Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
“Is there Bailey’s in it?” mirthfully leaves me.
“Kahlua?” playfully inquires Snowman.
We hit each other with a brief look prior to asking in tandem, “Schnapps?”
Peck shakes his head a second time.
“Then no,” we retort in unison once more, small snickers leaving us both.
Ugh.
Sometimes I forget how Maximus and Juba we can be.
“How’s the face?” I sincerely investigate after finishing my initial fry and snagging a second. “Hurt or injured?”
“Hurt?” he replies, obviously uncertain himself. “Minor pain. No bruiseskies yet. Med said to let ‘em know if that shit changes.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t.”
“Should probably be able to sleep it off,” Peck informs on a boyishly shy grin.
Seeing the easy segue as well as an open opportunity to possibly not sleep in the lobby like a homeless person leads me to singsonging, “Soooooo about sleeping…”
Both men instantly halt all movements.
“There’s been a bit of a fuckup,” I continue while smacking on the last of the bite.
“You slept through your cotillion courses again?” Snowman’s chirping is accompanied by a finger point. “You have stolen gravy on your chin.”
I wipe it away with the back of my hand, give him the finger, and take a third piece. “For my pain and suffering.”
“Stratton would be shitting a fucking puck if someone had that much of his poutine,” mumbles Peck in amusement.
“I don’t have a room,” I disclose to the sweatpants wearing pair.
“How do you not have a bloody room?” investigates Snowman without missing. “Where did you sleep last night?”
“Sleep is a strong word.” Stuffing the rest of the dish into my mouth precedes me explaining. “The first room they gave me had no working toilet.”
“Yikes,” whispers Peck.
“So, they then moved me to another room, which it turns out, had no working heater-”
“It’s fucking thirty-five out!” Snowman defensively bites.
“You could get hyperthermia.”
“Hypothermia,” corrects the A wearing member of the team. “Right idea, wrong prefix.”
I do my best not to smirk.
He’s definitely more intelligent than he looks, which is something I hate myself for saying.
And knowing.
And adoring.
“I was supposed to have a new room by the time we got back from the game except they evidently ran out of rooms-”
“Who the hell runs out of rooms?!” Snowman gripes on my behalf.
“Right!” My fingers playfully strike his shoulder, becoming the first physical contact, we’ve had in weeks, a realization that seems to knock a bit of air out of us both. “They um…” clearing my throat is followed by me scooting closer to Peck to create appropriate distance, “offered to put me up at their sister hotel sixty blocks away-”
“Too far,” insists the dirty blond male, angling his frame towards mine.
“But it’s not worth the hassle especially in the snow.” I lock eyes with the still rather new to the league player. “Annnnyyyyyy chance you’d let me crash on your floor for the night?”
His mouth immediately lowers to reply yet releases no words as if suddenly paralyzed by pain.
Or unspoken proscription.
Stick taps to the last crossword I actually did with Snowman.
Confusion crashes into concern convincing me to lean forward and cautiously call out, “Peck?”
One blink is all I receive prior to him frantically shaking his head. “Can’t.”
“Can’t…what?”
“Um…” his gaze fails not to cut his teammate a glimpse which prompts me to do the same only to see a feigned innocent expression floating on his face. “You um…can’t sleep on my floor.”
I glare at Snowman and send my attention back to Peck. “In the bathtub then? Technically, it’s a separate room.”
“Uh…” the glimpse is given yet again. “Not there either.”
“Why not?” Folding my arms across my chest clearly makes him nervous. “You still have your privacy. I’d have mine. And I can just shut the curtain whenever you need to rock a piss.”
As if my answer makes logical sense – because it does – I’m offered an impressive nod that quickly gets banished by a less than subtle cough from Snowman.
“Face sex!” Peck awkwardly announces.
“What?!”
“You can’t stay in my room ‘cause of the face sex.”
“The face sex?!”
“The sex you have on the face thing,” he uncomfortably rattles off.
“FaceTime?”
“Yes!” His excitement furrows my brow. “You can’t sleep in my room because of all the FaceTime sex I’m gonna be having with Wings.”
There’s no stopping the skeptical expression from deepening.
“Yup.” More distress-filled head bobbing. “Just gonna be in my room eating more poutine…drinking hot chocolate…and rubbing one outskies…”
I can’t stop my head from tilting in disbelief. “That was a lot of info, bud.”
“Yeah,” escapes in a clumsy mutter, “I gotta go.” He hops onto his feet, leaving no room for objection. “Snowman, pay for mine?”
“Of course,” the male I know without a doubt is responsible for his fleeing retorts.
Watching Peck bail out of the bar is attached to me sighing, “Your ventriloquist game needs work.”
“No idea what you are referring to.”
This time it’s him I hit with a sardonic expression.
“Wanna finish his plate?” Snowman kicks his chin to the half-eaten dish. “Perhaps allow me to eat mine?”