Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
“Yes, and that ship has sailed. We can’t back a woman known as a hot-mess baker girl. Or the girl who got dumped so her ex could go on Romance Beach. And we definitely can’t back smashed cakes.”
I roll my lips together, sealing in my dismay. This was one of my last chances. I’ve applied for loans left and right in order to launch a retail storefront for You Deserve a Treat. I’ve even looked at several spaces over the years. But like the loans, they haven’t happened. Either my credit score isn’t high enough, or the cash flow is too inconsistent, and do I even realize the failure rate of small businesses?
Yes, I am the failure rate.
“You’re not giving me a loan,” I say heavily, processing the obvious.
Jonas shoots me a sympathetic look. “No, but look on the bright side. Keto’s so popular these days, maybe I’m doing you a favor!”
He shows me out so he can go snowboarding.
5
STEALTH MODE
CORBIN
I open the door of the players’ entrance, stride down the corridor of the Golden State Foxes arena, and hope so damn hard no one will notice the frosting remnants on my shirt.
My teammates walking next to me, for instance.
Or the social media manager, Hassan, up ahead. The new photographer, Leighton, too, who’s there snapping pics as we head to the locker room.
I don’t do anything to draw attention to the evidence of a hot kiss—on my fucking shirt. Especially since that kiss is the only thing on my mind. But with my jacket buttoned—something I rarely do—I can mostly hide the stain.
As I near Hassan and Leighton, I don’t smile for the camera. Don’t want fans, the media, or other teams to think I’m soft, or that we are. I’ve told Riggs and Miller as much too—it’s best if we look like stone. We’ve got enough to deal with, given how our team collapsed at the end of last season. The last thing we need is to look like we’re having too much fun at work.
With my poker face on, I turn the corner to the locker room, ready to get out of this shirt ASAP. It’s not like I have lipstick marks on my collar, but my teammates saw me slip into the tent. They knew Mabel was there for a contest, and for all I know, they might have seen me go into the trailer with her.
I don’t need them sniffing around, wondering what went down in those fifteen minutes. Especially if Theo’s here. It’s a game night, so he’ll be in the arena, but he usually watches from the executive suite. Good, because I’d like to avoid him while his sister’s lodged front and center in my mind. While I can still taste her kiss on my lips.
On the walk to the arena with Riggs and Miller, I kept the conversation about collecting on the bet—Riggs did not get a second with Sapphire, the Romance Beach hostess. I near my stall, feeling like I escaped scrutiny when Miller slaps me on the arm.
“Dude, do you need a bib?”
I groan privately.
Snorting, Riggs shoots me a sideways glance. “Seriously, Knight. Eating is hard. We can give you some tips.”
Lake, the right winger, looks up from his stall, where he’s lined up his equipment in the order he’ll put it on. It’s a new arrangement from last season. If anyone ever tells you goalies are the most superstitious, I have a winger to show you.
He nods at my shirt. “That looks good. Did you bring any cupcakes for the rest of us?”
So much for stealth mode.
“Could be your new pre-game ritual, Axman,” Miller tells him. We like Lake’s nickname better than his last name, Axelrod. “A cupcake before every game.”
“Hmm. Not a bad idea. But would that work on my meal plan?” Lake tosses back, which starts a debate about pre-game snacks.
I’m grateful for the distraction. I just hope Miller’s legendary goalie focus stays squarely on Lake while I chuck the evidence in my stall. As I shed my suit, my mind drifts back to the trailer, to Mabel’s soft, hungry mouth, to the sweet scent of her neck, to her eager body pressed up against mine.
And I cannot get lost in the tempting memory. I shove away the thoughts, imagining—I don’t know—the dirty laundry bin as I pull on my compression shorts.
That’s better.
I grab my shin guards next. It’s earlyish, so it’s just the four of us getting ready for now. Miller glances around the mostly empty locker room, then clears his throat, locking eyes with me as he hangs up his dress shirt neatly. “Seriously. Did you roll around in some cupcakes when you disappeared?”
“Speaking of, where the hell did you go?” Riggs seconds, like they’re discussing missing minutes of video footage from a robbery.
“Wait. Did you assholes do something fun and not invite me?” Lake asks with a frown. “You always fucking do that with your single dads club.”