Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113130 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113130 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
He comes to me and whispers in my ear, “I thought your first craving was my cock.” I push him away and feel my cheeks heat up.
“We should get some chocolate paint or, like, chocolate syrup.” He looks around. “I’m ready to leave now,” he mumbles, making me laugh.
“Hey,” he says when he stops in front of his cubicle, which has his name in blue and white on it. His helmet is on top of one of the shelves next to his gloves, and his skates are tucked under his bench. A jersey with his name hangs on the hook. “Kirby,” he says to the guy who is sitting on the bench next to his, his phone in his hands as he types away at it furiously.
The guy looks up and I smile. “This is my girl,” he introduces, pulling me to him and putting his arm around my shoulders, “Ariella.” He looks down at me, the smile on his face huge.
“We really should talk about how you introduce me,” I mention to him, then look back at Kirby, who is standing up now. He’s about as tall as Jaxon is, if not just a couple inches shorter. “I’m Ariella.” I extend my hand. “I live with this one.” I point with my thumb to Jaxon. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Kirby laughs and extends his hand to me, but Jaxon knocks it away. “Don’t touch her, man, she doesn’t know where that hand has been, and she’s trying to stay away from germs,” he warns and I turn to look at him, my mouth hanging open. “She needs to get her skates on her.”
“You did not just do that, Jaxon.” I shake my head and look back over at Kirby, who is trying not to laugh at the whole thing.
His hands are on his hips. “It’s okay, I already knew he was a barbarian,” he jokes, extending his hand again and this time I shake it without my hand being slapped away, “but it’s a whole different ball game seeing it up close.” He looks up at Jaxon. “I would go in for a hug but I value my life.”
“We don’t want to anger him,” I mumble, making Kirby laugh. “It’s a good thing he’s pretty.”
“I like her.” He looks at Jaxon, who glares at him. “Dude, you need to calm down,” he says as his phone rings. He looks down at it, his eyebrows pinching together, and his jaw gets tight. “Yeah,” he snaps into the phone. “I’m at the rink,” he snaps and I can hear a woman’s voice coming from the other side of the phone. “I don’t know what to tell you. I told you I had to leave at a certain time and you weren’t ready.” I look at the door. “So you can get here when you want to get here.” I look over at Jaxon, who puts his hand on my hip and pushes me back so I’m sitting down, in his spot, my eyes still on Kirby. “Whatever,” he grumbles, hanging up and putting the phone in his back pocket.
“You okay?” Jaxon asks him as he squats down in front of me and pulls out skates from under his bench. “Baby, take off your sneakers so I can put your skates on.”
“I’m going to go and check out the ice,” Kirby states, looking around, trying to avoid even looking at us, not answering Jaxon’s question. “She’s running a bit behind.” He nods at us as he turns and walks out of the room. A couple of the kids run into him and all he can do is laugh as he tries to dodge them.
“Baby,” Jaxon says, taking off a sneaker for me, “let’s get on the ice so we can get out of here earlier. I’m having a craving for chocolate all of a sudden.”
“Where did you get these skates?” I ask him as he puts one of my feet in the black skate.
“Called your dad, got your size from him.” I don’t say anything as he ties my skates for me before sitting down beside me and tying his own skates. “You going to put my jersey on or stay in that jacket?”
“I’m going to put the jersey on.” I stand up. “I should have worn long sleeves,” I tell him, taking off the jacket and he sees I’m wearing a tank top.
“I’ll get you one,” he hisses. “Put the jacket on.” He looks around before standing with one skate on, bending to whisper in my ear, “Your tits are what wet dreams are made out of.”
“Okay, one, ewww,” I say, putting the jacket back on, “and two, gross.” He reaches behind him and takes off his own sweater, handing it to me.
“Here, wear this,” he urges as he stands there in a T-shirt. “I have another one hanging under the jersey.”