Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“Well, is my situation all over the Internet?”
Mia jumped a little at my voice, covering her chest with a flat palm as she spun in her chair to face me. She was wearing large, tortoise-shell, framed glasses — another visual that made me think of the past. She smiled as I made my way toward her, shaking her head and thumbing the screen on her phone before she laid it flat on the counter and shoved it my way.
That’s when I realized she wasn’t wearing a bra, and I once again felt my brain going haywire. She hadn’t been wearing one last week in the hotel, either, and it’d taken everything in me to keep my hands to myself. I knew I wasn’t good enough for her, that I was trouble in her mind and just playing my part in her carefully laid plans to get her album release on track. But that didn’t stop my thoughts from wondering what it would be like to walk my fingers up under her shirt and palm her, from wondering if she’d let me, if she’d be shocked and angry, or if she’d closer her eyes and sigh and lean into the touch.
She’d leaned in on the beach, part of my brain argued. She’d moaned and gripped and pulled.
She was doing it for the cameras, the smarter part of me argued. It was an act, just like the hundreds of other times she’s performed.
“Sure is,” she said. “And don’t worry — only half the comments are talking about how small and disappointing the view is.”
I pinched her side, right where I knew she was the most ticklish, before picking up her phone and taking in the view for myself.
The article on the screen was from Pop Star Entertainment, and though my junk had been blurred out in their photos, it was only just enough blur to not be able to see the details. There was still plenty to view, and I found particular joy in the close up of Mia’s wide eyes and her hand covering her mouth as she watched my white ass jog away from her.
“Hmm… your expression here doesn’t say small to me,” I pointed out, zooming in on her face.
Mia smacked my arm and ripped her phone from my hand, but not before I got a couple more scrolls in and saw the pictures of us making out.
The one with her leg hiked up over my hip and her chest arching into me was enough to give me another hard-on, so I rounded the kitchen island to stand on the other side of it just in case.
“Mission accomplished, I’d say.” I leaned over the countertop on my elbows, nodding to where she was now typing away. “Isabella happy?”
“Thrilled. I’m sure Giana is, too. You should check your phone — it’s been blowing up.”
I followed her gaze to where I’d left my phone in the kitchen earlier.
“You sound a little jealous,” I noted. “Want to go through my phone, Strings? I promise, you’re the only girl I’m texting.”
“Shut up,” she said without looking up at me, but I didn’t miss the way her cheeks turned red.
I chuckled, unlocking my phone and thumbing through the texts quickly. There was, indeed, a few from Giana telling me that sponsorship offers were rolling in and she wanted to meet tomorrow to discuss. She also asked if it would be possible to not flash my goods for the whole world to see next time.
There was a text from Richard Bancroft, too. He was giddy to report that we’d already sold out every suite in the arena for the first seven home games. He was expecting some high-profile guests to be in attendance.
Carter had added me to a group chat with the guys, and there were about a dozen texts from them ranging from dick jokes to not-so-subtle pleas for details of what the fuck was going on.
But all those texts faded to the background when I saw a missed one from Mia’s father.
Charlie Conaway: Hello, son. Been a while since we chatted. Got some time this weekend?
My asshole clenched at the sight of the text, which to anyone else would have seemed pleasant enough. But I knew Charlie. I knew that behind his love and respect for me as a hockey player and as a man, there was a fierce layer of protection over his daughter.
And I had a feeling that — whether he knew it was fake or not — he was not happy about the photos circulating online at the moment.
“Gopferdami,” I muttered under my breath before texting him back that I could talk tomorrow.
“What?” Mia asked.
I let out a sigh, tossing my phone face down on the counter once I’d shot off the text and ignored the rest. “Nothing. Just pretty sure your father is preparing to skin me alive.”