Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 52100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
“Ah, but you were doing your best, I’m sure.”
“I turned a bunch of white clothes pink because I didn’t know you shouldn’t wash a brand-new red hoodie with whites,” he said. “Spencer was pissed about his Science Camp shirt getting ruined.”
“I’m sure he forgave you.”
“I made spaghetti with undercooked noodles one night. We ended up putting the meat sauce on garlic bread and throwing out the noodles.”
I felt a tug in my chest as I imagined Holt trying to learn so much about raising children, cooking and taking care of a house all at once.
“That sounds delicious,” I said.
He grinned. “Not gonna lie, it was amazing. I’ve made just sauce and garlic bread for dinner a few times since then.”
“You want me to give you cooking lessons?” I said.
“If you can spare the time. I’ll pay you, of course.”
“Of course I have time, and you’re not paying me.”
His eyes were possibly locked on my lips, and I was more than okay with it. I was warm all over, and it wasn’t from the movement of dancing.
“I don’t suppose you want to learn to play hockey?” he asked with a wink. “We could trade lessons.”
I laughed and arched a brow. “I’m a Grady. I learned how to play hockey before I could speak in full sentences.”
“Ah. That’s right. I could probably still show you a thing or two, though. I’ve been told I’m an okay player.”
The thought of being on the ice with Holt and seeing him in his element was more than a little enticing. I’d watched his games on TV many times, and never had I even dreamed he’d offer me one-on-one lessons.
“I play in a rec league, so I’ll take you up on that.”
“What position?”
My mind immediately went to sex. I flushed as I fought the urge to blurt out something inappropriate.
“In hockey, dirty girl,” Holt said with a grin.
Oh God. I wanted to melt into the floor. He knew what I’d been thinking. And worse, my body temperature had just risen several degrees when he called me dirty girl.
“Usually defense. It depends on how many players we have. Sometimes I play O.”
O, as in offense, not orgasm, but again, my mind was like a runaway freight train of sexual thoughts. How could it not be, with my hand on the shoulder of Holt Sellers, our bodies just inches apart?
His eyes were locked on mine, his hand more on my back than my hip now. I imagined him sliding it beneath the hem of my shirt, his fingers grazing my bare skin.
“Well, before you allow me into your kitchen,” he said, “I have some good news for you.”
“What’s that?”
“I always wash my hands after I piss.”
I furrowed my brow for a second, cringing when I realized what he was talking about.
“Spencer overheard me telling an employee that.”
Holt’s grin was amused. “Is that what happened? All he told me is that Shea wants people to wash their hands after they piss.”
I burst into nervous laughter. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know he was there when I said that. I’d never”
He put a fingertip over my lips, stopping me. “It’s okay. They’ve heard much worse from me.”
“Oh yeah?”
He shook his head. “The kids and I were out for pizza a few months ago and I was hangry. We’d been waiting for more than an hour and I was grumbling. So the server, who’s probably a teenager, comes up to the table to apologize and Marley says, ‘My dad wants to know where our fucking pizza is.’”
“Oh no!” I laughed. “Marley?”
“I know, right? It’s so unlike her. But she’s really latched on to me since the divorce, and if she thinks somebody’s doing me dirty, she’s all over them.”
“That’s really sweet.”
“She’s a doll. She likes her hair braided this certain way her mom used to do it. It’s called double Dutch braids. You know what that is?”
I nodded. “I do.”
“Well, I’ve been watching YouTube videos about how to do it and she just sits there patiently and lets me try over and over.”
The image of Holt trying to braid Marley’s hair left a mushroom cloud in place of my ovaries. It was unbelievably sexy that he worked so hard at being a good dad.
He’d left behind fame, millions of dollars and a chance at championships and records, all to raise his children. And from what I’d seen, he had no regrets.
“Do you miss hockey?” I asked him.
“I thought I would. I’m not ashamed to say I cried many tears at the end of my career because I didn’t think I was ready to retire. I played for thirteen years and I loved every minute. But I’m good. My kids need me more.”
“You’re a great dad.”
The music had switched to a faster pace, but we were still slow dancing, oblivious to the world around us.