Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 129354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
“We just had sex and you’re thinking about your dad. Awesome.”
“We just had sex. Period. And now I’m thinking about my dad. Period. Those are two unrelated events,” she assures me.
“What’s troubling you?”
“I want to go home and talk to him about everything, but I’m worried because I have such bad luck initiating heart-to-hearts with him. He’s so hard to talk to.” Her sigh heats the air between us. “But I think it’s time to have a real conversation about everything I’ve been feeling. Maybe for once he’ll actually listen to me, you know? Maybe I’ll finally be able to get through to him and convince him I’m not the same person I was back then.”
I trail my fingers over her shoulder. “I have the utmost confidence you’ll make him see the light, Hottie.”
“That makes one of us, because I’m not confident in the slightest. Like I said, I have terrible luck when it comes to conversations with Chad Jensen.”
I purse my lips for a moment. “I have an idea.” Then I hop off the mattress and onto my feet.
“Where are you going?” she demands as I duck out of the room.
“Hold tight,” I call over my shoulder.
In the front hall, I throw open the closet door and drag out my hockey bag. I unzip it, ignore the rising smell of old socks, and rummage around until I find what I’m seeking. As I saunter back to my room, something nags at the back of my mind, but I can’t quite bring the thought to the forefront.
“I’m about to do you a huge solid,” I tell Brenna.
“Oh really.” She sits up, and my attention is instantly drawn to her bare breasts. They’re round and perky, and her nipples are puckered from being exposed.
I have to snap myself out of it before the lust takes over. “I’m going to lend you my good-luck charm,” I announce, holding up the tacky pink-and-purple bracelet.
She gasps. “Seriously?”
“Yup.”
“But how is your good-luck charm going to help me? Aren’t all the mojo and good vibes it holds associated with you?”
“That’s not how it works, babe.”
She seems to be fighting a smile. “Uh-huh, how does it work, then?”
“It’s a good-luck charm. It brings luck to whoever is wearing it, not just me. Jeez. Don’t you know anything about charms and superstitions?”
“No!” she replies. “I don’t.” Despite the humor in her tone, her eyes soften. “But I’m willing to give it a shot if you think it will help.”
“I don’t think, I know.”
I sit at the edge of the bed, naked as a jaybird. I take her hand and slip the beaded bracelet onto her delicate wrist. It sits a bit looser on her than it does on me, and when she lifts her arm to admire it, it slides halfway down to her elbow.
“There,” I say with a pleased nod. “You’re all set.”
“Thank you. I’ll probably head over there and talk to him while you’re at—” Her face suddenly pales.
Mine does too, panic careening up my throat. Shit. Shit. I glance at the alarm clock, which confirms my worst fear. It’s nine thirty, and I’m an hour late for practice.
Coach doesn’t let my tardiness go unpunished. After I’ve suited up in the empty locker room, I sprint down the tunnel—on skates—and practically hurl myself onto the ice. My teammates are running a shooting drill, but Coach blows his whistle when he spots me. He doesn’t even let the guys finish what they’re doing. He abandons them mid-drill and skates over to me.
His dark eyes burn like hard, angry coals. “You’d better have a damn good excuse for this, Connelly. We’re facing off against Michigan in three goddamn days.”
My shameful gaze drops to my skates. He’s right. This was a colossal screw-up on my end. The regionals are being held in Worcester this weekend. We’re the number-one seed, playing Michigan, the number-four seed. But that doesn’t mean we’re guaranteed a win. Anything can happen in the national tourney.
“My alarm clock didn’t go off,” I lie, because the alternative is not an option. I was having sex with Chad Jensen’s daughter who I’m pretty sure I’m in love with. Coach would have an aneurysm.
“That’s what Weston said probably happened,” Coach mutters.
I force myself not to send a grateful look in Brooks’s direction. He didn’t come home last night, otherwise he would’ve been pounding on my door earlier reminding me about morning skate. And obviously Brooks knows that Brenna is staying with us, so I’m beyond relieved he kept his mouth shut about it with Coach. I make a mental note to stop calling him Bubble Butt around the house. At least for a few days.
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I’ll set three alarms tomorrow.” Fortitude rings in my voice. The reason I gave for being late is bogus, but that doesn’t alter my determination to never let this happen again.