Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Can I just say I’m flattered to already be in the same circle of people who matter so much to her?
Can I say that shit out loud?
Too much?
Too much too soon?
“Second?” Harlow continues without waiting to hear from me. “Huge. Fucking. Whistle. On the play!”
“So, hockey metaphors are just…your shit?”
“It’s how I was raised.” She lets her shoulders innocently bounce. “Dad found it easiest to talk to me about life shit in hockey terms, relating pretty much fucking everything to the game, which led to me processing pretty much everything the same way. Hockey is life and life is hockey.”
Huh.
I mean I think about life as a bar or a party, but I wasn’t raised that way.
That’s an adult choice.
Can’t imagine not having the freedom to simply think about shit in other terms.
Or being judged by others because I can’t.
“Harlow, I gotta fucking ask. Do you even really love hockey, or is it just the only thing you know?”
Caught off guard by the question she stumbles her body two steps backward. “Excuse me?”
“Fuck it. Give me two more minutes in the box for asking, but I wanna know. Do you really love hockey because you love it, or do you love it because it’s the only shit you’ve ever been allowed to love?”
Her defense stance fills my stomach with dread. “Believe it or not, I really do love hockey. And it was a choice. It’s always been a choice. I could’ve left this shit or this life behind at any point. I probably should’ve—which would’ve had Dad sleep easier some nights—but I couldn’t. I can’t. Yes, hockey has been tattooed on my soul since I came screaming into this world; however, I fell in love with it over and over and over again throughout the years. I’m here because I choose to be. Because this is where I wanna be. And as much as I hate that you fucking asked, I’m glad you did.”
My eyebrows shoot to the ceiling.
“No one ever asks. They just assume.”
“Fuck assumptions.”
“Okay,” she casually concedes, arms crossing, framing her small handful of tits perfectly, “then I won’t assume I know why you pretended that I gave you a job that I very much didn’t fucking give and am not going to give simply because you’re my unborn child’s baby daddy.”
“Then I’ll fucking interview for it.”
“Brendan-”
“Look, Harlow, I need that job because I’m gonna be a baby daddy.”
Her slender nose scrunches in amusement over hearing the term used again.
“Give me ninety days.” Shoving my hands in my pocket occurs as I cautiously close the gap between us. “That’s about the end of pre-reason, right?”
“Right.”
“Give me ninety days to prove myself. To prove I can handle that job. That what we had in Vegas was more than just a booze induced one-night stand. That the ring I still wear on my finger can fucking mean something.” When she instantly doesn’t object, I suck in a shaky breath and push onward with the most random yet smartest plan I’ve ever concocted. “Give me ninety days, and if this shit doesn’t work out between us or the job, fine. I’ll quit so you can give the gig to someone more qualified and sign the divorce papers and go back to A2 freeing you from me all before that first official puck drop.”
“And what about the kid?”
“I’m not abandoning it,” I blatantly refuse, tone firm and unyielding. “Even if I have to go back to A2, we’ll figure out some sort of custody shit. When I can come visit. When I can send clothes and shit. When we can video chat. I grew up without a fucking pops, Harlow. I refuse to let that happen to him or her.”
“Fuck, I’m hoping that it’s a him,” she quietly whines.
“Hey, me too!”
We exchange a couple of snickers before she curiously questions, “Why do you wanna work so hard to win me over?”
My answer is senseless yet honest. “I don’t know.”
Her brow pulls together in confusion.
“I really don’t. Maybe it’s because I like to see you smile or because I like the way you laugh or fucking love the fact that out of all the people in your life, I’m the only one you let call you Harlow.”
She flashes a slightly coy grin. “Dad was the only other person who could get away with it.”
“And see…,” my head tips her direction, “maybe the fact you let me means something. Maybe I mean more to you for some fucking reason too.”
Her brown gaze I look forward to seeing more and more in the future softens just a smidgen. “Maybe.”
“Then maybe my ninety-day idea will make us both winners. I know you’re a fan of that shit.”
My reference to her pissing off Page earlier receives an airy laugh that’s followed by a body shaking sigh. “Fine. But I’m not paying for you to stay at that hotel for three months. You can move into my guesthouse.” She slowly saunters away towards the direction we entered. “Can’t suck any worse than sleeping on a fucking futon.”