Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
I swear I can feel the tension melt out of the girl as I turn to look down at her, her rigid shoulders relaxing, and a long breath sliding past those luscious lips. I nod at the three guys who had my back, shocked as hell to see Stokehill, Ritchford, and motherfucking Kiplin at the ready. Holy shit, I didn't know the veterans would be the first ones to stand up, but I'm not mad about it.
They nod and head off to what they were previously doing.
I bring my attention back to the girl.
“Who the hell are you?” Her tone is sweet with just a hint of sass, apparently something I find irresistible because I lean in closer as I hold her gaze.
“Your hero?” I ask with a wide smile.
“Sure,” she says. “Does my hero have a name? And how did you know about my weakness for Bridgerton?”
“Not your weakness for orgasms?” I fire back.
She laughs. “Seriously, how did you know that I was uncomfortable? You could have easily been putting your arm around a girl who didn’t want to be touched and gotten smacked.”
She’s not wrong.
I shrug. “I have a younger sister,” I admit. “I know the look. And I took a guess with Bridgerton. My sister can't shut up about it and has made me watch every single season. Not a terrible show, figured it might be something you like. You have to admit, it made the whole boyfriend bit seem more tangible to douchebag up there.” I glance upward where the second-floor balcony overlooks the bar below, catching said douchebag watching us.
Creepy much?
“I am sorry about the non-consenting touch,” I continue, drawing my focus back to her. I nod to her shoulder where I touched her, doing my best not to think of all the other places I'd like to touch her, especially after how well she’d reacted to me earlier during our little ruse.
“I appreciate the apology,” she says, her eyes shifting over me in a more curious way, like she's trying to figure me out. “But it's all good. Trust me, if I hadn't wanted you to touch me, you wouldn't have been able to.” She casually glances behind me. “I appreciate the save,” she says, looking at me again. She grabs her drink and pushes away from the bar. “I need to walk, too many eyes on us here. Stroll with me, hero?”
The fucking flirty look she gives me has me standing at attention and offering her my arm like I’ve seen those Bridgerton dudes do.
Who the fuck is this girl? And how does she have me smitten already? I'm the leader, not the other way around, but this girl has me following her around the bar like a lost puppy.
“So does my hero have a name?” she asks as we make our way past my team and toward the now vacant indoor miniature golf course. She grabs a club and a ball, and I immediately follow her lead.
“Lawson,” I say, watching her line up her ball and expertly evade every obstacle in her way before it sinks into the hole. “Shit, are you a golfer?”
She laughs and shakes her head, stepping out of the way so I can make my shot. “No, but this is the best bar in Bangor, so I've spent my fair share of time here.”
I nod, taking a shot. I get close to the hole but miss it by an inch.
“Ouch,” she teases.
“I'm used to people standing in front of my goal,” I say as we move on to the next hole. “Not oversized solo cups.”
“I see,” she says, lining up her shot and sinking it in again, completely avoiding all the decorative wooden pieces in her way.
Her triumphant smile does something to my insides, and I barely even remember to try to aim for the hole when I take my shot. I miss, but for some reason I don't give a shit.
“Does my damsel have a name?”
She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, nodding. “I wouldn't normally appreciate being called a damsel, but I guess the shoe fits in this situation.” We move on to the next hole, and she takes her shot, finally missing one and proving she's human. “Blakely,” she says.
I take a step closer to her, looking down and resisting the urge to run my fingers through her long hair.
“Blakely,” I say, testing her name out on my tongue. There are quite a few other places on her I'd like to test out, but I'm not sure if this one would be a casual hookup. Everything about her screams elegance, adventure, and commitment. And if that lingering douchebag is any indication, then I'm sure they just got out of a very long relationship. That's usually a messy business, something I don't mind being a tool for—like a nice rebound or a distraction—but if it gets too serious... I'm out. And really, it's the only fair thing to do, since I have no time to properly give someone attention outside the ice.