Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
We roar our approval and tap our sticks against the cubbies and benches.
“I’ve got nothing else for you,” Coach says with arms spread. “But Brienne wants a few words.”
My body locks tight just at the mention of her name, and then she’s walking into view, apparently having stood in the wings of the locker room.
I’ve spent way too much energy thinking about the woman since our hookup three days ago. Hell, I’m not even sure hookup is the right word. What we did has no definition—it was a whirlwind of carnality that consumed us both. I’ve certainly never done anything as bold as that, nor have I ever hungered for a woman the way I do her.
She’s fucking dangerous.
I’m surprised she’s here to talk to us, but I’m not surprised she’s here for the game. She said she was going to be in New York, so she must have stayed all weekend.
Maybe with her boy toy?
Which doesn’t bother me.
Much.
Brienne steps beside Coach West, hands clasped before her. She looks fucking amazing in a dark gray pinstripe pantsuit with wide legs, her platinum hair pulled back in that signature knot I want to mess up. Ice princess to everyone here except me, as I know exactly how hot she burns.
She starts talking, but I’m not listening. I’m watching as her eyes move around the room, taking in each of her players. I don’t know whether to laugh or be pissed, but her eyes slide right over me without a pause.
Maybe she’s trying to show me just how good she is at removing herself, to show me that disconnect. Maybe she’s still pissed over my insinuation that fucking her was like fucking the league. There’s no doubt that with the way I push at Brienne and take risks, she could fire me for my behavior.
But she better not be thinking anything other than I fucked her because I wanted her more than I’ve wanted anything in what seems like forever.
She’s a conundrum. I want her again but have no clue how to make it happen. I don’t have a way to contact her, other than to schedule a meeting, which sort of takes away from the spontaneity, and that’s certainly part of the turn-on.
Brienne wraps up her remarks, warmly letting her attention touch every player but me. I have visions of walking up to her, grabbing her by the back of her neck, and shoving my tongue in her mouth to show her I can’t be ignored.
Wouldn’t that be a sight?
I’d surely get fired and might even have more than one man in this room leap to kick my ass.
The thought amuses and puts me in an even better mood than I was before she walked in. Now I’m ready to get out on the ice and show Brienne and every other exec they made the right decision with me.
We head out of the locker room and into the tunnel. Baden meets me at the door and claps me on the shoulder. “You better block every motherfucking shot out there, dude.”
“Got it covered,” I reply with a wink.
It’s a bold proclamation, but I’m so ready for this.
♦
The arena is silent as the buzzer sounds. Half the Phantom fans have left as the vision of their team getting beat 6–0 at the start of the third period was too much for some to handle.
We’re pumped on adrenaline as the final period ends, and we make our way off the ice, the tunnel echoing with our voices as we praise one another and talk about the game. Tonight I played some of the best hockey of my life, and I was aiming to prove myself. My performance amounted to a big fuck-you to all those teams that could have had me but were too scared to risk it.
Inside the locker room, there’s more cheering and ass slaps, and fucking Kirill wraps his arm around my neck and gives me a fat kiss on my cheek for my shutout. I shove him back, chuckling.
Baden appears, shaking his head in disbelief. “I told you to stop every motherfucking shot, and you did. Forty-three, to be exact.”
“Just doing my job,” I say, not because I’m humble but because I knew it would make him laugh.
And he does. Leaning in, he says, “Those fuckers at the Wolves have to be shitting themselves about now.”
I snort as I turn toward my locker. God, I hope so.
Baden claps me on the back and heads off.
“We are celebrating tonight,” Kirill announces from my left. “We’re going out in New York City to party among the very people whose asses we just kicked.”
“You’re damn right,” Hendrix says on the other side of him. He leans forward, eyes on me. “You in, McGinn?”
“Sure,” I reply.
Why not?
“I want to get laid like a king,” Kirill exclaims as he works on his laces. “I wonder if any hot New York ladies have a problem fucking a Titan?”