Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
But this wasn’t a normal day.
I killed the engine and pulled the key from the ignition, letting the silence roll over me. Holy fuck. What just happened? I’d been doing so well. I’d avoided him for weeks. No eye contact, no interaction whatsoever. Yeah, he chased me down to drop the job bomb, but I could have put an end to it immediately. I could have nodded, made an excuse to get away, and told Harry that Sky was a bad bet.
But I ate lunch with him instead. And kissed him. The burrito sat in my stomach like a lead balloon. I felt slightly nauseous yet tingly all over at the same time. I wanted to get as far from Sky Jameson as possible. But first I wanted to rewind the last ten minutes of my life and play them over again.
And yeah…that scared the hell out of me.
3
The best cure for a panic attack on deck was a trip to the rink. Team practices started next week, which meant the bulk of the guys were out of town soaking up the last bit of summer vacation while they had a chance. I hoped it also meant I wouldn’t run into anyone I knew. At least no one who’d want to chat about anything that required extra brain cells. Sure, I wished I had pads, a stick, and a reason to body-slam someone as I chased after a puck. But organizing a pick-up game was too much work and required talking. I couldn’t do that without cracking or acting weird.
I tried to be as “normal” as possible. I shot the shit with the guy manning the reception desk about sharing ice time with figure skaters, the Kings’ chances next season, and the heat wave happening beyond the air-conditioned walls. Then I strapped on my skates, popped my earpods in, and skated. And skated. And skated.
I cut across the ice at top speeds, taking the corners at wicked angles while listening to mind-numbing metal rock. I hoped the rush of adrenaline would eventually erase the memory of that kiss…and the feel of his body against mine. Lap after lap, I zipped along the perimeter, wiping sweat from my brow in some oddball attempt to out-skate an invisible demon. My legs were rubbery, and my thighs burned. The familiar aches and pains were reassuring. But they didn’t stop the replay button in my head. Sky’s hand on my hip, his warm skin and firm grip. Holy fuck. I crouched low and picked up my pace in a last-ditch effort to outrun him so I could breathe again.
But the suffocating feeling didn’t go away. It followed me to the gym and stuck with me as I pumped weights, then beat the crap out of the punching bag. It receded enough that I was hopeful I’d avoided a full-blown meltdown by the time I pushed the door open to the two-bedroom apartment I shared with Elliot.
Our place was small, and the walls were super thin. No joke. If Elliot farted in his bedroom, I could hear it in the kitchen. The living room and kitchen were divided by a mini island with two pendant lights above it. I appreciated not having wasted space, like a dining room that never got used, but I wished the bedrooms were larger and that we had our own bathrooms. Elliot’s interior designer mom arranged the hand-me-down furniture we inherited from my mom and Harry into something vaguely chic. The color scheme was a basic nautical. Her description, not ours. A denim sectional sofa and surfboard-style coffee table faced a giant flat-screen. Two beanbag chairs provided extra seating when we had friends over to hang out and watch movies or just play video games.
I dropped my bag in the entry and peeled off my damp T-shirt before glancing around for signs of life. I could usually tell when Elliot was home. He tended to spread himself around like a dog marking his territory. He’d shuck off his shoes at the door, leave his keys on the island, and his backpack on the sofa. If it was a cold day, his jacket would be draped over a barstool or lying on the floor. I loved the guy, but I was grateful to be alone. My goal was to shower, scrounge for food, then hibernate in my room till morning.
I headed for the bathroom at the end of the hall and turned on the water, studiously avoiding my reflection as I finished undressing. I was just about to step under the spray when I heard a thump. I frowned and went still.
Thump, thump, thump.
It sounded like Morse code or like someone was trying to escape from a closet. What could I say? True crime shows were my jam. I pulled a towel around my waist and went to investigate. I left the shower running ’cause it took forever for the water to get warm. I figured it would be ready by the time I checked my room and Elliot’s…you know, just to be sure everything was safe and sound.