Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 53212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 266(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 266(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
It feels a lot like they’re all watching me now, but I try really hard not to notice and just skate.
I hardly know anything about the Slater brothers despite years of running in the same Concordia circles, and they definitely don’t know much about me. They can work their blue-collar jobs and play hockey on the weekends, and I’ll do my own thing too because who cares what they’re saying or thinking.
Right? Right.
I think they’re a few years older than me, but to be honest, I don’t really know. They all seem the same age or close, but they don’t look alike at all, so it doesn’t make sense for them to be triplets. It’s weird. I suppose I could ask, but it never feels like the appropriate time to insert myself into potential family drama, especially given the dirty looks I already get from Rook. I have a hard time pinpointing anything that should cause so much disdain, but it doesn’t matter.
It. Doesn’t. Matter. Kylie.
Shaking my head to clear it, I skate a loop around the rink, foot over foot over foot until I’ve picked up enough speed to feel the ice-cooled air brush against my face. I do a few spins to get my footing before throwing a toe loop to get started.
I feel good, limber even, and my roommate Alyssa will be happy to hear that the stretches she’s been telling me to do are paying off.
Skating is one of my favorite things in the world. Growing up, it was my escape from the turmoil that comes with losing both of your parents at a young age. Now, it’s an escape from the stress and mundanity of everyday life. It’s my sanity in a largely insane world, and it feels good to lose myself in the power of it rather than the uneasy feelings I get from the Slater brothers.
My phone buzzes in the side pocket of my leggings, so I slide to a stop and pull it out to get a look, just in case it’s important.
Unknown: Kylie, it’s Gammy. This is my new number. I lost my phone again.
I snort. My grandma is almost eighty, and has not, no matter how many times I’ve explained, grasped the fact that losing your phone doesn’t mean you have to get a new number. You just get a new phone. I don’t bother getting into that for the five millionth time now. The number will be new again within the month, and we’ll have to do the whole dog and pony show all over again.
Me: Okay, I’ll add this to my contacts.
Gammy: Good. Also, do you have some time to get together this week? It’s really important that we talk.
This week? She’s kidding, right?
I work for an accountancy firm just outside Boston, and with returns due painfully soon, this week is pure murder, schedule-wise. I love my Gammy—she’s the one who raised me after my parents passed—but I don’t think fitting her in at this stage of tax season is even humanly possible. I barely make time for skating, and that’s practically therapy.
Me: Ah, I don’t know. This week is so, so busy, Gammy. Can it wait until after the 15th?
The 15th, as in April 15th. Otherwise known as D Day in the tax world and a measly two and a half weeks from today.
Gammy: No. It can’t.
I guffaw, but when I look up from my phone, every hair on my body stands on end.
All three of the Slater brothers are staring right at me.
Kane and Calloway have the good grace to look contrite for being so unabashed about it. Rook, on the other hand, looks like he’s trying to set me on fire. The intensity of his glare makes my breath hitch and hold. As much as I want to, I can’t look away.
But much longer of this staring contest, and I fear he’ll be able to hear the thoughts rolling around inside my head.
What’s his freaking deal? What did I ever do to him? How can a man look so angry and scary and be so hot at the same time? And for the love of everything, why can’t my vagina distinguish between the two?
Eventually, I have to look away first. The intensity is too much.
Taking a deep breath and pouring everything I have into regaining my focus, I move my attention back to my phone and type out a text.
Me: Geez. Well. Okay. I’ll try to figure something out and let you know, okay?
Gammy: Don’t try, Ky. DO. We need to talk.
Geez. I want to put stock in her words, but the last time she sounded this serious, all she wanted was to warn me against the dangers of Botox. It was valid advice, coming from a woman with glass skin and an ass that won’t quit even at her age, but it was hardly groundbreaking information.