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)
I put the tray down on the top of the stove before taking off the mitt and tossing it to the side, and I turn around and look at her. “No one.” I lean back on the counter as she raises her eyebrows. There is no way in fuck I’m going to tell her who Ariella is or what she is to me. Besides the fact it’s none of her business, the last thing I want is for her to do anything to Ariella. I’m going to protect her at all drama that Tiffany is.
“Are you really fucking doing this?” She slaps her hand on the counter, her eyes in slits.
“I’m not doing anything.” I remain calm, calmer than I have been in a while, even though I know she’s about to blow her fucking lid.
“You are just going to bring some random girl in here”—her voice goes higher and higher—“and not expect me to say something to you? Some fucking puck bunny.” Her words coming out show you how disgusted she is by that word.
“Okay.” I hold up my hand. “That’s enough. I’m going to stop this right now before you say something that is really going to piss me off, and I say things that I’ll regret later.” My voice rises more than it ever has in our relationship. When we would fight, I never raised my voice. It’s something I got from my father. I wouldn’t let her words get to me, but calling Ariella a puck bunny was pushing it too fucking far.
“Oh, it’s enough now, is it?” She shakes her head as if in disbelief. “Now it’s enough, after I insult that—”
She stops talking when I take a step toward the counter in between us. “Listen, Tiffany.” I put my hands on the counter in front of me, outstretched to the side.
“No, you listen here, Jaxon Stevenson. I’ve put up with a lot of shit from you.” Her words almost make me burst out laughing. I look at her for a second before I talk.
“From me?” I point to myself; now I’m the one in disbelief. “What the fuck have I ever done to you?” My finger points to her.
“You haven’t even acknowledged our relationship.” She points between the two of us.
“That’s because we don’t have a relationship,” I declare and she gasps, putting her hand in front of her mouth. “We haven’t had one in a while.”
“What are you talking about? I stood by you through all of it.”
“Through what?” I question, getting pissed, the calm out the window now.
“When you were all sulking over last season.” She rolls her eyes.
“You mean when I was holed up because I had surgery,” I snort, “and I was in rehab doing physical therapy? When I had to slowly work my way back up to skating?”
“Yes, that.” She points at me. “You were all ‘woe is me.’ Do you know how much it took to stay with you?”
“No, how much?” I ask her, not really giving a shit. This conversation is so over, it was over before it even started.
“It’s a fucking wonder I’m still here.” She can’t be serious with this, can she? But looking at her, she is one thousand percent serious about this conversation.
“For once, why aren’t you fucking honest, Tiffany?” I watch her face. “You’re with me not because you want to be with me, but because of the perks you get to be with me.” Her mouth opens and I am finally fucking done. “The red-carpet events you're asked to attend because of me. The charity events you go to with the team because of who I am. It’s the jersey that gets you all hot and bothered, not the guy in the jersey.” Saying it out loud is almost as bad as someone kicking me in the balls because the truth of the matter is, I’ve ended up with someone exactly like my biological mother.
“Why, I have never”—she puts her hands to her chest, the tears starting to well up in her eyes—“been treated like this in my life.”
“And how is that?” I quickly ask her. “I treated you with kindness and respect, which if this conversation is anything to go by, you can’t say the same.”
She snatches up her purse in her hand. “I’m not going to stay here and be chastised by you because you got caught fucking a whore.”
“Get the fuck out.” I point to the door, my whole body shaking as I try to calm down. “And fucking stay out!”
“You’ll be fucking sorry, Jaxon,” she sneers my way.
“I don’t think I will,” I sing, turning back to the dish. “I think I’ll be okay.” I reach in the cabinet for a plate to put the food on.
I hear the sound of her huffing behind me as she walks to the door and slams it hard. “Well, I’m no expert, but I think that ship has sailed. It’s safe to say that it’s over.” I look down at the chicken.