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)
Kayla’s bark of laughter echoes through the trees. “You get called in to HR regularly, don’t you?”
It could be an insult, but there’s no heat to the accusation. In fact, she sounds amused by my potential job posting.
“Mmm, I can neither confirm nor deny that,” I reply. “And actually, it’d be the PR team.”
“He buys them big Christmas gifts. Huge, please don’t kill me for being me gifts, every Christmas and at the end of every season,” Riggs offers, a smile trying to steal across his face.
He’s come a long way, doing a lot of the work over the years, but making leaps and bounds I never expected in just the last few weeks. I’m a fixer. I always have been, but Kayla has fixed something in my friend I don’t think I ever would’ve been able to, and I appreciate that more than she’ll ever know.
“You shut your lying face hole,” I say, pointing a finger at him, but I can’t hide my grin. He’s right, I paid about a thousand dollars per PR staffer this past June. More importantly, Kayla and Riggs’s answering smiles are eerily similar to mine.
We’re talking about making our schedules work when the season starts, and that’s months away. We’re doing this, whatever this is.
The idea of splitting my focus should be freaking me out. What will I be if hockey isn’t my whole, entire life the way it always has been? Will my game suffer if I don’t give my entire mind and soul to it? I don’t know. But it sounds fun to figure out.
But first, I have plans for the fluffy rug in the living room. “What do you say we move this party to the floor in front of the fireplace? That rug looks mighty inviting and you look stunning by firelight.”
“It’s too warm to have the fireplace going inside,” Kayla argues.
“Woman, I will turn the air conditioner down to igloo-cold if it means seeing you come for us by firelight.”
Kayla holds a finger up. “Don’t call me woman like that.” She adds another finger, narrowing her eyes to pin me with a look before grinning. “Let’s go.”
“Hell yeah,” I say, gathering my beer and her wine glass as quickly as I can. Riggs can carry his own shit.
She stands, laughing as she turns toward the cabin, and I reach out to swat her ass. “Good girl.”
Her brow is sharply arched, her glare glacial when she looks over her shoulder at me. “You’re going to pay for that.”
“Fuck, I hope so. Again… let’s go. We have to be out by noon tomorrow and I don’t think there’s enough time to fuck you in all the places I want to…” I pause and her eyes flare, considering where I might be implying. “In the cabin, I mean.” I wink dramatically, letting her decide whether that’s really what I meant.
Riggs groans, cupping his clearly already swelling dick. “The floor. Then the dining room. That table is begging for you to spread out on it.”
I point a finger at him, this time not in accusation but in full and total agreement. “Yes.”
Kayla must be on board with that plan because she’s hurrying toward the cabin as fast as we are.
Check-out time will come too soon. There’s no arguing that, but I intend to make the most of this weekend away so that when Kayla goes back to her family on Monday, her body will remember why she’s fighting them so hard and why she’s changing up all her precisely-laid plans for undeserving fuckers like us.
KAYLA
“Took you long enough,” I say as my office door opens. I don’t bother glancing over to see who’s entered without an announcement from Angeline. Only Cameron has the balls to try it. Even the FBI probably wouldn’t dare.
“We need to talk.”
“Have a seat,” I tell him, purposefully keeping my attention locked on my computer screen. “I’m almost finished here.” I click around a little more as Cameron sits, not in one of the chairs in front of my desk, but on the couch off to the side of the room.
Well played, Cameron.
He’s as calculating as I am, and the reason I refused to give him my immediate attention is the same reason he’s chosen to sit somewhere that requires me to come to him—power. Even with his expectant gaze locked on me, I make him wait one more minute before conceding. When I finally sit down across from him, he frowns.
“We missed you at dinner,” he says evenly.
“Doubtful.” The declaration is delivered stone-faced, setting our adversarial positions.
Sighing as if I’m the one being an obstinate asshole, he asks, “Could we not do the whole back and forth dramatics?”
“Of course. You know where the door is.” I make a move to get up, assuming the conversation over.
“Kayla.” Obviously, I knew he wasn’t going to let this go that easily, but I bristle at the parental tone as he says my name. Still, I settle back in my seat, looking at him without revealing my discomfort. He clenches his jaw but eventually says, “I owe you an apology.”