Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 119852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
But before he follows me out the door, Maddox scribbles his number on a Post-It note, telling her to call, text, DM, or whatever if she changes her mind.
I’ve already made my peace with the knowledge that it won’t be happening. And I’m starting to think about my next destination in the weight room. Maybe I can put on five or even ten pounds of muscle this off-season? It won’t do me any good on the ice—it might even hinder my game—but I don’t know another way to deal with my head being all screwed up. At least not any other good ways. Usually, I’d self-medicate with the distraction of a casual fuck, with or without Maddox there, but all my dick wants is Kayla, and if she doesn’t want us, I guess I’ll be a monk with biceps the size of watermelons.
Goddammit.
KAYLA
“He. Did. Not.” I gasp, clutching my chest in reaction to Samantha’s revelation that my brother-slash-her husband stomped grapes on their recent trip to the wine country in California.
“Oh, yes, he did,” Samantha confirms, nodding and grinning wide as she pushes her dark hair back over her shoulder. “Rolled his khakis right up, pulled off his argyle socks and loafers, and stepped right in.”
The whole group squeals in excitement. From her spot on the floor, Luna even kicks her bare feet in the air, laughing giddily.
This is my favorite part of Girls’ Night In, hearing all the latest happenings in my sisters-in-laws’ lives. It’s the sisterhood I never had growing up but instead has been created by my brothers finding their partners—some with a little help from yours truly, usually by telling my brothers to get their heads out of their asses when needed.
I’m not at all shocked that Samantha climbed into a vat of grapes. She probably hopped in before they finished the invitation, excited for the new experience and ready to feel the smush between her toes. My brother, Chance? Totally different story. He’s the most uptight, reserved, proper gentleman type I’ve ever met, and his even being barefoot in public would surprise me.
“Did he panic-schedule foot scrubs at the spa for the two of you?” I mutter, one hundred percent certain I already know the answer—unequivocally yes.
Samantha drops her chin, feigning a shyness she doesn’t possess an ounce of. “Well, I’ll say every inch of my feet were definitely cleaned.” Her eyes flash teasingly, and she crickets her pedicured feet together, implying something naughty I definitely do not want to hear about my brother.
“TMI,” I warn, waving my hands back and forth.
“You mean not enough-I,” Dani counters, with a gimme-more motion of her hands. “Feel free to spill all the tea.”
Samantha just laughs. She’s a relationship therapist who specializes in intimacy and communication and also hosts a podcast with Chance, so oversharing is relative in her world. “Here’s to living life loud and proud, each of us doing whatever the hell we want,” she cheers, raising her glass of sangria.
“Here, here,” we answer as a chorus, holding our glasses in the air enthusiastically.
As a group, we’re a complete mish-mash of personalities, from soft to hard, business-minded professional to mom-focused, and if you wrote us all down as characters in a book, we would never make sense, but somehow, in our reality, we do. None of us have really had a friend group like this before, and even now, we keep it small and tight, trusting only ourselves and each other. And we all live life the way we want, each so different, but all doing exactly what Samantha said—living loud and proud.
A whisper of a doubt ghosts through my mind. Am I doing that?
A few days ago, I would’ve said yes. I’ve worked hard to get to where I am and enjoy the life I’ve carefully curated for myself. But the unexpected reappearance of Riggs and Maddox has made me question more than their motives. Like exactly who they are.
They probably hadn’t made it out of the building before I’d gone into FBI stealth research mode—Googling their names, clicking through dozens of pictures of them, both in and out of their uniforms, watching interviews, and reading articles about them, including several that made particular mention of their reputations as the bad boys of hockey. Apparently, they’re well known as ‘teammates’ off the ice too. I wasn’t surprised since Maddox said they knew what to do and they’d been much more comfortable and confident in that situation than me. At least at first.
But finding a Reddit thread that lists a threesome with them as some sort of rare experience to be collected and coveted like a vintage Chanel bag didn’t make me feel special. It cheapened the experience. Until I remembered that they tracked me down, claiming to want more than a memory of our one night. According to internet lore, that isn’t their MO. Still, the very idea that they have an MO in regard to threesomes is concerning.