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)
He looks tall too, though I’m judging by the fact that his head is even with Riggs’s while they’re seated, and he’s equally muscular, though his shirt doesn’t seem quite as stretched and his arms appear tattoo-free. His hair is dark and shaggy, barely brushing the tops of his ears and nape of his neck, and his chocolatey eyes are filled with delight and excitement. If Riggs’s vibe is sin, this guy’s is stupid but fun choices.
I ignore him in favor of telling Riggs, “Didn’t realize you already had a friend.”
I turn to leave but freeze when he says, “Wait.” When I turn back, he’s rising from the bench seat. “Please, sit.” He holds an arm out, inviting me to sit on the inside of the booth, between the two men.
I glance between them thoughtfully, still deciding, and the other guy offers an easygoing smile meant to put me at ease. “We don’t bite.” He quirks a brow. “Unless you ask nicely.”
“You’re trouble,” I declare, deciding that Mr. Stupid-But-Fun may just have some tingle to him, after all.
At the same time, Riggs growls, “Don’t be an asshole, Maddox.”
I slide into the booth and glance between the two men, confirming, “Riggs. Maddox.” They nod and I offer, “I’m Kay—” I stop myself from giving them my full name, snapping my mouth closed and then smiling politely.
Maddox holds his hand out, but when I reach forward to shake, he catches my hand and turns it to press a kiss to the back. “Enchante,” he purrs, glancing up at me through his lashes. “That means ‘hey, beautiful’,” he informs me with a wink.
When he releases my hand, Riggs shakes it more formally. “No, it doesn’t. And he speaks enough French to know that.”
“Parlez-vous Francais?” I ask Maddox, tilting my head. His face goes slack in shock, and I laugh. “Me neither.”
Riggs chuckles at us both.
RIGGS
How in the fuck did this happen?
I scare most people, especially women—who I don’t talk to, as a matter of fact. Not after Eliza. As the whisper of my ex-wife’s ghost walks across my mind, I actively slam that door closed. Not because she’s dead, though I secretly wish that were the case, but because I refuse to give her one second of thought.
The woman sitting to my left? I want to give her lots of thoughts and quite a few seconds, maybe hours. And that’s what confuses the hell out of me.
I don’t know what made me talk to her at the bar. Maybe the way she looked sad but then tucked it away in a single, quick blink, an action I’m all too familiar with? Or how she spoke so directly, completely unintimidated by me? Or, let’s be real here since it’s just me and myself, it’s likely that her being an absolute stunner is what had words spilling out of my mouth before I could swallow them down.
But she’d dismissed me outright. I’d liked that too. A woman who declares herself clearly and without apology is attractive as hell. And a little ‘hard to get’ is a refreshing change of pace from the puck bunnies who throw themselves at me and Maddox, either individually or together.
“What brings you to this fine establishment?” Maddox asks Kay, gesturing widely like the club is a fancy three-star restaurant. He’s already ‘on’, his life of the party, social butterfly persona taking over and ending the private conversation we were having about our season with the Devils, the hockey team we both play for, me as a defenseman and him as a left-winger.
He’s the Yin to my Yang. For as quiet as I am, Maddox could talk all day, to anyone or nothing. When I go balls to the wall, leading with my fists, he thinks things through and can usually calm me down or physically hold me back. Where I’m cold and shut off from nearly everything, Maddox approaches every day with a smile and open arms. I’m basically the rabid Rottweiler he adopted and refuses to give back to the shelter for the euthanasia I deserve.
“Scotch. And as I told Riggs, a shitty day,” Kay answers, including me in the conversation with a glance my way.
“What happened?” I blurt out.
She stares at her glass for a moment, her thoughts so loud I can virtually hear them. Or maybe that’s just the expressions that flicker across her face one right after the other—anger, sadness, satisfaction, and finally, a smirk that can only be described as haughty. Maddox and I meet eyes quickly. It’s nothing more than a glance before we return our attention to Kay, but it said everything we needed to.
We’re both in if she’s in.
We don’t make it a habit to pick up women at bars. In fact, we haven’t done it in a long time, years probably. They come with complications we prefer to avoid. On the other hand, casual hook-ups with women who know exactly who and what we are, and what will and won’t happen between us, are our usual.