don’t mess with me look. “Fine, you’re fully able to drive. But you should rest and ice. I can go get her.”
One dark eyebrow arches with challenge. “Stop mothering me.”
I glare at him. “Don’t make me poke you again.”
Foster laughs and throws up a hand in submission as he continues to hold the ice on his shoulder. “Fine, you can go get Bowie Jane. Only if you agree to stay and have dinner with us. You know, because of my injury and all. I’m not sure I can actually serve the food or clean up afterward.”
“Big baby,” I repeat, but inside I am flushed with joy over the invitation. Tonight is a night that Foster definitely does not need me to stay, despite his injury, as Bowie Jane is pretty self-sufficient, but I try not to read too much into the invite.
As I cut veggies, Foster talks about hockey. I’ve been learning more and more about the team through our conversations. He’s filled me in on all the players including personal stories. For example, Stone Dumelin’s brother died in the plane crash and Stone was called up from the minors to take his place. And Drake McGinn, our goalie, was the black sheep of the league. He had a torrid affair—my words, not Foster’s—with Brienne Norcross that went on completely in secret, but they fell in love and finally came out to the world that they were together. Then there’s the recent sad tragedy of Boone falling in love with Lilly, all while her younger brother was dying from cancer. My heart broke in two when Foster told me about young Aiden and how he wormed his way into all the Titans’ hearts.
My favorite though is the scandalous relationship between Kiera and Bain because Kiera is Drake’s little sister and he threatened to kill any player who touched her. I love a good forbidden romance because even though things might appear wrong on all levels, if you have that chemistry with someone and the potential for more, why shouldn’t you go for it?
All great stories.
“How was it with Penn today?” I ask as I glance back at him.
Foster snorts, adjusts the ice a little higher on his shoulder. “Same old, same old. As taciturn and withdrawn as ever.”
I’d learned that Penn Navarro is the absolute best player in the league and the Titans shelled out a lot of money for him. He replaced a beloved player, Coen Highsmith, and it’s taking the team some time adjusting not only to Coen’s loss but to the addition of such a megastar who is not making it easy to form personal relationships.
I bring the knife down on the carrot I’d been slicing into sticks just as I’m turning back around. Except rather than the carrot, it catches the edge of my index finger and slices into it.
“Fuck,” I exclaim as the knife clatters out of my grip. I grab hold of my finger with my other hand, squeezing it tightly, terrified to see the damage I’ve just done. It hurts, but I don’t want to see the blood welling out or how deep the cut went.