Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
BJ holds up a hand. “I was getting there. Trying to ease it into conversation, if you will.”
“Oh really?” Conversation was the last thing on my mind a minute ago.
“I got sidetracked. But eventually I was going to ease it into conversation.”
“Woulda been hard to do with your tongue in my mouth,” I mutter.
He grins down at me. “Damn, that mouth of yours is saucy.” He skates over to Maverick so we don’t have to shout. “We’re working on tightening Winter’s turns.”
“Cool. BJ’s an excellent teacher when he’s not busy showing off.” He taps the boards. “I’m sure you’ll have it down before practice starts. Rink five at five. Looking forward to seeing you there.” Maverick gives me the thumbs-up. “I’ll leave you to it.”
I wait until he’s out the door before I turn to BJ. “Was that part of your plan? Distract me by kissing me and then try to coerce me into going to a team practice?”
“No. I mean, yes, I planned to try to coerce you into going to a practice, but the kiss is its own separate entity. Those two things don’t intersect in any way. My being attracted to you and wanting you to try out for the team are parallel but independent of each other.” He pulls his spiral tie free and his hair falls, framing his face. “I hadn’t planned to move in for a kiss until like…later. But then hormones took over, and I stopped being able to think rationally and shot my plan to shit. Then Mav showed up and cockblocked the kiss.”
I bite my lips together and fight a smile.
He has the audacity to look cute when he ducks his head and gives me a lopsided grin. “So back to the women’s team practice. I think you should check it out.”
I blow out a breath. “I don’t know that I’m good enough to make the team.”
“The retired hockey players who coach them seem to think you are, and I’d have to agree.”
“You’ve seen me play once.”
“Why are you fighting this? What’s holding you back?” He gathers his hair back up and secures it.
As unnerving as his directness is, I like that he doesn’t back down. “Hockey is expensive.”
“The women’s program works on a sliding scale, and it can be fully subsidized.”
“Even if it’s subsidized, I can’t afford lessons or equipment.”
“All of that is covered.”
I rub my temple. “It’s not just money, though. Hockey takes time, and those are hours that could be spent working, making money to help support my family and pay for my college courses.”
“Half the women on the team are on full scholarship because they’re high-level players,” he argues.
“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?” I drop my head and say the thing that scares me most. “What if I’m not good enough? What if I go to this practice and I choke?”
“Let’s break this down and sort logic from nerves. You played hockey with four retired NHL players yesterday on skates so dull they couldn’t cut a freaking tomato. You impressed them so much that you were the first person my dad mentioned at breakfast this morning. Hell, he came home last night and talked to my mom about you, and he’s pretty good at leaving work at work. This program gets thousands of applications every year. They don’t need to chase talent; it comes to them. But they see the talent in you, and frankly so do I.”
I scrub a hand over my face. “Hope is a dangerous emotion.”
“It can be when it’s misplaced, but I don’t think your hope fits into that category. Spend the next half hour working on tightening your turns with me. Then let’s assess where your head is. But if you don’t at least give it a shot, you’ll never know. And isn’t that worse? The never knowing what could have been if you’d just taken a chance? Fear is hope’s nemesis. It doesn’t belong in this battle.”
I roll my eyes, but BJ and I spend the next half hour working on my turns, particularly in the crease, which he uses pylons to mimic the net. We also flirt like it’s our second job. All the innocent touches make me feel like I’m about to spontaneously combust. And I ask him to repeat himself a few times, because I keep staring at his mouth, getting lost in what could have happened if Maverick hadn’t shown up.
At four twenty, BJ calls a timeout. “As much as I’d love to keep doing this for the next two hours, you’re killing the turns, women’s practice starts in a little more than half an hour, and we still need to eat fritters.”
We leave the ice, and I take my skates off and put on my running shoes, relieved that my toes are no longer scrunched up. Instead of sitting at one of the tables by the concession stand, BJ takes me through to the offices, where there’s a staff room. It’s complete with a huge conference table and a fully equipped kitchen with a stove, two fridges, a dishwasher, a microwave, and a toaster oven.