Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Van is six years older than me, settled, successful, and let’s not forget, all hot and broody. There’s a story there, and while I’m not overly interested in finding out what it is, I am overly interested in making him pay attention to me.
So far, I have not been very successful. My attempts to engage him have all failed. The only time he’s spoken to me of his own free volition was about two weeks ago when he tripped over my purse and yelled at me. He’d followed Lucas into the house where Stephanie and I were already waiting for them after the game. The plan had been to grill steaks and have a few beers. I had really hoped Van would be relaxed enough that I could do something other than petty flirting to get his attention.
But after he yelled at me, he’d come back out of his room less than five minutes later, announcing he was going out for the night. The real pisser of his announcement was that he said his plans were “hot and dirty.”
This sucks, because I can do hot and dirty, and he won’t give me a second look. Ordinarily, I’d think it was a bro code type of thing, with two of my brothers being his teammates, but I could work around that. Although I sense that it’s something altogether different with Van.
I don’t think he lets anyone get close to him at all. Over these past few weeks we’ve lived in the same house together, he’s done well avoiding me. Granted, for some of the time he was on the road for the first round of the play-offs, but when they were home, he stayed away from the house during the day and wouldn’t come back until late at night. That could totally be a normal day for him, but I just have a sneaking suspicion it has more to do with me than anything.
That actually makes me smile.
Leaning into the bathroom mirror, I put the finishing touches on my makeup. Another coat of mascara and a berry-colored lip stain that looks amazing because I inherited my mother’s gorgeous lips, which are soft and full.
Pulling back, I give myself a critical overview. Tonight’s only my second night of work, and I hope I don’t overdo it on the makeup. I want to look sexy, but not whorish.
I hear the front door open, and then close, and based on the softness of the sound, I immediately guess it’s Van. Despite the fact he’s pretty much an asshole, he still moves with utter quiet and grace. It’s like because he’s so big he doesn’t need to make a statement in any other way.
And God is he big. I used to think my brothers were big, but Van makes them look like shrimps. I’m not ashamed to say I Googled him after our first meeting, and I know his stats.
Six foot six, 231 pounds of pure muscle. It’s needed on the ice, as he’s an enforcer and his job is to impress upon the other players that the Cold Fury mean fucking business. Despite his size, though, he’s amazingly graceful on his skates. I’m not saying he’d be doing figure eights or anything out there, but just that when he bashes someone’s head into the boards, it’s done fluidly…almost as if it’s choreographed.
Make it past that body, which I can only fantasize about what it looks like naked, his face is a complete puzzle. It’s gorgeous…beautiful, in fact. His hair is dark and messy, his cheekbones cut and his jaw hard and strong. Since he’s the team’s tough guy, I can imagine that nose has taken a fist or two in his career, and yet the slight residual bump makes the straight slope of it more natural. His mouth looks soft, and when he’s not engaged in conversation with anyone, he looks completely cool and approachable. But if you look closer at those blue-gray eyes that can go either cold as ice or impenetrable as steel, you know he’s got a tight lock on himself. You know you’re never going to get past his exterior.
And fuck me, it makes him all the more attractive to me. He’s a total bad boy, and I want him. I foolishly, petulantly want him. He’s the type a good girl goes after so she can tame him, except I’m not such a good girl. My brothers think I am, and my mother and father think I am, but I’m really not. I’m rotten, mischievous, and completely flirty…in a nice way, of course. I could no more leave a man like Van alone than I could ignore aspirin the morning of a hangover.
Taking a deep breath, I step out of the bathroom and prepare to meet my mark. It’s a rarity he’s here, and even rarer he’s here alone with me. I get the feeling he’s not overly fond of my flirtatious ways.