Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 107687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“Good. Again, really lean into your back leg for more power,” she coaches, and I do as she says. “Attaboy. Now, make sure you keep that left eye open. You’re letting it drift closed. You’ve got to make sure to watch from the stick, to the puck, to the goal.”
I only nod as I do as she says, and soon I notice how much quicker and more precise my shot is.
“Very good, Titov. Very good. See? You’re coachable.”
“Shelli says I’m not?” I jeer.
“Oh yeah, she hates you,” she laughs, leaning in for a hug. I hug her tightly, kissing her cheek.
“Not you, though. You still love me, right, Posey?”
She grins. “I do. How are you? It’s really good to see you.”
“Good, excited.” I reach out, shaking the hand of the little guy she holds. “Your son, Zac, right?”
“Yup. Momma’s baby,” she gushes, tickling under his chin. He giggles loudly, and I smile. “No kids? No girlfriend? No wife?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. Just me.”
“Good. You can’t be distracted right now.”
“I know,” I say softly, nodding. “Can I employ you to work with me a couple times a day?”
She scoffs. “Employ me? Please. Let me know times, and I’ll be here. Just don’t tell my sister.”
We share a laugh before she squeezes my arm. “You’ll have to come over for dinner. Hang with Boon off the ice. You’ll like him.”
“Your husband?”
“Yup,” she says proudly. “He’s great.”
“He has to be to snatch you up,” I say with a wink, and she snickers.
“Very true. You have my number still?”
“I don’t,” I admit, and together, we head toward the bench.
We exchange numbers, and before she walks away, she says, “Hundred more shots. Watch the shoulder, lean into your stick, Dimitri. I’ll be watching.”
She wiggles her phone at me, and I make a face. “Huh?”
“Cameras,” she says with a grin before she walks away.
I laugh and shake my head. Great. Means Shelli has more than likely been watching me too. I inhale deeply and then notice a message on my phone.
Saw you’re back in town. Early dinner?
It’s from Emery Brooks, and I can’t help but smile. She’s been all over my Instagram since I announced I was coming home. When she asked for my number, I didn’t even hesitate. She’s family. But then our conversations became very flirty and very suggestive. I had to make sure she was legal because, hot damn, she’s hot.
Me: Time and place?
Emery: Brooks House. An hour?
Me: Two hours. I’ve got to finish up my workout, and then I’ll be there.
Emery: Good. See you soon.
I send her a winky face, and then I find myself grinning as I skate around, gathering pucks. I know I don’t need the distraction, but if I am picking up what she’s throwing down, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want the distraction either.
She just wants the fun, and I love to have fun.
three
Austen
I can feel the anger rolling off Shelli as we look out at the ice. The arena is beautiful and super state-of-the-art, with a huge scoreboard that is currently playing ads. High-quality seats and fun food areas are empty, but they hold so much promise. I know the season hasn’t started, but it’s very clean, too. But none of that matters to Shelli; she is seething.
A player—who, if I’m correct, is the very bane of Shelli’s existence, Dimitri Titov—listens intently to a woman slightly bigger than Shelli, who is holding a child on her waist and looks as if she is coaching him. How she is demonstrating everything with a baby on her hip is commendable, but Shelli does not look happy. She almost looks betrayed. I glance back at the ice as he takes a shot, and the coach beside him nods, pleased. She looks a lot like Shelli—thick auburn hair and piercing blue-green eyes—but thicker. It pleases me to no end to know the Assassins have a female coach. After being in a place where women are basically the mud on a man’s boot, coming here and watching women run things without the help of any men, I am more than pleased. I’m proud.
“Who is that?” I find myself asking, but I instantly regret it by the way Shelli looks at me. It seems as if it was wrong of me to ask.
Snap.
“My sister,” she seethes as she strikes her hips. That’s when I notice that her sister is heading up the stairs from the penalty box, toward us. “Please don’t think differently of me,” she says without looking at me.
But before I can respond, I look up to see that her sister is mirroring Shelli’s expression.
“Before you come at me sideways, I’m not the one with the issue with him. You are.”
That makes Shelli even madder.
“And I’m pretty sure Aiden said for you to let it go, to let it happen. You’re upset for no reason.”