Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
We’re not friends, exactly. The word doesn’t quite fit the shape of whatever this is. But we are more than just employer and employee, expanding by the minute. “Shall I pull up to the front?” Harper asks, jolting me out of my thoughts, and I see we’ve arrived at the private terminal.
“Yes, that will be fine.”
A handful of players who’ve been dropped off by ride shares loiter outside the terminal doors, luggage at their feet, breath faintly visible in the air.
Tanner Wylie is easy to pick out—solidly built at six four, he’s always in motion, always putting on a show in some small way. He’s standing there with Grizz and our goalie, Canyon Marchand. The three of them are laughing, shoulders angled toward each other, a camaraderie that looks normal but only comes between hockey teammates.
I shift slightly, my gaze drifting—not for the first time this morning—toward Harper who’s fiercely concentrating on the traffic in front of her as we ease up.
I use the opportunity to study her while her attention is firmly diverted. Most people would look like they’d been dragged unwillingly from sleep at such an early hour, but she looks amazing. Her hair is pulled back neatly as it usually is. Her uniform is pressed, every line of her appearance considered but not appearing forced. There’s a precision to her, even this early, as though she’s already several steps ahead of the day.
She glances across the console at me briefly, and for a fraction of a second, it’s all mine. Then she looks away quickly.
The car rolls to a stop.
I check my pockets out of habit—phone, wallet—fingers brushing against the familiar shapes as I ground myself in routine. By the time I look up again, Harper is already moving.
She’s out of the driver’s seat in one fluid motion, no hesitation in her pace, no wasted movement. She ignores my door as I’ve told her I can let myself in and out just fine, reaching the back before I even touch the handle.
By the time I meet her to grab my luggage, I note that I’m not the first one there.
“Let me get this, milady,” Tanner says, already lifting my luggage from the trunk with exaggerated chivalry.
Tanner flashes Harper a grin—wide and just shy of ridiculous—then dips his head slightly, as if he’s addressing royalty rather than a driver at a private terminal. It’s performance, in part, but it’s also… more than that.
He’s flirting. Lightly. Playfully. With my driver.
Harper smiles in return, polite. “Thank you,” she says, her response warm but professional.
She doesn’t linger or match his energy. If anything, she redirects it, her attention shifting immediately to the rest of the luggage, ensuring everything is accounted for, everything in its proper place.
Tanner watches her for a beat longer than necessary, still holding on to that grin, before finally turning toward me with a shrug that suggests he’s both amused and mildly impressed.
I don’t say anything.
I observe her, trying to parcel out if she actually was taken in by Tanner’s boyish good looks and easy charm.
“Harper,” I say.
She turns quickly. “Yes, Mr. Langley?”
“Julian,” I correct her, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice.
“Julian,” she repeats, scrunching her face up at the mistake and offering me a smile.
I hesitate, not because I don’t know what I’m going to say but because I’m suddenly aware of her looking right at me and there’s a certain beauty to it. The cold has brushed color into her cheeks and the way she stands there—steady, attentive, entirely present—holds my attention a fraction longer than it should.
“We’ll be back in two days,” I say finally. “I’ll let you know once we have a more precise arrival time.”
“Of course,” she replies easily. “I’ll keep my schedule open.”
There’s no fuss to her, but why do I wish there was just a little bit? Maybe a wish of safe travels or some indication that she might miss me.
Jesus… I’m fucking ridiculous. “Good,” I say, more abruptly than necessary.
She nods once, already shifting her focus back to the task at hand, already moving on.
I turn and nearly run into Tanner.
“Boss man,” he says, falling into step beside me. “You ready for this big roadie?”
“Never easy winning on the road. We need to take one period at a time,” I reply.
He grins, completely unfazed. “That’s fair. Good thinking.”
We start toward the terminal, the glass doors sliding open ahead of us, the hum of early-morning activity spilling out to meet us. It’s an easy exchange, the kind that doesn’t require thought, the type I’ve had a hundred times before with players just like him.
But it feels off somehow.
I catch sight of Harper again, just beyond Tanner. She’s speaking to one of the attendants now, hands tucked neatly at her sides, posture straight, expression calm. There’s a distance to her, even when she’s engaged—like she exists slightly outside of whatever moment she’s in, always maintaining a line that no one quite crosses.