Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“Does that mean it’s safe to drive around town?” I asked. “I’m not going far. My hotel is close, and I’m heading to the airport in the morning.”
“Oh, yeah. You’ll be fine.”
“Well, I don’t know how to thank you,” I gushed, holding out my hand. “This was above and beyond. I truly appreciate it.”
“No problem. You’re welcome, man.” He swiped his hand on his tee and flashed a lopsided grin, clasping his palm to mine.
My grip froze as recognition dawned.
I opened my mouth and left it there, gaping at him like a fish. “You’re Smitty. Smitty Paluchek.”
“In the flesh.” His smile widened, spreading over the hard lines of his jaw and softening his gaze till he looked downright handsome. And those dimples….yeah, he was a sexy beast.
“Uh…n-nice to meet you,” I stammered, still shaking his hand.
Smitty gently freed his hand and cocked his head curiously. “I’m guessing you were at the game tonight.”
“Yes, yes. My son plays for the Scorpions,” I said in a rush.
“Really? You don’t look old enough to have a kid in the pros. Who’s your son?”
You know, I was generally a pretty smooth operator. I sold real estate, for fuck’s sake, so I had to be. My schmooze game was top-notch, and I prided myself on being able to talk to anyone about almost any subject. But I was suddenly at a loss.
This was Jake’s nemesis, the player he despised above all others, but Smitty seemed pretty damn cool to me. I mean…he’d just gotten off the ice after a brutal, winner-takes-all game, yet he’d stopped to help a complete stranger with a flat tire.
I wondered if he’d regret his random act of kindness in three, two, one…
“Jake Milligan. The guy who punched you in the face.”
2
SMITTY
My fingers strayed to my split lip as my mouth curled into a pirate’s smile. That little fucker. What d’ya know?
And this was his dad. The dude was hot.
I arched my brow and nodded. “Good uppercut.”
Hot Dad laughed. “I think he got a lucky swing in, but according to my friend, Jake’ll be the one waking up with a shiner in the morning. He’s not usually a fighter. You must have really pissed him off.”
I pointed at my chest and tried on my best innocent wide-eyed expression. “Me?”
He waved dismissively. “I don’t want to know. I’ve heard the smack talk on the ice can range from disgusting to ridiculous and everything in between.”
“True. I couldn’t tell you what I said anyway,” I replied honestly. “Probably something rude and I should probably be ashamed, but hey…I’m a real asshole on the ice. Ask anyone.”
“Well, you’re a gentleman off the ice.” He gestured at his rental meaningfully. “Thank you very much for your help. I appreciate it…Smitty. May I call you that?”
“It’s my name, so…sure.”
“I’m Bryson. Bryson Milligan.” He offered his hand again and pulled it away as if realizing we’d already done the handshake dance.
“Nice to meet you.”
I’d like to claim I had no idea why I was still standing around making small talk, but I knew the answer. It just surprised the fuck out of me. I hadn’t felt a strong physical attraction to a man in years. I’d sort of wondered if my bi side had gone dormant…till now.
See, Bryson Milligan wasn’t just hot, he was…stunning—like a silver fox on steroids, mega good-looking, spank bank material, wowza hot. You know what I’m sayin’? He had high cheekbones, short dark hair threaded with silver, a lightly-bearded square jaw, and a ready smile that made his blue eyes twinkle and shrouded him with a jovial aura. He seemed friendly and approachable…and very sexy. It wasn’t like me to gush, but Bryson was the kind of handsome you couldn’t help noticing.
He was worthy of a double or triple take regardless of where you put yourself on a sexual spectrum. In spite of my dry spell with men, I was definitely bi. Once upon a time, I’d fucked men on the regular and loved it. And now the part of me I’d begun to think was the stuff of college antics zinged to life, rooting my feet to the cement.
Which was stupid ’cause nothing was going to happen, obviously.
Why not?
Oh, come on. Number one, the guy was undoubtedly straight. And numbers two, three, four, and five, he was that punk-ass kid’s dad. Even I knew it was in poor form to flirt with anyone’s parent.
Shit. Hot Dad was still talking…
“You too. And good luck with the rest of your season. Toronto is the team to beat,” Bryson commented amicably, jingling his car keys. “Although…I think I’m supposed to be mad that you goaded my kid into violence in a well-timed campaign to defeat the mighty Scorpions.”
“Hey, he started it.” I wasn’t sure that was true, but Bryson smiled and that was all that mattered. Oh, boy. Time to move along, Smitty. “Good luck with the car.”