Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
The door moves an inch, and for a second, I can’t tell if she’s about to slam it in my face. I’m not sure she knows either. But she makes space for me, holding out an arm to invite me in though she’s still glaring ice daggers my way.
I step inside, inhaling her as I pass her. This time, I’m not leaving until we figure this out. I’ll plant myself on her fucking couch or in the middle of her bed and force her to talk to me if that’s what it takes.
Not for the team or tomorrow’s game. But for myself. If that makes me a greedy asshole, then so be it.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Joy starts, still sassy and mouthy as she sits down on the couch, spitting out barbs the whole way, “but I still don’t date athletes.” She points from me to her as I sit beside her, noting that she’s curled her legs between us as a buffer. “So this isn’t happening.”
I kinda hoped my true confessions moment would give me a little quarter with her, but mercy isn’t in her nature and I wouldn’t change her even if I could. But challenge her? Fuck yeah, I can do that, especially if it means understanding her better.
“Why not?”
“Buchanan Spitz.”
I blink, not following in the slightest. “Is that supposed to mean something? Should I know that name?”
Joy chuckles, but her smile is bitter and frayed at the edges. “He was my boyfriend for a minute. I thought we were serious, he thought what I didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Surprise! It hurt . . . a lot. Me, not him, it was the first time I caught serious feels. In hindsight, I should’ve ripped his arm or leg off and beat him with it. He deserved it.”
I get it now. This Spitz guy must’ve been an athlete and he cheated on her, so she swore off all athletes.
“We could correct that oversight,” I offer, already earmarking one Buchanan Spitz for a visit by me and Shepherd and making note of Joy’s great, albeit graphic, idea about how to deal with him.
That does make Joy smile a true grin. “No, it was ages ago, but the lesson stands. I hear about the players’ exploits from Shep. And I see firsthand how the guys are on the road, the fangirling, the reputations.”
Ah. Okay, it’s not only the high school asshole. As much as I hate to admit it, it’s me too. “I would never cheat. That’s not who I am.”
“Dalton, your nickname is One-Night for a reason,” she says softly. “You’re a playboy, a man whore, with different girls every night. I’m not judging you for it. But it’s the truth.”
Elbows on my knees, I shove my hands through my hair and groan. “It was the truth,” I admit. “But those women knew what they were getting into with me. My focus has always been hockey, no time for a relationship.”
“And that’s fine. I went along with the whole cock-a-doodle peekaboo knowing exactly what it was.”
She pauses like she wants to say more, and I look up, “Buuut . . . ,” I prompt.
“Hope thinks I like you,” she confesses on a pained sigh, rolling her eyes. “I think Hope wants everyone to have the happily ever after she has, and that’s not me. But that girl at the festival? I wanted to scratch her eyes out and pee on you like a dog, marking my territory.” She makes a vague X shape over my groin, and my cock jumps in response to even the slight attention. But like she thinks I’m bothered by her claim, she’s quick to add, “I know you’re not. That’s not what this is and not what either of us want. It was messy in here for a minute, though.” She taps at her temple. “But no worries, I’m over it.”
Shocked to my core, I try to find any kind of logic in her words. In the end, I stick with the part that does make sense. “You could mark me however you want. Pee on me, slide that sexy pussy on me, spit on me, squirt all over me. I’m down for anything.” I lean in closer, hoping for something . . . anything from her.
“You would be,” she laughs, pushing playfully at my chest. “Maybe it’d help your game? You really sucked tonight. I’ve seen peewee players with better gloveside skills.”
She thinks I’m here because of the pregame ritual when I haven’t even thought about that since I walked in the door. But she’s right. I do need to fix things before tomorrow’s game.
“I’d do just about anything to taste you again,” I tell her directly and honestly, catching her hand and keeping it pressed over my heart. When she flinches at the straightforward tone, I force my voice to go lighter, joking, “It probably is why I let the puck skate past me so many times tonight. Because all I could think about was finally having you on my tongue.”