Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
My eyes flared wide.
Echo: Don’t let that go to your head.
I laughed. God, this woman was keeping me on my toes.
Sawyer: I’ll try not to. And if you want to see me sooner, just put on ESPN.
Echo: I wish you could see me roll my eyes. Go do your thing, big shot.
Sawyer: Be there in a few.
I put my phone away with a wide grin and faced the petite, beautiful woman who’d just negotiated my contract like a pit bull. When she raised her eyebrows, I nodded.
“Now, I’m ready.”
4
Echo
“To Sawyer,” Axel said, holding up a shot of whiskey. Every other Reaper in the bar had the same shot raised, myself included. “Not a new friend or a new team member, but an addition to this family. To the newest Reaper who will take us all the way to the Cup!” He threw the shot back, and we all followed suit before cheering the man of the hour.
Sawyer Fucking McCoy.
He would be the newest addition to my Reaper-filled bar.
I should be so lucky to stare at all the gloriousness that were the Reapers. But…there was something about Sawyer that I hadn’t been able to work out of my system on my own—and believe me, I’d tried.
Several times.
Didn’t matter, I couldn’t get his scent out of my nose or his voice out of my ears. Every time I stopped thinking about him he texted or walked through my doors. Not that I minded his company, because I didn’t. I got a kick out of distracting him with random facts or keeping him humble with my more than down-to-earth jabs. And he was funny as he was polite, but the way my body kept reacting to his presence made complicated emotions tangle in my stomach. Emotions I had no intention of addressing.
“You drinking on the job, Echo?” The man in question strolled up the bar, setting down his empty shot glass.
I took it, sliding it into the bin of used glasses behind the bar. “Just the one,” I said.
The Reapers had been celebrating Sawyer’s new position on the team for a little over two hours now, and I’d only taken the shot because Axel was making the toast. When the captain of the Reapers opened his mouth, people tended to listen, including me.
“I’m never going to get to have a drink with you, am I?” he said, elbows on the bar.
“What makes you think that?”
“You’re always working,” he said.
I raised a brow at him. “And soon you will be too.”
A seriousness covered his slightly hazed eyes for a few moments as he nodded. That familiar weight of responsibility settled over his previously carefree demeanor, and it punched me right in the chest.
“Hey,” I said, leaning over the bar so he could hear me over the roar of the Reapers. “You find a way to buy out my usual profit tonight, and I’ll shut this place down to everyone except the Reapers. And I’ll have that drink with you.”
His eyes shuttered. “Give me the number.”
I rattled off half of what I usually made on nights like this, and Sawyer quickly wove through his crowd of teammates. Within minutes, I had cash in the till, and was locking up Scythe for a private party.
I climbed onto the bar, hollering to get the rooms attention. “All right, Reapers,” I said. “You’ve just bought yourself a night at Scythe. I’ll still make you drinks but feel free to help yourself if I’m occupied!” I flashed a smirk down to Sawyer. “And, just for fun, let’s get the newest Reaper as drunk as possible. Who’s with me?”
A deafening round of cheers erupted in response, and I swore Sawyer flinched.
I hopped off the bar, my boots hitting the ground right next to him. I craned my head back to meet his eyes. “You asked it for it, West Coast.” I took the whiskey from his hand and threw back the rest of the contents.
Sawyer’s gray eyes widened as I slammed the empty glass on the bar.
“What do you want to do now that you have my full attention?” I asked, the sweet burn of bourbon warming my insides.
Sawyer parted his lips, his eyes flaring, but Connell MacDhuibh wrapped an arm around his shoulders, stopping whatever he’d been about to say.
“Drinkin’ games,” Connell said, his accent rolling over the words. “Porter’s already got a Kings game going over there,” he pointed to the table across the room where Hudson Porter sipped from a club soda before he shuffled a deck of cars. “Now let’s get a Truth or Dare game started over here.” He pointed toward the other side of the room.
“Truth or Dare?” Sawyer asked, but let Connell tug him across the room. “I haven’t played that since middle school.”
“No shite?” Connell asked, plopping down at one of the low-tops. “It’s even better with liquor.”