Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Suddenly, all around us, the power came back on.
A lamp in the living room illuminated, as well as my porch light and one in the kitchen. Apparently I’d left the TV on when I left home earlier, too, because it flickered on and the end of The Breakfast Club started to play.
I felt like I’d just been caught red-handed, somewhere I shouldn’t have been, even though all I’d been doing was kissing a guy in my dark living room.
Jesse pulled in a long breath of air, standing up.
“You were watching The Breakfast Club, huh?” he said, a normal, gentle calm returning to his voice.
I wanted a stopwatch that would take me back to a minute ago. I wanted to live in that moment.
I was still so hard it hurt.
I exhaled, collecting myself and trying to act something close to normal. “I don’t want to hear any shit from you. That movie is a classic.”
He held up his hands. “Hey, I love it, too. I’m all on-board with that.”
So this was what we were doing now?
Acting like that kiss hadn’t been the hottest thing I’d fucking done all year, and going back to idle chit-chat again? I still felt like I was in free-fall.
He reached for his leather jacket, which he’d tossed over the back of my couch. He shrugged it on, giving me a little salute.
“Have a good night, Mason,” he said, nodding before heading for the front door.
Damn. Guess the chit-chat wasn’t even an option anymore, either.
“Get home safe,” I called after him.
And please don’t tell your brother how close I was to letting you fuck me.
4
JESSE
“Sanocki. Get your fucking head in the game.”
“I’ve got it,” I roared back, skating back over toward him.
My skates cut a line into the ice as I circled to a stop. Practice had been brutal all morning. I’d been running breakout drills with Robbie, my wing, for the better part of half an hour, and he’d noticed right away that my game was off today. Robbie was breaking the puck out like a goddamn champ and I was supposed to be helping out, putting as much pressure on him as I could and giving him a real challenge. Instead I was feeble and distracted, and he got away from me easily every time.
“Again,” Robbie barked at me.
“Fuck. Your scan is better than mine today, and you know it.”
“Usually you’re a beast,” he called back at me, giving me a wide shrug from across the ice as if to say what the fuck is with you, today?
I was anywhere but here, in reality.
Usually practices were my one place of Zen-like calm in the world—the smell of the ice alone was enough to put me into sheer focus, ready to think about nothing other than controlling the puck in front of me. Being surrounded by the TNU Talons green and gold was enough to lock me in, and it felt like my true home.
This morning’s practice was the opposite.
I had to interact with Elliot earlier this morning. When we ran our scrimmage, he’d skated around half-heartedly, playing even worse than I was now. After Coach chewed him out, he’d checked me within minutes of us being out on the ice, pushing me up against the plexiglass for no goddamn reason. He’d given me a half-hearted sorry as he skated past, after pushing me off the ice like I was just collateral.
I’d ignored him. Even though I wanted the bottom of my skate to meet his shins.
Now I was ignoring the prick. I could still see him on the bench now, looking out at me as I ran drills with Robbie, and I didn’t fucking want him watching me at all.
I was also running on low sleep, because last night when I’d gotten back from Mason’s ranch, a couple of guys forced me to join in on a poker game in the living room. When I’d finally gone up to sleep at two in the morning, all I could think about was what I’d done with Mason. I’d jerked off in the shower to the thought of him last night—then made myself come again, just an hour later, before falling asleep.
Then this morning, I came to the thought of him for the third time, after waking up harder than hell, imagining the ragged desperation I’d heard in his voice last night.
I did not have time to be daydreaming about Mason’s lips while I was on the ice.
Or his thighs.
Or his perfect fucking ass.
He was just some random guy you met in a bar. End of story.
“Again,” I yelled to Robbie, taking position.
“Ames, get in,” Coach yelled from the side, adding in another defender for the drill.
We hunted the puck and put as much pressure on Robbie as we could. I shoved my blade in, trying to steal it from his possession. But Robbie was on fire today. He got past us with ease, rushing past and clearing through.