Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24614 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24614 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Everly's advice comes drifting back.
Get out of my own way and see what happens…
Maybe it really is that easy, and I just have to stop overthinking and go for it.
I don't even know what I'm doing before I do it. I just…get out of my own damn way for once to see what happens. Maybe it'll be a disaster.
But maybe it won't.
I want to find out.
"We have a special guest tonight," I murmur to the crowd. "I told him not to come, but considering how hard he's been stalking my DMs, I'm not entirely surprised he's here."
The crowd roars in response, everyone looking around to try to figure out who I'm talking about. The people standing closest to Kingston seem to know it's him. They all point and start shouting his name.
"That's right," I say, smirking at him. My heart is beating a million miles a minute. "Kingston Monroe of the Los Angeles Knights is here, ladies and gentlemen. Should we call him up here to see if he dances any better than he skates?"
"I'm going to spank you," he mouths as the spotlight finally finds him in the crowd.
The entire stadium goes nuts.
I grin, crooking a finger at him. "I warned you not to come, Hockey Star. But here you are. Come on up here and show us what you've got." I pause, one brow arched. "Unless you're afraid you'll fall, and I'll have to step over you again."
That gets him moving. He surges through the crowd like he's on a mission, his gaze never deviating from mine. I can read the heat in his eyes from here. I think the audience can, too. They're all roaring so loud the whole damn stadium is shaking.
I wait patiently for security to usher him to the steps. Only when he's on the stage, stomping toward me, do I think that maybe, maybe I made a mistake. Because he doesn't look like a man playing my game. He looks like one playing his own.
And there's no running now.
He stalks right up to me, so close I smell his cologne. His lips brush my ear, his big body pressed against mine in a hard line.
"I'm going to spank your perfect fucking ass for this when you get off this stage tonight, princess," he rasps in my ear.
That doesn't sound like a bad time to me.
"Maybe I'll let you," I whisper back. "If you can keep up."
Not even the armies of hell are prepared for a smirk like his. It's unholy…and unholy hot.
"Try me, baby."
I turn, motioning for Chet, my guitarist, to bring him a microphone. Chet comes running, grinning like a madman as he slaps it into Kingston's hand.
"Good luck," he laughs before rushing back to his place.
Kingston just grunts, turning until his body is facing the audience. He isn't looking at them, though. He's looking at me.
"If y'all know the words to this one, why don't you help him out?" I shoot him a tiny grin. "Judging by his performance on the ice the other night, he might need the assist."
Kingston lifts the mic, one brow arched. "You know I belong at your feet, princess. I was just getting in position."
Oh, my goodness.
We have to wait for the crowd to stop screaming before Chet can count us off. Kingston never once looks away from me. And the way he's looking at me? God, it's the same way my dad always looks at my mom—like there's not a single other damn thing on the planet that he'd rather look at.
He isn't mad, embarrassed, or annoyed that I called him up here or that I'm teasing him in front of twenty-five thousand people. He's just playing along, watching me like he's ready to pounce.
This will be all over the news tomorrow. Hell, it probably won't even take that long. But for once, I don't really care. Our names are already linked all over the damn place, and what anyone else thinks doesn't matter right now. I'm doing what Everly said. I'm getting out of my own way.
If he turns out to be a jerk, well, at least I'll know.
My gut tells me that isn't going to happen, though. Kingston wants me—really wants me. Not my name or fame or my bank account or access to my father. He wants me.
I launch into the song, line dancing across the stage. "Got a little dirt on my boots, but I don't care. My nails are a mess, but I still throw my hands in the air. My feet are on the dash, and I'm singing off-key. If you're looking for perfect, honey, it ain't me."
Kingston grins when I point at him for the next lines. "Her mama said, "Don't you dare dim your light", so my baby shines brighter than Vegas on a Saturday night."
I gape at him, shocked that he changed the lyrics—mama said don't you dare dim your light, so I shine like Broadway on a Saturday night—but he just winks at me, holding his microphone out to the audience.