Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
I arched a brow. “Better than a blowjob?”
He lowered his chin, blushing adorably when he met my gaze. “How’d I do earlier? Okay for a first effort?”
My heart lurched and swelled in my chest. Something about this warrior of a man captivated me. He was vulnerable yet fierce and proud at the same time. And I was humbled that he’d let his guard down and revealed this side of himself to me. Yes, it was probably all tied to sex and superstitious tuna salads, but…it was there. This fragile offering of personal truths.
Et moi? I’d given nothing in return. In my defense, I hadn’t known he wanted more from me.
I dropped my arms and tugged at his wrist, pulling him to me till we stood chest to chest. “You are magnifique.”
Riley beamed, boyishly bashful and sexier than ever. “I can’t believe I did that, but…I liked it.”
I ran my fingers along his side and brushed our noses before pressing a light kiss at the corner of his mouth. “Me too. Were you buttering me up to get information out of me?”
He punched my biceps, glowering as he pushed out of my hold. “Fuck you, but…maybe.”
That made me laugh. “Maybe?”
“I mean, I wasn’t consciously thinking that was some kind of warped trade, but…subconsciously maybe. I don’t know. I was curious.” He threw his hands in the air and sighed. “Sorry. I don’t know how to talk to people about real things. It’s a major fault of mine. No wonder I’m always single. The second a woman wants to share deep secrets and get ‘real’ with me, I duck for cover. I don’t have a good reason. No trauma, no dark past. I have an amazing family, I love my job, but I always feel like I’m on the outside looking in. That’s on me. Maybe I’m broken.”
“Don’t say that,” I scolded.
“Too dramatic, huh? I swear I’m not looking for sympathy. My mild case of social anxiety isn’t exactly noteworthy. It’s too hard to explain to anyone, so I rarely try, and—” He paused abruptly and scratched his head. “I don’t know where I was going with that.”
“You subconsciously seduced me by giving your first ever blowjob to extract information from me. And maybe you’re shy too,” I added the last sentence in a dry voice I hoped would make him smile.
Ahh! There it was. That beautiful moonbeam, ear-to-ear grin that made his lovely eyes twinkle.
“I’m not shy, asshole,” he sputtered, still chuckling. “I’m just…not great with people.”
“I disagree.” I pursed my lips thoughtfully and blurted, “I was drafted when I was eighteen. It was a one-way contract. I was never going to the NHL, but I had a decent ten-year run, then…poof! It was gone.”
“Were you injured?”
“No, I was gay.”
Riley froze. “You were kicked off your team for being gay?”
“No, I left on my own.”
“Why? What happened?”
“I didn’t want to pretend anymore. It’s difficult to explain, but I had a very different life in those days. I was a party person. Always out, always drinking, always looking for a good time. I had many girlfriends, many lovers. But when I wasn’t on the ice, in a bar, or in bed with a woman, I was thinking about things I didn’t want to think about, like…the sexy valet at a random restaurant or the muscular man at the gym who pumped weights with his shirt off. All the time. I played harder, drank more, and had more sex to keep the desire away. Didn’t work. I was twenty-five before I gave in to temptation and stepped foot into a small gay bar in Vancouver. My team was in town for a game, and when I didn’t show up to the nightclub, I’m sure they assumed I was with someone. Nothing happened at this bar. I only watched the men dancing, laughing, kissing. It was…une revelation.”
“You realized you were gay?”
I gave a humorless half chuckle. “You could say that. The problem was…I didn’t want to be gay. My family is very Catholic. The roles are set. The men are masculine and tough. The Bouchards are fifth-generation loggers. I was given a hall pass to play hockey, but everyone assumed I’d come home to help run the family business. That was my calling. I stubbornly clung to my straightness for three more years. I even got engaged.”
Riley bugged his eyes out. “To a woman?”
“Yes, to a woman. Such a calamité.” I swiped my hand through my hair and opened my arms in a theatric show of despair. “Her name was Marguerite. She was pretty, blond, petit, and best of all, she laughed at all my jokes. The sex was nice. Not great, but nice. Two months before the wedding, I had what I think is called a total meltdown. I hurt my knee and was benched for a few games. No big deal…it happens. But painkillers and alcohol don’t mix well. I crashed my truck into a ditch in the middle of nowhere Quebec on a stormy night.”