Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
When I came to a rather ugly and oversized vase that stood out from the sports memorabilia surrounding it, I paused, frowning and letting my eyes assess it. It was oddly shaped, the mouth of it warped like a watch in a Dalí painting, and the body was misshapen like it had been melted instead of carved to perfection. It looked like a pottery piece made by a child trying their hand at it for the first time, the whole thing devoid of color and a proper finish. It was just a gray, weeping heap of clay posing as something of value.
“Fan of art?”
“Is that what this is supposed to be?” I asked before even looking at the person behind the low, smooth voice that asked me the question. When I glanced back over my shoulder to place a smile with my joke, it fell flat at the sight of Vince Tanev.
I didn’t have to be even mildly interested in hockey to recognize our hotshot rookie, the one who had been taking the city by storm since he burst into headlines this preseason. He caught everyone’s attention with all the goals and assists he racked up early in the regular season soon after, and he held that attention with his activities off the ice — namely partying, stumbling into his condo with three girls on each arm, and becoming known for randomly showing up in popular shops and restaurants, hanging out with fans like he was a regular person.
Which he was, I reminded myself, as I let my smile slip farther off my face.
I knew him not only because of all that, but because he was frequently spotlighted in the local news for being a community hero. But from what I could tell, the events were all a public relations sham, and he was all too happy to pretend like he gave a shit long enough to have his picture snapped before he was back to being a playboy.
Vince Cool.
Tampa had bestowed the affectionate nickname upon him, inspired by Snoopy’s alter ego Joe Cool, and the rest of the nation had been quick to jump on board. He was hot, young, cocky, and, worst of all, the kind of player who backed up his shit-talking effortlessly.
Because he just kept getting better and better with every fucking game.
I didn’t have to study him long to note that his usually messy hair was tamed tonight, styled in a sleek wave that accented the lines and edges of his handsome face. Those cheekbones were enough to make a poet dedicate their life’s work to him. Coupled with his thick lashes and lips that always remained in a rich boy pout, Vince was impossible not to find delectable. Those attracted to the male variety went especially apeshit over the little scar on his right eyebrow, the one that gave that pretty face just enough edge to make you wonder if he’d tie you up in bed.
He was stoic and severe, the kind of man who exuded power without ever having to say a single word.
His pouty lips crooked just a little at the corner the longer I stared at him, especially when my eyes flicked to the column of his white throat exposed by the top two buttons of his dress shirt being carelessly left unfastened. No neck had a right to be that hot.
Finally, I met his gaze, his hazel eyes simmering the longer we stared at each other. I couldn’t tell if they were more green or gold, the two colors battling for dominance as his lips quirked up a bit higher.
My smile flattened as I turned back to the vase, and Vince sidled up beside me, his posture confident and relaxed as he slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks.
He was at least a foot taller than me even in my heels, so I stood a bit straighter, holding my chin high.
“It is quite hideous,” he said.
That made me relax marginally, because at least we agreed on one thing. “And yet, some rich prick is going to make an outrageous bid on it and pat themselves on the back all the way home.”
“Why does bidding on an ugly vase make them a prick?”
“Because they think being charitable means throwing their inheritance money at some absurd piece of art,” I spat that part with a laugh. “And suddenly now they rest easier at night, feeling like God’s gift to mankind.”
Vince tilted his head a bit. “Well, I suppose that’s better than using their money on blow and hookers, right?”
“Oh, I’m sure they get plenty of that, too.”
“A lot of charities depend on financial support from events like this.”
“Sure,” I snapped without meaning to, my teeth grinding a bit. Livia had given me the tough love only a best friend can many times and told me I have the tendency to come off as a bitch to people who don’t know me well — especially when we got on the topic of the state of the world.