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)
“Thanks. You know your husband is a badass, right?”
The elevator opened behind me.
“Don’t tell him that, or his ego will never deflate.” She grabbed my hand just as I was about to back into the elevator, and pressed a key into it. “Room eight thirty-seven.”
“Uhhh,” I mumbled. “You know I don’t…”
“Oh, shut up!” She shoved at my chest. “Just trust me. Eight thirty-seven.”
The doors shut, leaving me in complete, blissful quiet. I punched my floor—thirteen—and leaned back against the elevator wall. As the elevator rose, I studied the key in my hand and then pressed the eighth floor just in time. Maybe Harper had known I wasn’t feeling in the mood for a crowd and this was a private Reaper party.
The elevator dinged, and I stepped out, keeping my head down as I passed a group of people headed into the elevator.
“Holy shit, you’re Sawyer McCoy!” one of the guys said.
I startled, realizing I’d become the guy I used to idolize.
“Yeah, I am,” I answered with a quick, tight smile.
“Amazing game tonight, man!” he congratulated me as they filed into the elevator.
“Thanks,” I answered, offering a wave as I turned to head down the hallway.
I found eight thirty-seven and put the key to the lock, half expecting it not to open, but it did. “Hello?” I called out as I walked into the strange room.
Then I was speechless.
Echo stood in the middle of the room, right by the foot of the bed as if she’d jumped up when she’d heard the key in the lock. Her hair was up, and she really was wearing my Reaper hoodie. She was here. She’d been there.
“Hi,” she said, wringing her hands in front of her.
“You were there?” Not my smoothest line, but it was all I could manage to get out.
“Until you saw me in the third period,” she admitted with a nod.
My eyes widened. “And then you left?”
“Yeah. Probably not the most supportive thing I could have done, but I didn’t want to distract you, and…” She blew out a long breath. “And the truth is that it was hard to see you out there, all fast and crazy-good, and know that I can’t have you. And the moment you saw me, I felt it—that pull that’s always between us, and I couldn’t breathe, and I figured if I couldn’t, then maybe you couldn’t either, and I needed to go before you got all distracted and blew the game or something.”
By the time she’d finished her ramble, my jaw was nearly on the floor. “I don’t even know where to begin with all that,” I muttered, shaping the bill of my hat.
“You aren’t supposed to be here,” she blurted, shaking her head.
“I’m sorry?”
“You’re supposed to be out partying with your friends. You won the Stanley Cup! Aren’t there parties and stuff? Why are you staring at me like that?”
“Harper gave me a key and told me to come up to the room.” Was I in the Twilight Zone? First the woman shows up to the first game—ever, then she leaves when I realize she’s there, and now she was telling me that I wasn’t supposed to be here with her?
“Fucking Harper,” she muttered with a shake of her head.
“Let me get this straight,” I bit out, annoyance getting the best of me. “You flew all the way out here, but didn’t want to see me? Harper wasn’t supposed to tell me that you’re here?”
“Yes, but no...and yes.” She went back to wringing her hands, and it was all I could do not to cross the floor and kiss her stupid just so she’d have something to do with those hands.
Also because I was desperate to taste her.
“Echo, you’re a lot of things, but indecisive isn’t one of them,” I ground out. Was it her mission in life to drive me insane? Because she was accomplishing it with a gold star.
“I know.” She rubbed the skin between her eyebrows. “I just wanted to be here. I wanted to see you. I wanted to watch you play. I know what a big deal this is for you, and I wanted to support you, but not interfere with it.”
“Interfere with it?” I practically yelled. Jesus, she was going to be the fucking death of me.
“Right. Like right now. You’re supposed to be out celebrating the most amazing night of your life, not fighting with me in a hotel room!”
“Why is that?”
“Because this is a moment you’ll never get back! You’re supposed to be out there!” She pointed out her window.
“Will you please stop telling me where I’m supposed to be?” I stalked toward her.
“Well, you are!” She didn’t back away, and within a few steps, I was close enough to catch the warm vanilla of her scent.
“You wanted to see me?” I wrapped my hand around her waist through the bulk of my sweatshirt.