Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Strange.
The word I want is strange.
Then again, I guess I’ve dealt with stranger things.
Such as the diplomat who let his preteen convince him that Stranger Things was a documentary instead of just an Emmy Award Winning Sci-Fi Drama.
I resume my getting out of bed movements, this time managing to make it to my feet. “Speaking of…wives and girlfriends-”
“You mean Slayers?”
Not sneering is impossible. “What’s the custody schedule between Igor and Bella’s mother?”
“There isn’t one.”
Yet again, I completely cease my actions.
“Bella’s mother died a little over a year ago.”
Shock and horror have my hands flying to my mouth. “Ohmygod, I’m so-”
“Don’t be,” the svelte woman coldly bites. “Overdosing on coke laced with fentanyl was the only good thing that money sucking PB ever did for her daughter.” Her blue gaze hits the ceiling in momentary contemplation. “Besides giving birth to her, which I wouldn’t have believed had there not been pictures.” Processing her pain and disgust is clearly an activity intended for another time given the grin she flashes me. “How about you get dressed, I’ll get Bella, and we can go over a few things before tonight’s game while trying to get her to eat something besides dyed sugar?”
“Sounds good.”
Unlike this shit show I still don’t know why I ventured into.
Everything about it screams not in a million years, yet here I am.
Reporting for duty.
I gotta get my phone charged.
I need to know exactly what else it is I’m missing in this situation.
Chapter 5
Igor
Spending the entire day at the barn wasn’t my original play, but sometimes shit happens.
Sometimes you just gotta think on your skates.
Assess the other team’s strategy and change tactics.
Quickly.
Selfishly.
And in this case, avoiding the attack as well as the neutral zone is what’s best for me.
Nothing good would’ve come from being home where my mom and my new fake nanny would’ve had me on the PK for several hours, just like nothing good would’ve come from not pretending I forgot that the GM wanted to see me to discuss the situation with the aforementioned snowflake pajama wearing beauty I’ve had trouble keeping off my mind whenever I’m not working.
It didn’t help that she used Bella’s tablet to video chat with me at lunch time.
I had just gotten to the point where I could crush my sando while thinking about tonight’s game instead of her and then she called!
She fucking called with my daughter, which was a brilliant play to guarantee I picked up.
Which I did.
Which was actually kinda fucking nice…
I typically eat alone.
Most of the time, it’s just me and a book, especially on the road.
Yeah, the boys invite me out to do shit – more often than not dumb shit – but I always feel guilty about going.
About having any level of fun that doesn’t involve my little girl.
It makes me feel like a shit parent if I’m out laughing and smiling and getting endless amounts of attention from fucking snipes, especially since that’s what her mother was always out doing.
Partying.
Drinking.
Looking for any pipe-fitter in the league to try to make me jealous with because she just couldn’t believe I didn’t want her.
Fuck, I barely wanted her the one time we hooked up.
But locker room presh and loneliness are a bitch to face off against.
“You think you can just fucking avoid me all day?” growls an uncomfortably familiar voice mid piss.
“What the fuck, Hennington?!” I croak in consternation at the same time I try to angle my body away from her. “My dick is out!”
“And?”
“And like…” Knocking into the edge of the urinal during my scramble to get everything back inside my bottoms causes me to grunt in irritation. “And like it’s not fucking regulation!”
“Puh-Please. Don’t get your sweater in a fuckin’ twist, Susan. I’ve seen more dicks in this barn than you’ve seen paychecks in your career. Don’t feel flattered.”
Mortified is more like it.
“Where you been all day, Eeyore?” She waits until I turn to face her to continue her interrogation. “Besides avoiding me.”
“I wasn’t avoiding you.”
Her gaze narrows in a silent argument.
“You were busy!”
Hennington’s hands menacingly begin to caress her stomach over the tight fitted, cream-colored long sleeve dress she’s sporting.
“You had uh…owner duties.”
The proclamation is met by a blank stare.
“And GM duties.”
No change.
“And then that media conference, which was a major gino for the team there. Great fuckin’ play, aye.”
She twitches me another glare.
“And then I uh…I had cap duties. And pracky. And Peck was freaking about his first game in The Show. And then it was time to grab a new suit, crush a sando, have a pre-game nappy, and then ritch time. You know how important pre-game ritchs are.”
To my surprise, her shoulders lower a smidgen towards the floor. “Dad always had to walk the entire first floor of the stadium with a glass of Wilcox in his left hand and a lucky stogie in his right pocket.”