Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
I ride the high all the way to the bar. I have a text from Nate congratulating me on the win. I promise I’ll call him tomorrow so we can catch up.
The second we step through the doors, we’re swarmed. Fucking Flip posting shit on social media. I fight my way through a throng of excited bunnies, a few of whom I recognize. There are always locals who show up when they find out where we’re going. I do my best to avoid them and head for the bar. We don’t have practice until later tomorrow, so I plan to have a good time tonight.
I glance over my shoulder, making sure none of my teammates are around, and that Flip is occupied before I check my messages. Bea is saved in my contacts as #1. With us traveling soon, I needed to be able to contact her in ways that don’t include me throwing shit into the loft at two in the morning.
According to her most recent message, she’s waiting to order a drink. I scan the bodies and spot her ten feet down the bar. At the game, she was wearing jeans and a team hoodie. Her hair was down and wavy. Now it’s pulled up in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a cropped tank. Some dude is trying to chat her up, but she ignores him. I want to knock his teeth out for even looking at her. But I can’t do that unless I want Flip to figure out what’s going on. Her chin is propped on her fist, and her gaze is fixed on the bartender, who happens to be female. And someone I know. Not because I’ve slept with her, though. I know better than to screw the people who serve us drinks. I can’t say the same for Flip.
I’m stopped for a couple of selfies as I try to edge my way closer to Bea. The guy beside her leans in, trying to strike up conversation, but Bea gives him a tight-lipped smile and a one-word answer. I need this jerkoff to get a clue and leave my girl the fuck alone.
I put myself between them and address the guy. “She’s not interested in you, so back the fuck off.” I don’t know what my expression must be, but he abandons the bar and disappears into the crowd without a word.
I turn to Bea. Her delicious mouth is tipped up in a knowing half grin. I barely resist the urge to lean in and drag my lips up her throat. She looks amazing, and I’m not the only one who’s noticed. I want to put my hands on her, pull her onto the dance floor, and let everyone know she’s mine. But I can’t, because if Flip finds out, he’ll murder me. Not for the first time I wonder, briefly, how bad it would be if he knew. Then I think about that Stacey woman. Yeah. Probably really bad.
Bea pokes at her lip with her tongue, eyes roving over me. “Fuck, you look good in a suit.”
“You always look good, but my favorite is you under me, about to come all over my fingers or my tongue.”
She throws her head back and laughs, giving me a saucy look. “Nice work on the ice tonight. Watching you dominate made my panties unreasonably damp.”
I lean in again. “You should take them off and bring them to me so I can verify that.”
“Or you could stick your hand down my pants and find out.” She grins deviously.
“That sounds like a dare.”
Her eyes dart over my shoulder, and she steps back. “Flip and teammates incoming.”
Flip edges his way between us and throws an arm over both of our shoulders. “Try not to rip each other’s heads off tonight, eh?”
It’s not her head I want to rip off. It’s her clothes. That guy who was flirting with her, though? I wouldn’t mind separating his head from his body.
Flip waves to the bartender, and Dallas edges in beside me. “Pretty sure Hemi brought her entourage to babysit Flip’s ass tonight. Shilpa and Ashish even came out.”
“Where is she?” I glance over my shoulder. Hemi sometimes comes out with the team under the guise of celebrating. She rarely has more than one drink, if any. Her primary goal is to ensure we don’t make the team look bad.
“Seven o’clock. She’s wearing a team shirt tied at the waist, black jeans, and fuck-me heels,” Dallas grumbles.
The fuck-me heels comment has me doing a double take when I spot her. She’s wearing ice blue stilettos with the team logo. “She still making your life miserable?” I ask as Bea makes her way back to Hemi and Hammer.
“Every damn chance she gets.”
The bartender approaches and gives Flip a tight smile before she turns her attention to me and Dallas. “Nice game tonight. What can I get you boys?”