Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
We don’t talk much as we get dressed. Too bad he doesn’t live in LA. Then we could hook up again. Even though I’m not looking for a relationship, it’s not like I’ve never had sex with the same person more than once.
“Maybe if I’m ever in town again…”
“Oh.” His forehead creases. “Really? I’m not sure that would work.”
Damn. Did I just get rejected? I’m pretty sure I did. “Ouch.”
“No, I didn’t mean… It’s just, I’m not always in Seattle.”
I can’t say if he’s trying to let me down nicely or what. It feels like he is, and the last thing I want is for him to feel obligated to meet up with me. “Nah, it’s fine. You’re right. This is probably better as a one-time thing. You know, since you’re going to be a slut and all.”
Harry laughs.
He leads me out of the office, unlocks the doors, then uses his key and presses a code into the elevator so I can get down again.
“I…thank you, Rylan. For tonight. It’s exactly what I needed. You were exactly what I needed.”
“I had fun. You don’t have anything to thank me for,” I say honestly, then step into the elevator and push the button for my floor. As the doors close, I give him a small wave.
Somehow, he was exactly what I needed tonight too.
*
We’re on fire.
From the drop of the puck at the first face-off, the Rebels can do no wrong—and more specifically, I can do no wrong.
There’s this constant electrical buzz beneath my skin, and I’m full of unmatched energy and drive and fucking hunger. The latter fuels me, but it’s also like I drank some fucking lucky juice or something because my speed is next-level. Seattle can’t keep the puck when I’m anywhere in the vicinity. Stevens, our other defenseman, and I always work together like a well-oiled machine—him at left and me at right, helping Mads keep the goal safe—but today no one is getting close to Mads. Not on our watch. Every one of their shots on goal has been contested, and so far, we’ve kept Seattle locked at one goal.
It’s the beginning of the third period, and we’re up by three goals. Volkov and Kemper are at center ice for the face-off. Adrenaline rushes through me, the buzz under my skin intensifying. I feel like there’s fire fueling me when the puck drops.
Seattle gets the puck—Kemper with a quick pass to their left winger, who’s heading toward the goal. I fly straight toward him, burning ice with how fast I’m skating. He tries to get around me, but I check him, fighting for the puck, against the boards. He spins, manages to break away, but again I’m right there, not letting him get too far away, then using my body as a weapon, to keep him from scoring. The other Seattle players swarm our end of the ice, Stevens, Volkov, and Tremblay covering the other players to keep this motherfucker from getting off a pass.
The Seattle crowd roars in the background, but I’m so damn used to it that all it does is feed my hunger to show them they don’t have anything on me. My heart is beating a hundred miles an hour, and I feel like someone injected magic into my veins. Like there’s nothing I can’t do. As fast as the game is moving around me, my focus is on the player I’m defending. Just as he tries to send off a pass to Seattle’s other winger, when he makes a cut, I see my chance. My arm shoots out, stick right where it needs to be to intercept his pass, and then I push away, trying to put some space between me and them.
Volkov is already darting down the ice, the perfect opening between us as we skate toward their goal. I make an excellent saucer pass to Volkov. He does his job, intercepting the puck just before his arm pulls back and he slaps the puck toward the goal, the black disk flying past the right side of their goalie’s head and into the net. The lamp lights up, the sound indicating a goal for Volkov, and I’ll be credited for the assist.
The rest of the game continues to go well. Toward the end of the third period, I make another steal, then jet down the ice for a fantastic goal, the puck slipping between the goalie’s legs.
“Fuck yes, Pierce!” Mads says as the guys jump on me and congratulate me. I feel like I’m flying.
“Ending the game with a goal from our D-man!” Kennedy says on our way to the dressing room.
We celebrate together, back and ass slapping, full of laughter and fucking pride. My heart is beating so damn hard, I’m afraid it might bust out of my chest, but the truth is, it would be a good way to go. Well, except I still don’t have my cup, so I’m not going any-fucking-where until I have that.