Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
“Coach wants us there tonight,” Drew said across from me. “He’s going to make us pay for last week’s game.”
“Does that mean you can’t drink?” Marissa asked.
“Well, it wouldn’t be ideal,” he said.
I tuned out their conversation and spoke to Nash about the new skates. He told me about a training camp he attended in Canada last year and how some of the CHL coaches had gone by, which was how he ended up signing a contract with Montreal when he’d turned eighteen. I told him about a similar contract I’d signed at that age and how my agent was able to get me out of it and make me a free agent.
“Man, I would kill to be a free agent. I was telling my—” He stopped talking mid-sentence, his mouth dropping for a moment before recovering. He slapped Drew’s arm. “Holy. Shit. Dibs. Dibs. Dibs.”
I’d heard Nash chant dibs more times than I could count these last four years, but when I looked at Drew, who had the complete opposite taste in women, and caught him eye-fucking whoever was behind me, my skin prickled.
“Yeah, right. Pres would murder you,” Drew said, still staring.
“It would be fucking worth it,” Nash said under his breath.
The back of my neck suddenly felt hot. They had to be talking about Lyla. If that was the case, I needed to brace myself. We’d all been with hot-as-fuck girls, and Nash was worse than me. He wouldn’t fuck the same girl twice, no matter what. Something ugly and foreign curled in my stomach as I watched them continue discussing this under their breath.
Marissa snorted. “I’m guessing Lyla’s here.”
Neither of them answered. They were still busy ogling. I hadn’t even confirmed that it was Lyla and already wanted to stab their eyes out. Another first for me. Marissa pushed her seat back, stood, turned to look, and gasped. She squealed as she ran over, “Oh my God. That’s my girl.”
I took a breath, let it out, and turned around. Prescott was talking to an older lady, and Lyla fucking James was wearing a beige dress that molded her body. It was more holes than material and reached her ankles. Underneath, she wore a white bikini. I was sure I’d stopped breathing. I’d made peace with the baggy clothes and told myself I didn’t care what she looked like underneath them. She had my attention regardless, but holy fucking shit, this was unexpected. While Prescott kept talking, Lyla spoke to Marissa, who was touching her hair. It was down and in waves today.
“She’s off the table,” I said, forcing myself to turn around.
“Aw, come on, Lach. Can’t you be satisfied with the thousands of women who want a piece of you and let me have this one?” Nash asked.
“Why is she off the table?” That was Mason, who was sitting on the other side of the table and had no business in this conversation.
I leveled him with a stare. “Because I said so.”
“That’s fucking bullshit,” Drew said.
“Marissa is more your style, Drew, trust me.” I turned to Nash. “Lyla is off the table unless you want to lose your fingers. I’m not fucking around.”
“Damn.” His eyebrows shot up. I didn’t know what that meant and didn’t care enough to ask.
“Gentlemen,” Prescott said at the head of the table, then looked at Marissa and Lyla beside him. “Ladies. Thanks for coming. Let’s eat, and then we’ll play.”
Lyla gave a small smile and waved. When our eyes locked, hers widened a little. I was sure it wasn’t noticeable to anyone else, but I felt a wave of satisfaction. There was an empty chair to my left, but she sat between Marissa and Prescott. I wanted to shove everyone away and pull her next to me. Fuck, I wanted to shove them away and splay her on the fucking table and have her for brunch. I felt a pinch on my arm and glared at Marissa for snapping me out of that daydream.
“Set me up with Drew,” she whispered, “And I’ll try to set you up with Lyla.”
“I already put in a good word with Drew,” I said. She beamed until I added, “And I know you’re full of shit because Lyla doesn’t even like people. She told me herself.”
Marissa snorted and whispered. “Didn’t she also tell you she didn’t like sex?”
I frowned. “Was it a lie?”
“I mean, she’s been hanging out with one guy a lot. He’s not a boyfriend, but judging by the amount of times he texts, he’s trying hard to be.”
This was irritating. “Who is it?”
“Some guy on the football team.”
Football? What the hell? The football team was popular, but Fairview lived and breathed hockey.
“Does she go to the games?” I asked, keeping my voice down since she was right there. That dress was so tight on her tits that if she sneezed, I was sure one would come out of her tiny bikini. I simultaneously hoped it happened and didn’t.