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)
My lungs are on fire at the end, but at least I made it without much ado, after all. That’s a relief.
I catch up with Riggs as he’s heading toward the gate.
“How was yesterday? Or is it a secret?” he asks.
“Guess you’ll have to ask your girlfriend,” I say, grateful to talk about something besides my tardiness.
“She tells me nothing about the show.”
“Smart woman. And that means I’ll tell you nothing,” I say.
I survived. And I’ll have to apologize to Mabel next. Again. I’m starting to feel like a fuckup.
When I step into the tunnel, a deep, commanding voice calls out from the ice, “Knight. A word.”
Riggs gives me an oh shit look, then skates off unscathed.
As my stomach drops, I turn around and skate toward Coach, putting Mabel out of my mind as best I can so I can focus on my job. Coach stands by the boards, reviewing something on his tablet.
He tucks it under his arm when I arrive. “Knight, everything okay?”
I furrow my brow. “Um, yes.”
“Good. I wanted to make sure. Since I know you’ve been through some tough stuff, and you’ve never been late before.”
He noticed. He tracked it. My stomach churns. “Sorry, sir.”
“That’s why I wanted to make sure everything’s good with the family, your daughter, and all?”
“It’s all good,” I reassure him.
“Excellent. Then I’ll be fining you.”
I blink. “What?”
“I expect more of you. We have rookies and veterans alike who look up to you. Don’t be late again.”
He turns around and skates off to join his assistant coaches, and I don’t move.
It’s not about the money—it’s the embarrassment. This isn’t me. I don’t even know who I’ve become.
42
AT LEAST I PUT ON DEODORANT
MABEL
If I had been at the firehouse last night, I’d have slid down the pole to save time getting to the kitchen. Instead, I jumped out of Corbin’s car, slammed the door and vaulted through the front entrance of Afternoon Delight.
Aisha has a doctor’s appointment and Audrey is, unfortunately, sick on her first day, and couldn’t start. Which means it’s been me flying through the bakery for the last two hours.
Solo.
But I called for backup and Clementine has joined me and Remy too, since she’s not working for the Foxes till this evening.
I grab the last cake from the oven, set it down on the counter to cool, and whip off my oven mitts. I swing my gaze quickly to the clock. “I’ve got an hour to get to the university,” I say, rushing over to the freezer, where I grab one of the two cakes that have been cooling for twenty minutes.
“This is the best cake hack I’ve ever heard of,” Remy says, as she hands me the container with icing.
“It is,” I say quickly, as I unwrap the plastic wrap from the cake. When you’re in a time crunch, the Saran wrap helps prevent freezer burn and moisture loss as the cake cools enough to ice it.
Quickly but carefully, I apply the frosting, then sculpt some flowers as decoration. Once the cake on the counter is ready for its chill session, I Saran wrap it and slot it into the freezer. Then I race against time and ice another, then the final one.
“You’re Wonder Woman,” Clementine says when we finish.
“If Wonder Woman is a hot, sweaty mess, who smells like—” I stop to sniff my armpit. “Don’t answer that.”
“Sex?” Remy asks, wiggling her brows.
But I can’t even laugh or gloat. I just feel gross. I haven’t had time to change since I sprinted out of Corbin’s bed.
“Speaking of,” I say, then nod to the stairs.
There’s barely enough time for me to run upstairs and put on fresh panties and jeans, then slick on some deodorant. I fly downstairs and then mix some cookie dough that Aisha will need, stat, and put the cakes in boxes.
At eleven-thirty, Aisha walks in, and I say hello, give her the batter, then say goodbye to my friends.
I set the cakes down in the back seat of my car and peel away from the bakery, taking a back road to the highway, then tapping the gas. I’m cruising along at five miles above the speed limit. That’s safe. Everyone knows you can go five miles faster than allowed.
I get off at the next exit and I’ll maybe, possibly make it to the university on time when sirens blare. There must be an accident up ahead or behind me. But when I peer into the rearview mirror, I groan. A highway patrol officer is pulling me over.
Fifteen minutes later, with a speeding ticket in hand, I resume driving to the university. I call my mother along the way, but she doesn’t answer. I dictate a text at the light. Soon enough, I arrive but the parking lot is full since the universe hates me all over again. I pull into an overflow lot and somehow I’m able to balance two boxes of cakes as I rush through the lot and up the steps, and then yank open the door to the brick building.