Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“You’d better be there,” a pretty redhead calls out to me. That’s Eva, Dev’s girlfriend.
“But fair warning—Tom and I slay in Cards Against Humanity.” The boast comes from a strapping and devastatingly gorgeous man. He has a light Brazilian accent, but it’s the cheekbones I recognize from the fireman centerfold.
I wish I could tell them Hayes and I are aces at something. Until today, I thought our strongest suit was communicating with each other. “I’ll consider myself warned.” Since I don’t even know if Hayes wants me to RSVP, I add, “I’ll check with Hayes, but—”
“He’ll be good with it,” Gilberto says with easy confidence.
I wish I were as certain as he sounds.
As I leave, that feeling of dread creeps back up in me. The second I’m alone I’m going to send the text to them, but when Oliver and I leave the suite, Jessie pops out of hers, smoothing a hand over her blouse and catching my attention.
“You’re just the person I need to see,” she says in her Texas drawl, then she shoos Oliver away. “This is girl talk.”
Uh-oh. Is that code for she knows the truth? And why does that fill me with so much anxiety?
“Sure,” I say carefully as Oliver waves goodbye.
Jessie gestures for me to follow her down a quiet hall, and I keep pace until we reach privacy and she spins around, tugging at her cream-colored silk blouse. “What does a full-chested woman do about this?”
One more pull and I see the problem. The gap at the boobs.
“All day, I swear,” she whispers, “I’m convinced everyone can see my bra.”
I’ve got this. “Charlotte Everly has a line of blouses by cup size.”
Jessie’s brown eyes widen. “What is this wizardry you speak of? And can I get one in black tomorrow?”
I nod crisply. “I’ll bring you one.”
“You will?”
“I’d love to,” I say, genuinely thrilled at the idea.
“Sold,” she says, then like she did in Vegas, she studies me again, peering at my neck. I’m wearing a silver necklace with a skull and crossbones pendant. “The Pirates? The Swords? The Swashbucklers?” Then she rolls her eyes. “Swashbucklers sounds like someone swallowed a belt.”
“I won’t argue with you there,” I say, laughing.
“And what would that mascot costume even look like?” she muses.
“I hope not a blob,” I say.
Oh shit, I said that out loud. Is she going to be pissed?
“Or a sad cloud?” She sighs, and I’m relieved she agrees. “That was my husband’s idea. Why did I listen to him? I need a cute animal that’ll bite your face off.”
“That’s the new team name litmus test—cute but mean.”
She points at me and nods, silently conveying got it in one, before saying goodbye. On my way back to the equipment room, I hold my head up high, take out my phone, and send the text to the guys.
I’m not the same girl I was with Xander. The girl who accepted less. I’m the woman giving fashion tips to the powerful owner of an NHL team.
In the equipment room, I change quickly into my costume. This time I’m a polar bear, and I have to say I look pretty fucking fierce. Like a cute animal that’ll bite your face off. I set off down the hall toward the ice with my polar bear head under my arm. I hear someone behind me pick up the pace then mutter something that sounds like fuck it.
Before I can turn around, a familiar voice whispers, “Hey.”
It warms me up. I turn to Stefan, but he’s alone. Hayes isn’t around.
Stefan’s looking at me like that just doesn’t matter. And I’m not sure how I feel about that.
“Hi,” I say, tentatively.
Is this how it’ll be between him and me? But what does that mean when I’m still married to his teammate? And what was he saying fuck it to?
“I got your text,” he responds.
And???
But I’ve already turned off my phone, and there’s no time to ask what he answered because Dev’s booming, “Let’s do this, Viking,” fills the corridor.
Stefan holds my gaze for a long, weighty beat, then mouths I’m sorry before he turns to join his teammate.
What is he sorry for though? The gaze? The poor communication? The apologetic stare that lingered?
They walk ahead of me, and as I pull on my polar bear head, my human one is more muddled than ever.
In the first intermission, I skate circles around the Ice Crew as they sweep the rink. During the game, I whip up the crowds in the stands, urging them to roar when the Avengers—or maybe the soon-to-be Polar Bears—score.
The crowds don’t just roar. They growl, and hoot, and howl, and that gets the polar bear in me even more riled up. I shake my hips. I shimmy my butt. And I dance until it’s time to strap on my skates once more for the second intermission.