Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“It’s that cold in the arena? We’re indoors.”
“Trust me. It’s that cold.”
“Well, hold on . . .” Tallulah craned her neck to see what each of the stalls was hocking. “Let’s just get you a sweatshirt or something.”
Three and a half minutes later.
“Seventy-five dollars?” Tallulah croaked. “For a sweatshirt?”
“No one has ever been shocked before, I tell you,” drawled the bored, red-shirted man with Boston in every syllable. “You’re the first. Wow.”
“Her dad is on the team. Isn’t there some kind of discount?”
His eyes rolled around like a pair of marbles. “Yeah, my mom is the coach. And my schnauzer drives the Zamboni. Next!”
Tallulah ushered Lissa away from the merchandise counter, leveling Red Shirt with a dirty look as long as possible. “Sorry, Liss. I don’t get paid for another week. And I grew up in a household where my mother made our clothes. I’d never be able to look her in the eye again.” Quickly, she whipped off her coat and draped it around Lissa’s shoulders. “You can wear this.”
Lissa’s hesitation was clear. “What about you?”
“Are you forgetting I lived in Antarctica?” She snorted. “I can survive a hockey game.”
They took their seats a few feet from the plexiglass just as the lights went out and blue paw prints were projected onto the ice, moving in a swirl pattern. An announcer’s voice swept in and sent the crowd into a frenzy, feet stomping on concrete, voices chanting cats cats cats. The referees took the ice first and they were booed, which Tallulah didn’t think was fair, since they hadn’t made any calls yet, but the negative greeting also seemed kind of . . . good-natured? As did the shouts of get ready to lose, you fucks, that were yelled without reservation at the visiting team.
Tallulah raised an eyebrow at Lissa. “Remind me to never piss off a hockey fan.”
For the first time since she’d arrived tonight, Lissa cracked a smile. “The game hasn’t even started yet. Wait until the fights break out.”
“Ominous.”
“Yup.”
Geez. It was starting to get cold. Really cold, actually.
Tallulah tried to be covert about huffing warm air into her palms.
“And now. Introducing yoooooour Boston Bearcats . . .” said the announcer.
Holy Ice Capades, there was nowhere colder on earth.
Was she inside of an air conditioner? It stood to reason that the arena temperature needed to be kept cold enough to keep the ice from melting, but holy shit. Shouldn’t there be a warning issued in advance? She was already beginning to shiver, and they’d only gotten through the first few Bearcats players, including Sig Gauthier who was received by thunderous applause. Although . . . was it her imagination or did he continually glance toward the empty seat to the right of Tallulah while the announcer continued the intros?
“Last but not least, Bearcats family . . . you know him as the Blight of Boston, the Menace of Massachusetts. Make some noise for number fifty-nine, Sir Savage himself, Burgess Abraham.”
Something very funny happened when Burgess skated out onto the ice in pads, looking decidedly gigantic and irritable, despite the rafters shaking on his behalf. Something very funny happened, indeed. Yes, she’d seen Burgess play hockey on television and online, but seeing it happen in person, Tallulah momentarily forgot she was freezing to death. A troubling little engine started to hum, a pair of invisible hands stroking up the valleys of her sides.
Huh. Hooo. He looked . . . hmm.
Valiant?
Dangerous?
Sexy.
Okay, he looked really, really hot. But why? He was covered in padding, his lips protruded slightly due to his mouthpiece. She’d seen him shirtless. And yet, hooo. There was something attractive about the whole package. The jersey, the grimace, the way he skated as easily as he walked, unaffected by the hero worship being directed at him. Almost . . . blasé.
For some reason, the fact that he could also kiss was high-key occurring to her right now. Like, really, truly kiss. And his hands. They were so big. Capable of holding a hockey stick and chopping onions and ripping up business cards like they were silly little nothings. Not to mention, drying pond water off her body and unknotting towels . . .
She might not be cold anymore, but her nipples hadn’t gotten the memo.
They were stiff as nails.
Of course, Tallulah realized she had the equivalent of bullet casings in her bra just as the arena lights blasted back on, the Bearcats skating in a loose formation and separating into a warmup. As casually as possible, Tallulah crossed her arms over her breasts and resumed shivering, but this time, it was more about her cresting estrogen than the cold.
It was snack city out there.
Did everyone know about this?
How did the players manage to swagger while on skates? It seemed like it should be impossible, yet Tallulah was witnessing it with her own eyes. And it was very troubling that despite the entire squad of dishes out there, she could barely manage to rip her attention off Burgess for a second. How did he balance that tremendous weight on two little blades and make it look so effortless?