Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
I didn’t even know how to skate. I couldn’t skate backward, and in order to stop, I usually just crashed into the boards. I shake my head, laughing at the memories of my first tryouts. I was so happy I didn’t give a shit. My father bought all my equipment secondhand, but I got out there and played my heart out. When the goalie showed up for one game and then came down with the stomach flu while getting dressed, I was the one closest to his size, so they put me in his gear and put me in nets. I was made for it. When I turned sixteen, Tri-City Americans scouted me, and three years later, I was drafted. I played for Nashville for four years before finally being traded to New York, and I’ve been here ever since.
After finishing my shake, I get up and go back into the kitchen. Putting the cup in the dishwasher, I make my way upstairs to my bedroom. My phone rings, and I see it’s my dad.
“Hey, Dad,” I say to him with a smile.
“Markos.” He uses my legal name, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “How are you, my son?” He has been in Canada almost all his life, but if you listen close enough, you can still hear the accent. Now my brother, Christos—he calls himself Chris—and I lived in Canada our whole life, and no matter how much Greek school we had growing up on Saturday mornings, we still cannot understand it.
“Good, Dad,” I tell him, grabbing my workout shorts. “Just got home actually.”
“Good. How was the drive?” he asks. I spent the last week with them at my summer house in Kelowna, British Columbia, and I stopped in Toronto and then decided to drive down to New York.
“Good. I got to zone out for a couple of hours, so it was peaceful,” I tell him. Even when I was younger, I was always the quiet one, and then once I became a goalie, it just got even worse. I am always in my head, always quiet, and always assessing the situation. Before the games, I don’t talk to anyone. Instead, I put on my music and get in the zone.
“Your mother already misses you,” he says. “She wants to come down for the opening game.”
“No problem. I’ll get you tickets,” I tell him. “I’m getting the official schedule this week, so I’ll let you know the dates.”
“That sounds good,” my father says. “I just wanted to make sure you got home okay.” I smile because even at thirty-two, almost thirty-three, he still wants me to call him as soon as I get home.
“I’m home,” I tell him quietly. “I’m going to go work out now, so I’ll call you sometime tomorrow or when I get the schedule.”
“Sure thing, son,” he says. “I love you,” he says in Greek, and I say one of the few Greek words I know.
“Love you, too,” I say and disconnect the phone, grabbing my stuff and heading down to the gym. Once I get on the treadmill, I put the Air Pods in my ears, and for the next two hours, I just run, trying to shut down my mind. But instead, I make mental notes and lists for later. When I walk back into the apartment, I grab a bottle of water and hydrate myself.
“It’s going to be a good season,” I say to the empty room. Little do I realize exactly how big this season will be.
Chapter Three
Vivienne
“Do you know you’ve carried me more than any other man before?” I say, giggling as Matthew tosses me over his shoulder like I’m a bag of potatoes. “I mean, I’ve had men carry me before, but I got the happy ending after they did.”
“No happy ending here, Vivi,” Matthew says, opening the back door to his truck and placing me in gently. We got to Long Island earlier in the day and started house hopping and finally ended up at Zara’s where Matthew and Max swung over to pick us up.
“You have a good guy there, Karrie.” I lean forward in my seat, my head spinning a little more than I’m used to. It all started out so well, and then the talk turned to love and sex. Since I am without both at the moment, I started to feel sorry for myself, and well, that doesn’t end well. Ever. “He’s the best guy there is.”
Karrie nods her head with her eyes closed, and Matthew gets into the truck and groans when he hears me talking. “Are you guys going to go home and have sex?”
Karrie peeks up now, sitting up. “Um, yeah, we are,” she says and leans over and tries to whisper in his ear but because she’s drunk, there is no whisper. “We are going to have hot, dirty sex.”