Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
I swallow hard and then screw up my face. “Eww.”
“Eww?”
“Yeah. I almost felt …” I fake gag. “Sympathy for you there.”
“Oh no! What’s the world coming to?”
We’re smiling at each other before I realize it’s happening.
“What did you want to play next?” he asks.
I glance around. “There has to be something here I’m better at than you, and we’re not leaving until we find it.”
“Or until you can’t put off weight training any longer.”
I snap my fingers and point at him. “Or that. But there has to be something.” One of those old-school games where you have to throw balls at clowns that fall catches my eye. “The clowns.” I point.
“Are you sure?” Lane asks in that kind of way where I immediately know I’ve picked wrong.
He kicks my ass at that, human-size Hungry Hungry Hippos, and even good ol’ pinball.
“I think I’ve worked out something else that you are,” Lane says when we’re almost out of time to play.
“What’s that?”
He steps in so close I can feel his breath on my lips, and then his eyes flutter, his gaze locking with mine. “You’re an even bigger loser than I was.” Then his lips quirk, and I can’t help myself.
I burst out laughing, and somehow, even though he’s insulting me, it makes me feel somewhat accepted. Warmth fills me, and I’m lit up with a weird kind of connection I’ve never felt before. It makes me soften toward him. Makes me want more. It’s strong and fierce, and so fucking terrifying.
TWENTY-THREE
LANE
“You okay?” I ask Oskar as he buttons his shirt. It’s a deep blue, the kind of color that really suits him in a way that makes me want to take it right back off him again. I should get out of bed and dress as well, but I’m too busy basking in postorgasmic bliss.
“I think we both know I’m better than okay.” He winks in an overly sleazy way, and I give him a blank look.
“Not what I meant.”
He doesn’t reply, and I eye the tension in his hands and arms as he does up the final button. Oskar shakes out his limbs and drags a hand back through his hair, disturbing the style I fucked it into. Ever since we landed in Chicago, he’s been a little off.
“You’re way too stressed for someone who’s had two orgasms already today. Do I need to blow you again?”
That finally gets a smile. “Screw you for offering that right as we need to leave.” He adjusts himself. “You’ll be doing it the second we’re back though. You know how horny I get after a win.”
“And a loss,” I mutter but finally slip out of the sheets because he is right. We need to leave for the game.
He points at me. “Don’t even put that out there. Quick …” He raps his knuckles on the wooden side table while I pull on my clothes.
As far as hockey players go, Oskar’s not overly superstitious, but I’ve noticed a few things lately that have been sort of adorable. We’re getting close to playoffs, and San Jose is in with a decent shot as long as we can win at least half of the remaining games. Apparently, that can make even the most laid-back players cautious.
Someone pounds on the hotel room door. “You ready, Voyjik?”
Aleks. I temper my annoyance at the interruption. Oskar is going through something, and I wanted him to get it off his chest before he goes out there tonight, but I think Oskar would rather abstain from sex for a year than admit he might be feeling the pressure.
Oskar grabs his suit jacket and slings it over his arm. “You coming?”
I sit on the end of the bed to pull on my shoes and socks before I’m ready to get out there.
Before Oskar, I was at every single game like a good PR manager should be, but since taking on this new role of babysitting, I’ve been having Keerson watch the home games while I’ve caught up on work and delegated rising issues to my subordinates.
I’ve always paid attention, but with following Oskar everywhere he goes this season, I’ve spent more time focusing on him than the general game, and I’ve finally taken notice of Oskar in his prime. I thought everyone who’d sing Oskar’s praises before my self-imposed assignment with him were kiss-asses. I’d thought people were exaggerating his importance on the team as an excuse to dismiss his poor behavior. But I was wrong.
From the second Oskar hits the ice in every game, a special kind of magic takes over. Plays happen. We have more time in our offensive zone. The morale even seems to be boosted. It finally makes sense why San Jose is so determined to keep him.
I follow Oskar out into the hall, where Aleks gives me a friendly wave. It’s so hard to resist my urge to stare him down, to make it clear Oskar won’t be going anywhere near his dick, but Aleks is a San Jose player too, and it’s my job to be approachable.