Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“How old are you?”
“Are you from around here?”
The questions are endless, and he somehow answers but doesn’t. He answers yes or no, but then before they can move on to ask something else, he asks a question to distract them.
“He’s playing a no-nonsense game, I see,” Shantae says, and I glare at the back of her head. Shantae is stunning. She has this beautiful mocha-colored skin with light-honey eyes. Her hair is in dreads that she’s been twisting since she was ten. They’re gorgeous and long. Heavy as hell, but she’s used to it, and she loves them. For meets, she puts them in these cute pigtail buns with little Bullies bows. She’s adorable and smart. She’s premed for sports orthopedics, specializing in kids. She’s incredible, and Evan wouldn’t stand a chance against her.
Shantae gets what she wants.
Evan is slower than the last guy, but we give him grace since it’s his first day and he has to learn all of us. It’s probably why Coach asked us to be here fifteen minutes early. I’m on pins and needles as I watch Shantae wait her turn. She is watching Evan like a lioness stalking her prey. She pushes her pants down a bit, showing a peek of the tops of her thighs, while her leotard covers the goods. I almost want to go in there in just a leotard, but I need my legs to stay warm for vault.
Damn it, she’s smart!
When it’s her turn, I bite into my lip as she struts in like a model. Evan doesn’t even look at her, though. He is looking at his tablet, writing with his stylus. “Hey, can you give me your name?”
“Shantae, but you can call me anything you like.”
He looks over then and smiles. “Okay, Shantae. Tell me how you like your ankles done.”
“Hard. And tight,” she says, waggling her brows.
He looks up once more and then laughs. “Okay.”
She tries to talk to him, but once more, he sidelines her. He makes quick work of her ankle, and when he’s done, he pats it. “Good?”
“Great.”
“Anything else?”
“Your number? Your time?”
He grins at her. “Sorry, I’m not looking for a relationship right now. I’m focusing on my goals.”
“I can respect that,” she says, pressing her hands into the table so her breasts pop out farther. “But you can focus on your goals, and I can focus on making you feel good.”
“How about this,” he says, crossing his arms, “I tape your ankles when you need it.”
She waits for him to say more, but even I can tell he’s done. She eyes him as he stands there, cool as a cucumber. “Okay, point taken.”
“Awesome. Have a great practice.”
“Yeah,” she grumbles as she gets up and heads out. “Shut it, Cal.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” I laugh, but she’s pissed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone reject her. Super odd. But then, I respect what he is saying. After everything he’s been through, I wouldn’t doubt that he wants to keep things low-key. It’s been rough on him. While I want to ask him out or even just get to know him, I can’t help but feel as if it’s not the right time.
I clear my throat and pray Evan doesn’t remember me. Maybe he didn’t get a good look at me. Once I enter, he looks up and almost looks down again, but then he points to me. “Hey!”
Great. My heart kicks up at being under that green-blue gaze. “Hey,” I draw out, my face warming. “Hoping you didn’t remember.”
He laughs, a deep, throaty laugh that makes me tingle everywhere. “Forget you? Never.”
I cover my face to keep him from seeing me geek out. “Great.”
“Hey, that step was brutal. Even I tripped on it. I didn’t fall, but I tripped.”
I drop my hands. “I sent in a complaint!”
He laughs as I sit down. “I mean, you should. Especially since you have weak ankles.”
When he winks, I realize something.
Weak ankles are the least of my worries; it’s these weak knees now.
“True,” I agree, my heart pounding in my chest. “So, I like them taped tight around the ankle bone, but loose on the top and semi-tight on the bottom. I lose circulation in my toes sometimes.”
He nods. “Both ankles?”
“Yeah. Snapped them in a double layout off bars when I was thirteen.”
“Good God. I took a puck to my ankle and shattered it. I have to wear sleeves on it.”
“I used to do the sleeves, but tape is just better. More hold.”
“Good to know,” he says, and then he starts to tape, “if I ever hit the ice again.”
“Have you not played since retiring?”
He stops and looks up at me. “Must be a hockey fan. Or just rumors?”
He doesn’t remember me. Wow. Okay. “Hockey fan.”
“Nice.”
When he doesn’t answer me, I ask again, “So, you haven’t been playing?”