Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
He flicked the puck to Max, who bobbled the pass and had to scramble after it. I made a show of leaning on my stick, peeking at my watch while whistling. The kids cracked up on cue. As soon as Nolan had the puck again, I burst into action, flying across center ice, angling my hips and my stick to cut off any possible shot Nolan might have had on goal.
Okay, so…I might have come at him with a bit more horsepower than necessary. I was that damn Ferrari, pedal to the metal, speeding after the guy I’d been obsessing over for far too long. This was poetry, therapy, and the best kind of release, I mused, bumping his shoulder and sending him flying into the boards.
Not hard enough to do any damage, but enough to piss Nolan off. He growled at me as he chased after the puck and sent it back to Max. I intercepted Max’s shot on goal easily and skated over to the posse of cheering teens.
“That, my friendly firefighter hockey brigade, is defense.”
Was that too much? Maybe, but I was done playing it safe.
Nolan stomped ahead of me into the equipment room. He threw a bag of pucks into a cabinet, then sat on a bench, pointedly ignoring me as he unlaced his skates.
Okay, maybe he hadn’t stomped, but he’d definitely walked aggressively. Yep, he was pissed. Only one way to deal with that. I sat next to him, close enough that our shoulders brushed, and took off my skates and my sweaty socks, tossing one over his shoe.
He kicked my sock away, sighing grumpily as he twisted to face me. “Cool it.”
“Sorry.” I stuffed the errant sock in the bag I’d stored under the bench and wiggled my toes, not budging an inch.
“Would you please move the fuck over?”
I scooted closer, stifling a grin when he swatted my knee and shoved his feet into his sneakers. He stood abruptly, jangling his keys. I took the hint this time and waited for him to lock up before following him to the office next to Ronnie’s. It was a smaller version with the same old desk, worn-out chairs, and crappy view of the parking lot behind vertical blinds with missing slats.
“This place needs a makeover. Stat.”
“Right.”
“It smells like mildew and sweaty jocks,” I commented, opening and closing the blinds obnoxiously.
Nolan set his workout bag on his chair and opened a drawer. He stuffed his wallet into his pocket as he rounded his desk. “Hmph.”
I set my hands on my hips. “Hey, I didn’t mean to hurt you out there. Sorry about that.”
“You didn’t hurt me, asshole.” His jaw worked overtime as he stepped into my space. “But it was a cheap shot in front of a bunch of impressionable teens who think you’re God’s gift to mankind. That’s what it was—totally unprofessional and exactly what we’re not teaching here.”
“It’s fucking hockey, Nolan. It’s a physical game. You’re not supposed to be polite. You’re supposed to throw your weight around, fight for the puck at whatever cost. You know that, for fuck’s sake.”
“You don’t do that by shoving your co-coach,” he hissed. “I need to be done talking about this right now, because the urge to punch you is a little too strong. See you later.”
I closed the door before he could open it, rolled up my sleeve, and offered him my biceps. “Hit me with your best shot.”
“No, Vinnie,” Nolan huffed in exasperation.
I tapped my muscles. “C’mon. Show me what you got.”
“Out of the way. I need a shower and I need to get to the diner. I don’t have time for this. Just don’t…don’t fucking do that again. I get it…you’re strong, you’re powerful, you’re—” Nolan looked away when his voice faltered.
And just like that, I couldn’t breathe.
“I’m…what?” I prodded in a barely-there whisper.
Nolan bit his full lips. The same lips I’d envisioned wrapped around my dick this morning in the shower. Fuck. Do not sport wood now, Kiminski. Do not.
Christ, even sweaty and angry, he was seriously hot. Every one of my porn-infused fantasies slammed into me like some kind of X-rated kaleidoscope, filling my head with images of Nolan begging me to kiss him, touch him, fuck him.
Whoa. That was—
True.
I wanted to fuck him. I wanted inside his ass. I wanted to finger his hole, lick him open, and pound into him. I wanted—
“Sorry about last week,” he blurted.
“Huh?” I furrowed my brow.
“The kiss attack at my mom’s. We never discussed it, and we should. I don’t know why that happened or what I was thinking, but—”
“You were thinking I’m hot and you want to do me,” I deadpanned.
Nolan didn’t laugh like I hoped he would. He looked away and let out a long exhale that sounded as though he’d shifted the weight of the world from one shoulder to the other.