Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
I had never once uttered the Zolotov name out loud, and thought about that family the least amount possible. My parentage might be one of the best-kept secrets in the NHL, but for all intents and purposes, I was a Sterling, just like my mother and grandparents. The other half of the family tree could rot off for all I cared.
London looked at me like she was reevaluating, her black, delicate brows knitting.
“What?” I asked, my voice coming out all scratchy. Shit, the woman even smelled incredible. She wore just the right amount of perfume, and I wanted to slide my nose along the slender line of her neck and breathe in.
“You’re just…” She shook her head. “Not how I pictured you.” She nibbled on her lower lip.
“You’ve pictured me?” I kept my eyes locked on hers, instead of staring at that plump bit of flesh she tortured with her teeth. There had to be a halo waiting for me somewhere. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been attracted to a woman and not made a move, not that this was exactly a move-making situation here.
“No!” She did that adorable blinking thing again, and her cheeks flushed with color. “I mean, I’m the new game day coordinator for the Reapers, so when the news came down yesterday that you’d signed, I looked you up, of course.” She swallowed like there was more to the story than she was willing to share.
“Right. You have me at a disadvantage there,” I teased. “If I’d known you were signed to the Reapers, I definitely would have looked you up.” A grin spread across my face.
She snorted and rolled her eyes, but hey, she was breathing slower now. “Do you flirt with every woman you meet?”
“Only the ones I’m stuck in elevators with.” That was a lie. I’d done more than my fair share of flirting and fucking when I’d joined the NHL, but I’d slowed that second part down in the last year. Nameless hookups after random games were getting old. “And in my defense, you did say I could distract you.” My grin widened.
She rolled her eyes again. “Why is it men think that sex is the answer to every question?”
My dick twitched at the word sex, but I ignored the horny fucker. “Not every question. Just the right ones.”
Her gaze flickered to my mouth before she huffed and looked away. “Not in my experience.”
“Then you’re answering the wrong questions,” I teased.
She swallowed, her breathing picking up again as she stared at the opposite walls. “What is. Taking them so. Long?”
“At least look at me if you’re going to complain about being stuck with me,” I joked, hoping my tone carried through even as worry settled in my gut like a stone. She’d done better while focused on me and not our surroundings, and it wasn’t like I could guarantee when we’d get out of here.
“It’s not you I’m complaining about,” she blurted, her eyes locking on mine. Now that rosy little blush was creeping down her neck. “There are very few women in the world who would complain about being in a confined space with Jansen Sterling.”
“True. It’s usually me kicking them out of the confined space that leads to the complaints,” I teased.
She scoffed, her eyes dancing, losing a little of the panic. “You kick your girlfriends out? Nice.”
“Hey.” I grabbed at my heart like she’d wounded me. “I’ve never kicked a girlfriend out in my life. Scout’s honor.”
Her eyes narrowed in mischief. “Because you’ve never had a girlfriend?”
I laughed again. “I guess you really did look me up.”
“Please. As if I care who the players sleep with. I know the important stuff.” She fidgeted with her bracelet, keeping her hands busy.
“And what’s the important stuff?” I challenged, hearing movement above us and keeping it to myself. Who the hell knew how long it would take them to get us out. Drawing her attention back to the fact that we were stuck in a small box wasn’t going to help her out.
“Your stats, of course,” she fired back. “You’re Jansen Sterling. Twenty-six years old. Six-foot-three inches tall. You have a ninety-three percent save average, which has only gotten better with your year in Bangor. You have endorsements from Bauer and Gatorade and prefer your charity work to be done with the Big Brother program. You were the second most popular player in Bangor when it came to meet and greet requests, and you generally agreed to them all. Am I missing anything?” She cocked her head to the side and lifted a single brow.
“I think I’m in love with you.” I grinned.
“Oh, please. Every staff member on this team can rattle off player stats.” She shook her head, but now that flush had crept to her collarbone.
Not under pressure like this, they can’t. I kept that shit to myself. “Tell me you don’t have a boyfriend.”