Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 129323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
“Exactly. This isn’t really like you. You’re more—”
“Levelheaded?”
She nods vigorously. “You said it, not me.”
I let out a sigh. “Maybe I want to be daring. Why can’t I be more like you tonight?”
She’s quiet for several minutes, still biting at that lip. “Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Really want to be daring? Reckless? Crazy?” she asks, eyes opened animatedly.
“I do.”
Em clicks mute on the remote and tosses it aside before she grabs her phone off the coffee table. The only sound in the room is the clicking of her fingers typing. My nerves intensify tenfold with every second that ticks by.
What the hell am I doing?
After a few seconds, she looks up, a smile spreading across her face.
“I don’t know the exact room number, but I know the floor.” She doesn’t look up as she continues to type. “Not sure how helpful that will be, but he’s on three.” She finishes typing and places her phone down. “The rest of the team is on the fourth, so at least you won’t be seen by any of them.”
A distant memory filters through my brain.
Aiden always had little quirks.
Superstitions.
The third floor makes complete sense.
I don’t say anything, just nod.
As a kid, I protected the little quirks that made him who he was as if they were my own. I was the only one who knew him and didn’t taunt him. Even his mom ridiculed him, but not me. I knew what it was like to feel less than. So I never did.
If he’s staying on the third floor, I have it narrowed down to which room he’ll be in.
“You’re really going to do this?” she asks, searching my face.
I bob my head.
“Well, my contact says he’s there right now. He arrived after dinner and hasn’t left.” He has a game tomorrow. He wouldn’t be anywhere else. “Will you be okay?” she asks, and I wave off her worries with a dismissive gesture.
“I’ll be fine, Em. It’s just a short walk to the hotel. Besides, I can’t let this chance slip away. Who knows when I’ll get another opportunity like this?”
Emma sighs, her expression revealing a mixture of resignation and support. “Just promise me you’ll be careful. If you need anything, call me. And please, don’t do anything that could get you hurt.”
“I promise,” I reassure her, a mischievous grin creeping onto my face now that the earlier tequila is working its magic. “Help me find my shoes.”
“No.”
I stop looking for them and glance at her. “What?”
“Have you seen what you’re wearing?” She drops her gaze to roam up and down my body.
I peer down at my outfit. Black-and-red-checkered pajama pants and a stained white tee. I squint. Is that butter? I pull the material up. Yep. Butter.
“Oh shit.”
Emma runs into her room with a laugh, and a second later, she’s tossing a top and skirt at me. I don’t bother to look at it; I just strip down to my bra and underwear and change.
She has the decency to cover her eyes as I do, but in all fairness, I’m drunk enough not to care.
“Done,” I say once I’m dressed.
Emma drops her hand and leads me to the door, where she hands me my coat.
It might be April, but Michigan’s weather is a fickle beast. It’s not unheard of to have all four seasons in one day. It’s better to be prepared.
I wrap it around myself, the chilly night air hitting me as I step out onto the street.
Nervous energy courses through me as I turn and wave to her and start walking through the dimly lit streets on the way to the hotel.
My senses feel clouded by a mixture of anticipation and intoxication.
The rhythmic click of my heels against the pavement is drowned out by the buzzing in my ears, a constant reminder of the drink’s effect on my body. But as the cool night air brushes against my flushed cheeks, the effect of the tequila drifts away.
The farther I get from Emma, the more sober I become.
This is a horrible idea.
This is by far the dumbest idea I’ve ever had.
My feet stumble, most likely my subconscious telling me to stop, but I don’t. Because now that I have conjured up the idea that I might see Aiden, I can’t let anything stop me.
My mind replays memories of the time I spent in my childhood with him.
We spent countless hours together. Endless hours under the tree.
There, he’d tell me about the fancy school he went to, and how he started skating on the very lake that rested beside the run-down trailer park. How, by a series of unlikely events, he ended up with a scholarship and then on the hockey team.
I’d watch him skate on the frozen lake daily, transfixed by his effortless grace on the ice. He was determined to make something of himself.