Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 120031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Kristin jogged over to Casey. “The heifer’s been sent off the field, and the ref has awarded us a penalty kick, since the foul happened so close to the goal area.”
Casey’s brows shot up. “Who’s taking the PK?”
“Emma.”
Casey smiled. “Then we have this.” Because no one was better at penalty kicks than Emma.
Kristin nodded, mouth curling. “Yeah, we fucking do.”
Casey did her best not to limp her way off the field, but it was hard. It only pissed her off more that some of the Weasels shot her smug looks. They wouldn’t look so fucking smug when Emma booted the ball into the net—which she damn well would.
As Casey slumped on the bench behind the sidelines, Dennis shoved a water bottle into her hand. “Thanks,” she mumbled. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes as she gulped down the water.
A familiar scent swamped her just as a heavy weight settled beside her on the bench. She looked at Eli in surprise. “How did you get down here?” Not that she wasn’t terribly glad to see him, especially since his very presence distracted her raging mink.
Straddling the bench and bracketing the side of her body with his thighs, he snorted. “Like anyone was going to stop me from getting to you. I needed to check you were okay.”
“I’m fine, just pissed.” But her assurance didn’t lessen the anger she could feel radiating through him.
“Then why were you hobbling off the field, even though you seem to be healed? I can feel an echo of your pain.” His voice sounded faintly accusatory, and she had the feeling that he thought Dennis had deliberately failed to fully heal her.
“It’s a mink-thing. When our injuries are healed, the pain hangs around a little. It’s fading now.”
“Really? I didn’t know that about your kind. Weird.”
Weird, and fucking annoying. As he curled his arm around her, she said, “I’m all sweaty.”
“Don’t care.”
A shadow fell over them, and they looked up to see Preston.
“I wanted to check you were okay,” Preston told her.
“She’s fine,” said Eli, splaying a possessive hand on her thigh.
Casey nudged him. “Look, they’re getting ready for the penalty kick. I’m kind of surprised the ref awarded one.”
Eli’s eyes flared. “The Weasel went for you on purpose. It was a calculated act.”
Preston nodded. “You’re the best player and the best scorer; she knew the loss of you would make a huge difference to your team and to the game itself. You’ll probably have to deal with this type of crap again if you go up against Sherryl’s team.”
“Have you heard from Sherryl?” Eli asked him.
Preston sighed. “No. I thought she might call me and ask me to appeal to have the ban lifted—we were friends for a long time. But she hasn’t bothered.”
“She probably figured it would be a waste of time, given that she almost ruined your relationship with your mate,” Eli mused.
Casey took another swig of water. “How are things with you and Mallory?” she asked Preston.
He rubbed at his nape. “She let me move back into the house. I’m in the guest room, but that’s better than sofa surfing while I wait for her to calm down.”
Casey suspected Mallory was holding onto her anger merely for the sake of it at this point, but she said nothing. She shifted her gaze to Emma, who placed the ball on the grass a short distance from the goal. “Here we go,” said Casey, anticipation buzzing through her.
Emma took five steps back, just as she always did before taking a PK. And then a hush fell over the field. It seemed like minutes later that the ref blew his whistle, and then Emma burst to life. She moved fast, which seemed to take the goalkeeper off-guard. She took a short, straight run and kicked the ball hard and low.
The ball shot through the air like a bullet. The keeper dived, swiping out with an arm to block it. She missed. The ball sank into the net like it was its job.
Beaming from the inside out, Casey jumped to her feet with a loud, war cry. Ignoring the smarting in her ankle, she bounced on her feet like a crazed kangaroo. Emma took off at an elated run, her face glowing. And then the other Hounds were crowding and lifting her.
“We’re winning 4-to-2,” Casey gloated.
“You realize that the Weasels are going to go at your team even more aggressively now, right?” asked Eli once the noise had died down.
Casey parked her butt back on the bench. “Oh, I know.” And she had to admit, it made her nervous.
She braced her elbows on her thighs as she watched the game, silently encouraging and praising her teammates. She also cursed and snarled at the Weasels, who upped their aggression ten-fold, just as Eli had predicted.
She almost charged onto the field twice after the Weasels committed two shitty fouls on Emma, as if they were aiming to punish her for the PK. Only the arm that Eli had wrapped tight around Casey kept her ass on the bench.