Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
A slow, seductive smirk shaped his lips. “Tonight, I’m going to do so many devious things to you, Evie. You won’t be able to walk without feeling me, sensing my scent on your skin,” he said, the words a promise that had lightning streaking through my veins.
“Well, you better hurry up and win then,” I said. “So you can get back to me that much sooner.”
He took a step backward, not bothering to turn toward the door as he reached for the knob. “I’ll look for you in the stands.”
“I’ll be there,” I said, slightly breathless, before I watched him bolt through the door, like if he stayed one minute longer he really would say fuck the game and stay with me.
Not that I’d ever in a million years want or expect that. Maxim needed his team, needed the game, despite his toxic upbringing with it. And I supported that. Always had, always would. But I couldn’t help but bite back a smile at the thought that I’d been tempting enough for him to want to stay.
Skye looked way too adorable in her little noise-cancelling headphones and custom carrier that looked like it’d been made out of one of Brogan’s jerseys. I tickled the back of her neck and she smiled at me.
“They’re on fire,” Fiona said from where she sat right next to me, patting Skye’s butt through the carrier.
“It’s so much fun to watch,” I admitted, practically beaming as I focused on the ice. Maxim had already scored twice, the shots slicing through the air like bullets from a gun.
“Zolotov finally has his game back,” a feminine voice said from a row behind us, and I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder.
A group of women in a variety of Reapers’ jerseys were chatting as they watched the game. I don’t think any of them were attached to a Reapers’ player, but then again, I hadn’t met every single significant other since joining this little family.
“It’s about damn time,” another woman said. “He almost lost us our shot at the Cup in the beginning of the season.”
“He always comes back from a bad streak,” the first woman said.
Fiona nudged me, and I turned to focus on the game, flashing her a smile as I did. I couldn’t help but be curious when I heard Maxim’s name, but they weren’t saying anything that bad—except about him almost costing them the Cup, as if the entire season rested on his shoulders alone and not the team as a whole.
That was the same kind of thought process that his father had beaten into Maxim’s head his whole life, haunting his thoughts and making him push himself way past the point of no return every single game. Though, I had to say, there was something lighter in him recently. A sort of controlled confidence in his game that was so refreshing, almost like he was falling in love with the game again. The mere thought of that had my heart soaring as fast as he skated toward the goal.
He made another shot, the puck slipping in right where he aimed it—over the goalie’s shoulder and hitting the back of the net.
Fiona and I were on our feet, cheering with the rest of the Reapers’ fans as the team kept focus on the game, gliding along the ice like a pack of skilled warriors on the hunt. They wanted this win, they needed this win, and it took my breath away watching them.
A beep sounded, and Fiona pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, scrolling over whatever alert she’d just gotten.
“Omigosh,” one of the women said from behind me so suddenly I couldn’t help but look back at her. She had her phone out too, and was showing her friends something. Her eyes flashed down to mine, and my cheeks heated at the look of pity on her face.
I whirled back around, ignoring the look. She was probably one of those fans who hated the fact that Maxim was now officially off the market. I couldn’t be mad at her for that because if it had been anyone other than me, I’d be jealous too.
“No,” Fiona said, shaking her head at her phone.
“What is it?” I asked, worrying over her distressed look.
Fiona quickly put away her phone. “It’s nothing,” she said, but I could tell it was definitely something.
“That is like, so terrible,” one of the women behind us said, but she was laughing. “Look how much she stands out.”
Something like awareness prickled on the back of my neck, the same kind of sensation that happened when you walked into a room and it fell quiet because everyone had been talking about you.
I turned to Fiona, who looked at me with sadness and a little bit of anger in her eyes. “Fiona,” I said, swallowing hard. My heart was racing, adrenaline coursing through my veins as every instinct inside me screamed to run. I’d been the butt of enough jokes in school to smell blood in the water. Maybe those women weren’t talking about me, but it felt like they were.