Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Welcome the Falcons to the roster! These over-the-top athletes are about to play the most important game of the game of love. And the sassy, curvy women of Silver Spoon Falls have no intention of going down without a fight.
Let the games begin!
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
Leia
Excited fans pack the arena, decked out in team colors to support the Silver Spoon Falcons—the new AHL team—at their second home game of the season. The action on the ice moves too quickly for me to keep up. I don't know much about hockey, but it seems very…hands on.
One of the guys on our team—Number 88—has already been in two fights. He won both from what I could see. He doesn't like Bruce Gordon on the Stingrays much. Not that I blame him. Bruce has been harassing him the entire game. At least, that's what it looks like to me and everyone except the referees.
Bruce is up to no good.
"Are you kidding me?" The old man sitting closest to where I'm standing jumps to his feet with the rest of the crowd, shouting as Bruce collides with Number 88 again. "Learn to skate, you dirty rascal!"
I bite my tongue, trying not to laugh as the old man shakes a fist at the ice in fury.
Maybe I should go to games more often if they're all this crazy.
I snort at the thought. Unless I find what I came looking for tonight, I may be coming to more games anyway. I just graduated with a degree in journalism and moved to Silver Spoon Falls. My roommate and friend, Elysa, is dating a new guy, Gavin Cochran. He claims he's into investing. She's convinced he's involved in illegal gambling. I thought she was just being dramatic, but I agreed to investigate anyway to appease her.
I did not expect to find Gavin meeting with Jimmy Brinks from the Timberwolves last week when they were in town. I chalked it up to coincidence until I also caught him meeting with Bruce Gordon behind the arena before the game tonight. This time, I managed to get pictures of Gavin handing Bruce a fat wad of cash.
They're in cahoots. I'm just not sure what they're plotting. I thought maybe Gavin was paying them to throw games, but the Timberwolves won last week. And Bruce isn't playing to lose now. But what does that leave?
My brother is the athlete in our family. I know nothing about sports or sports betting or why a bookie would pay a player when one solitary player can't guarantee a win.
I'd very much like to know, though.
Play resumes on the ice and the crowd settles down. I scoot closer to the exit leading toward the player area. Thanks to my job at the local paper, I have a press pass, but it doesn't grant me a whole lot of access. Not the kind I need, anyway. I intend to do a little snooping in the Stingrays' locker room while they're on the ice.
Number 88 gains control of the puck and takes off down the ice with it. As the crowd leaps to their feet, I slip through the exit into the back hallway, holding my breath. Security must be preoccupied by the game because they don't yell after me.
I exhale a tiny breath and take stock of my surroundings. The hallway is a wide passage made of concrete blocks and cement with fluorescent lights overhead. There's only one direction to go, so I shrug and follow the path. It slopes downward.
I grumble and walk slowly. Maybe heels weren't a good idea.
At the bottom of the steep slope, the hallway branches in three directions. I have no idea which way to go from here. I peer down the hall to the left and right, but it curves in each direction several yards ahead, blocking my view. I take the hallway directly ahead—the one where I can see doors branching off on each side.
I peer into the first but can't tell what's inside. Jiggling the handle is useless. It's locked.
I huff and move onto the second. It's a storeroom for the concession stands. Boxes of food supplies line the metal shelves. The third is some sort of boiler room. The fourth is a janitor's closet. Mops, buckets, brooms, and one of those industrial-sized floor waxers are crammed into the tight space. It smells like bleach.
"Good job, Leia. You picked the wrong hallway," I mutter in disgust. Where's Charlie when I need her?
"Yo, Tony! Grab more Bud Light while you're down there."
"Crap!" I slip into the janitor's closet, pressing my back up against the wall.
"Yeah, yeah," Tony shouts back from the end of the hall. "I've got it."
I definitely should have brought Charlie with me on this mission. My younger sister causes as many problems as she solves, but when it comes to sneaking around, she's got a lot more experience than I do. She's been bluffing her way out of one predicament or another her whole life.
Me? Not so much.
My smart mouth is liable to sink me deeper before it gets me out of trouble. I don't like being told what to do. Or where to go. Or what I can or can't know.