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)
“No pink ties should be on the list,” Igor announces at the same time he turns to face me. “But what do we think of pink shirts?”
“I don’t know.” I kick my chin towards him. “That’s purple.”
“This is pink.”
“It’s lilac.”
“Pink.”
“Lilac.”
“Don’t make me have Bella get her crayons to prove that ish.”
“It’ll be your goose egg on the board, Daddy, not mine.”
Another playful glare is twitched prior to him bringing the tiny human who is stacking multiple tiaras on her head into the discussion. “Princess Bella?”
“Hm?”
“What color is Daddy’s shirt?”
This time she drags her attention away from her overflowing jewelry box to give him a once over. “Purple.”
Some sort of grump – that I’m pretty sure is a Russian swear word – is immediately rumbled pushing me to turn the moment into a learning lesson versus letting her feel like it’s her he’s pissy at. “And what’s purple in Russian, Bella?”
“Felitawayyy!”
“That’s right!” Igor enthusiastically exclaims, fingers flying to the buttons of the shirt he’s practically bursting out of. “Fioletovyy is purple!”
Bella gleefully giggles and flips her blonde hair over her shoulder, unintentionally causing all the crowns to crash to the rug underneath her.
His eyes shift to me the second hers fall to her things. “You’re teaching her Russian?”
“Just some basic words.” Not watching him undress suddenly becomes the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do in my life. “Your father and mom helped us make some flashcards to use last week as our after-school art project.”
“My…father helped?”
“Yeah, he was like really excited about it.”
“You mean to tell youse guys the words?”
“No, I mean to physically make them with us while sounding them out.”
There’s no missing the twitched glare of envy and disbelief.
Okay, yeah.
Someone has some serious better not pout issues he might wanna deal with.
“Your mom liked the project too. She even suggested we start practicing some bigger vocab words like ‘truth’ and ‘honesty’.”
“Of course she did,” he quietly murmurs under his breath.
“But what she liked more is the idea of Bella being in school three days a week.”
He offers me a crooked grin. “Probably has higher hopes for her than she did for me at that age.”
“Or simply appreciates her granddaughter has a bunch of new opportunities and ways to grow.”
“Eh.” Igor starts to shrug out of the loosened shirt. “It’s probably my thing.”
Glaring is the intent yet the sight of his exposed, cut, tattoo covered chest leads to me gawking instead.
Candy canes on a Christmas tree!
Who the fuck has this many hard lines on their body?!
And if this is what his front looks like…what the hell does his back got going on?!
Against my own volition, I let my eyes do the caressing I wish my hands could, brushing the familiar number imprinted on his chest along with the bursts of color cascading downward. Curiosity regarding their meaning clumsily bumps into desperation to trace all the lines I see with my fingers knocking a very tiny, but very audible whimper out of me.
An audible whimper that causes my boss to arrogantly chortle.
Oh…fuck him.
He knows what he looks like naked.
It’s not my fault his abs were made for licking.
That’s his.
“Why the hard on for her to learn Russian?” Igor nonchalantly investigates after tossing the shirt onto what I’m guessing is the “will not wear” pile.
“It’s not just about learning the language,” I inform, tone airier than intended. Post a loud, dramatic throat clearing and a clever diverting of my gaze to where Bella is now vogueing in the full-length mirror, I add, “It’s about teaching her, her own roots. Knowing about where the people around her came from. Where she in turn comes from. How different places in the world have different things. How people in the world are raised differently than ourselves. It’s about exposing her to a world that’s bigger than her own backyard.” She dramatically gives me a finger wave in the reflection that I instantaneously give back. “It’s about teaching her how to appreciate differences and embrace them.”
“I like that,” my boss states, summoning my stare back to his. “It reminds me of learning to take the losses with the dubs.”
“Not sure I follow.”
“Appreesh both aspects of something versus just the one. People get so playoff focused that they tend to ignore the world around them which often still has ish that can help make you a better player or person.”
So, hot hockey dad not only has an ass I could cut diamonds on but brains I could help build a better world with?
Great.
I see we’ve reached that part of every small-town Christmas movie where the hunk in the sweater reveals there’s more to him than meets the eye.
You know I love Christmas movies and what not; however, I’m not so sure I love participating in one.
A weird hockey themed one at that.
Which I’ve actually never seen.