Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I give her a weak smile. “Thank you. There isn’t a day I don’t miss them.”
“I bet,” she says softly, then she reaches for her wine. “To your parents, especially your mom for teaching you to cook so I can eat good food.”
My smile widens as I tap my glass to hers. “Slàinte Mhath.”
Her eyes sparkle. “I love when you speak Scottish to me.”
I choke on my wine. “I swear,” I say, wheezing as I cough, and she giggles. “You’re trying to kill me.”
“Never,” she promises, her lips curving as she flutters those lashes at me. “I’m just telling you the truth.”
“Sure. But, baby girl, it’s not Scottish. It’s Gaelic.”
“Yeah, that. It’s hot.” I chuckle as she digs in. Before I can even take a bite, I’m met with the most erotic moan as she covers her mouth. “Oh my God, Riggs. This is good.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“I do. Thank you for cooking for me.”
“Thank you for existing.”
Silence falls between us, but not an awkward or a tense silence. Rather, a sweet and heartfelt one. Clara’s face is so bright, so beautiful, I want to wrap her in my arms and never let her go. I hope she’ll stay tonight. Really, I hope she never leaves. I break away from her intense gaze, twirling my fork to get some pasta as she does the same.
A few moments pass before she says, “Can I ask you something?”
I nod slowly as I meet her gaze. “Sure.”
She drags a piece of shrimp through the sauce before glancing up at me. A flush fills her luscious cheeks. “Earlier, when you were nailing me to the wall of the bathroom—” I can’t help but chuckle, and of course, my little minx waggles her brows at me. “You said you haven’t been in a relationship for fourteen years. Why is that?”
My heart stops in my chest as my stomach twists. This is the reason I don’t do relationships. It can’t only be about the present; of course she wants to know my past. Just as much as I want to know hers. I’m not that great at being vulnerable, and opening up to her will leave me just that.
Exposed.
I clear my throat as I lay down my fork. I lean my elbows on the table as our gazes meet, and her eyes beg me for the truth. I can’t lie to her. I can’t brush her off. Especially when I don’t want to.
“Short answer, I never wanted to.”
She gives me a dry look, and then she reaches over, threading her fingers with mine. “You know I want the long version.”
I rub my thumb along the spot between her thumb and forefinger. Her skin is soft, inviting, and as I get lost in her eyes, my stomach flips and flops like a fish out of water.
Am I doing this?
Shit. I think I am.
Why, though? How does she do this to me? Make me want to open up and spill my guts to her? Is it her eyes? The way she looks at me like a dog waiting for a bone. How her eyes gleam in such a supportive and sweet way? I don’t know, but I can’t stop myself from telling her the truth.
“I got married a couple months after my ma and da passed away. I met Peppa when we were in secondary school, fell in love, and while we were young, I had this need to protect her. She, her ma, and her siblings had fled an abusive home, and I wanted nothing more than to be there for her. I loved her. Greatly.”
Clara brings her lip between her teeth but then releases it to ask, “She didn’t die, did she?”
“No. We got divorced a few years later.”
Her brows furrow as she tightens her fingers around mine. “Oh, why?”
“She cheated on me,” I admit, and her eyes fill with such pity. I wait for the remorse from telling her my truth, from admitting my downfall, but it doesn’t come. “For almost six months before I found out. With a teammate of mine—who was like a brother to me and the one to tell me because he was in love with her and wanted her for himself.”
She squeezes my hand again. “Well, she’s a cunt, and her loss is my win.”
I can’t help but smile at her. “It was my fault. I wanted so badly to live my dreams in the NHL. I worked my ass off to get where I was, but I kept getting hurt. Instead of staying home with her, I was always training, always trying to get better and stronger.”
Before I can get all the words out, she’s shaking her head. “No, it’s not your fault. She knew what she was getting into. She knew you way before the NHL, so that’s bullshit. Instead of fucking around, if she was lonely, she could have gone to the rink to at least be in the same space as you. There are ways to make things work instead of fucking cheating.”