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)
“Quinn, Laughlin, this is Winter. She just started playing for the women’s hockey team, and she works with Rose. Winter, Quinn is BJ’s roommate, and Laughlin is one of my many older brothers.”
I wave. “Hi, nice to meet you.”
Laughlin raises his can of beer in salute, but doesn’t respond with words.
The corner of Quinn’s mouth tips up. He has hair the color of fire, green eyes, and an abundance of freckles. “Is your last name Marks?”
“Uh, yeah.” I’m suddenly nervous. Who knows what they’ve heard about my family.
“So you’re the new blood our dads can’t stop talking about. They’re flipping out over you,” Quinn says.
Laughlin’s gaze moves over me in an assessing way.
“Oh, uh, I haven’t even played a game yet. The first one is tomorrow, so let’s hope I don’t choke.” I laugh, but it comes out with a nervous lilt.
“You’re gonna kick all the asses, no doubt,” BJ says.
“Fingers crossed, anyway.”
Lovey’s still standing beside me. “Do you have your suit? Wanna get changed? We were just talking about taking the boatercycles for a spin.”
“Boatercycle?”
She points to the personal watercrafts lining one side of the dock.
“Oh, that’s my new favorite name for them. I didn’t bring my suit, but I can go like this.” I motion to my current attire of T-shirt and bike shorts.
“There are always spares in the boathouse. And usually there are a couple of new ones because I have an issue with online bikini shopping in the summer.” She wrinkles her nose, like she’s embarrassed by her admission. “Come on.” She doesn’t give me a chance to argue, just pulls me along the interlocking stone path to the three-slip boathouse.
I gawk as we pass a huge outboard motorboat, and a smaller one, as well as a barge, and step into a room with hooks, benches, and a double vanity. Towels are piled on shelves, everything organized and pristine. Lovey crosses over to a cubby and rummages through a bin, tossing a few bikinis onto the bench beside her. “You’re what? A medium?”
She’s narrower than I am, and willowy, but I don’t want to be rude, and going home in wet clothes would raise questions.
“Most of the time, but bottoms always fit a little different. Most of the time I wear a size up.”
She checks the tags on a royal blue bikini with a galactic print. “This one should be perfect!” She removes the tags and tosses it to me.
“Are you sure? It’s never even been worn.”
“Positive. We always have extras around because someone’s bound to forget theirs.”
“Okay. I’ll be out in a minute.” I head for the changing stall.
When I open the door, Lovey is adjusting her ponytail in front of the mirror. Her eyes widen. “Holy wow. You fill that bathing suit way better than I could.” She runs her hands over her lean hips and nods her approval.
“It’s the hockey butt. It’s a blessing and a curse.”
“I’m not seeing the curse part. Baby got back.” She wiggles her hips.
“It’s almost impossible to find jeans that fit in the thighs and the waist.” This is why I own more leggings and athleticwear than I do pants.
“Oh. Yeah. I can see how that would be an issue.” She taps her lip and smirks. “BJ is going to lose his mind when he sees you.”
I frown at my reflection. “Because I’m wearing a bathing suit?”
She laughs. “Because you’re rocking the hell out of a bathing suit, and I’ve never seen him like this with anyone before.”
I don’t know how to feel about the way that makes my stomach flip-flop. “How do you mean?”
“He’s smitten.” Lovey bites her lip. “I’ve been friends with BJ since we could blow spit bubbles. He’s usually a dive-in-head-first-let-the-hormones-take-the-reins kind of guy, but you’re different. He really likes you.” She hands me a plush beach towel. “Anyway, I’m glad you came tonight. I’ve been bugging BJ to invite you to hang out and not keep you all to himself.”
“I’m glad too,” I say, and I mean it. Since the move, I haven’t had much of a chance to see friends, and even before that, most of the time if I wasn’t working or playing pick-up at the old rink, I was studying. My social life has been pretty lackluster until this week.
It’s closing in on seven. The sun is moving toward the horizon, but we still have more than an hour of daylight left. When we return, BJ is sitting on one of the many Adirondack chairs placed in a semicircle on the wide dock. His head is tipped back, sunglasses shielding his eyes. He’s lost his shirt, and I can finally see the extent of his artwork. The tattoos that cover his right arm continue across the right side of his chest and down his ribs, disappearing into the waistband of his bathing suit shorts, a wash of vibrant watercolor. I take it all in—the way it curves around his long, lean limbs, how it seems to follow the dips and ridges of his abs. Maybe that’s one of the reasons I find BJ so appealing. I know he’s strong—I’ve seen him lift his partner—but nothing about him is imposing or intimidating.