Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 70518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
He sighed heavily. “That was a nonanswer. So yes, he did hurt you.”
“Not physically.”
He arched a brow, skeptical.
“He didn’t,” I said. “I promise. But he did threaten to, and I think he would have if I’d stayed.”
“He’s welcome to come try,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “I’ve got nothing to lose.”
“I don’t agree with you there.” I walked over to the small kitchen nook and pulled out a chair. “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll make some coffee and breakfast and we can talk?”
He scoffed. “I’m not hungry.”
“Well, I am.” I walked over to the refrigerator and took out the carton of eggs I’d bought.
“What’s all that?” Sawyer asked, peering at the fridge full of groceries.
“Kon took me to the grocery store on the way here yesterday.”
He groaned. “And then you did my dishes.”
“With Kon’s help.”
That really seemed to set him off. He threw his hands in the air and glared at me.
“Look, if you want to stay here, you can, but I don’t need you or anyone else cleaning my house and buying me food. He’s my fucking teammate, not my nanny.”
I glared back at him. “You had nothing but mustard, bologna, and beer in your fridge.”
“Yeah,” he shot back. “You squirt some mustard on the bologna and roll it up and eat it. Wash it down with the beer. Sorry I don’t have any beef bourguignon for you.”
I rolled my eyes. “There’s a lot of room between expired bologna and beef bourguignon, Sawyer.”
“My bologna is not expired,” he said indignantly.
“It expired two weeks ago, which is why it went in the trash.”
He gave me a disgusted look as he walked over to the fridge, opened the door, and looked inside.
“You threw away my bologna.” He shook his head. “Or was it Kon? That douchebag probably ate it.”
I laughed at the absurdity of it. “No one wanted to eat your expired bologna. I threw it away.”
Sawyer pulled a can of beer from the refrigerator, popped the top and took a sip.
“Don’t throw my shit away,” he said. “And don’t clean my house. I own it. I’ll decide how clean it is.”
I just stared at him, stunned. It wasn’t even afternoon yet and he was already hitting the booze. Did he do this every day?
“Is this working for you?” I asked him.
“What?”
I gestured at nothing and everything all at once. “You know…beer, bologna, and toilet rings. Hangovers. Not playing hockey.”
He took another drink of the beer and then sneered at me. “Listen, Luce, if you came here to get all high and mighty and judge me, you can turn around and walk right back out the door.”
“Is that what you want me to do?”
He considered. “Maybe not today because of this Nate thing. But if you’re going to be here, respect that this is my house. My life. My choices.”
His house, life, and choices were all a disaster at the moment, but I decided to back down. I’d have to take things slowly. Make him think eating something other than bologna was his idea.
“I’ll respect that,” I said. “Is it okay if I cook and clean a few things to keep my mind occupied? I don’t have anything else to do.”
He waved a hand. “Yeah, whatever.”
“And can I use your phone for music while I clean? And to text Kon and find a cell phone store so I can go buy a new one?”
He went into the family room, grabbed his phone, and passed it to me. “You can use my car, too. Keys are on the hook by the garage.”
“Thanks.”
“Why do you need to text Kon?” he asked me.
“To invite him over for dinner.”
He shook his head. “You don’t need to do that. Kon’s a moody bastard.”
“I already invited him, actually. I just need to tell him a time.”
Sawyer grunted in response, grabbing another can of beer from the fridge and walking back into the family room. “Tell that fucker he owes me a package of bologna.”
I gave his retreating form a wry look. “I’ll be sure to do that.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Kon
I had a love-hate relationship with road trips. While I loved the hockey elements and hanging out with my teammates in small doses, being on top of each other every day wore on my introverted soul. I preferred the peace and quiet of my apartment, my king-size bed, and not having to think of things to talk about. While my English had gotten much better since I’d moved to St. Louis, it was still my second language, which meant I struggled sometimes.
Today was one of those days that made me want to run screaming from the room. My buddy Michael Boone was thinking about asking his girlfriend to marry him, so he was all about engagement rings and getting ideas for romantic ways to propose. Thankfully, I had no experience with either so no one was looking to me for information, but there was nowhere for me to escape on the plane.