Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
It hit different, okay?
“Has anyone here ever played this godforsaken sport?” shouted one of the hockey giants to the rest of his scruffy teammates, who all definitely looked like they’d rather be on the couch scratching their unmentionables. “All right, one of you lead off. The other goes second. Just get on base and I’ll bat you in.”
“Gauthier with the baseball lingo,” someone said. “I think I just sprouted wood.”
“Really? Because I fucking lost mine.”
Redbeard’s grin finally, rapidly, dropped and he socked the guy who’d lost his boner in the shoulder. “There’s a lady present, jackass.”
“Sorry, Chloe,” yawned his friend.
“What? Nah, Chloe is used to our bullshit.” She could feel Redbeard staring at her from the assemblage of hockey dudes. “I was talking about the pitcher. She’s feeling me.”
A jolt of surprise ran from Skylar’s shoulder down to her fingertips.
He was . . . talking about her?
She’d been the target of myriad intimidation strategies, but this one took the cake.
Skylar resented being taken out of her pitching zone, but this shithead needed to be put in his place. “No, I’m not,” she called sweetly.
Redbeard went back to smiling. “You will be.”
“Only if I have to check for a pulse after the game,” Skylar said, doing her best to sound bored. “Because we’re about to murder you.”
“Trust me, I’ve got a pulse, sweetie. You’re making it race.”
Heat scaled the sides of her face, forcing Skylar to yank down the brim of her cap to hide her complexion. If her brother caught her blushing, the absolute roasting he’d deliver after the game would be the stuff of legends. It wasn’t that she found the hockey dickhead attractive or anything, she’d just never had someone show her this kind of blatant interest.
Or any interest at all, to be honest.
Her resting bitch face probably wasn’t encouraging anyone, either.
Still, this guy’s overtures were all to get in her head. Don’t fall for it.
“Are you just trying to psych me out?” she asked. “You are, aren’t you?”
“Holy shit.” Redbeard frowned. “It’s almost like . . . she doesn’t know she’s hot.”
A teammate slapped him on the shoulder, though he barely flinched at the assault. “You better marry her before she finds out she could do way better.”
“I know, right?” Then to her, “Can’t wait to tell the grandkids how we met, Skylar.”
“Hey.” Elton strode past her toward first base. “Stop talking to my sister.”
Redbeard’s head dropped back on a loud groan. “Why does every attractive woman have to be somebody’s sister?”
What exactly did that mean?
Skylar shook herself, refusing to spare this man another thought. She had a batter to strike out—and her first victim went down easy. It wasn’t polite to revel in another player’s walk of shame back to the dugout, so she settled for trading a smirk with Madden.
The second batter managed to get on base, but only because a teammate advised him to bunt. That Bearcat, the third to approach home plate, confused Skylar, just a touch, because while he appeared to be incredibly cocky, he also gave her the almighty chin dip of respect. Interesting. Actually, she recognized this one from television. Sig Gauthier, right? Yeah. Cool. It wasn’t every morning she got to strike out a celebrity.
Her first pitch found its target.
Unlike the last guy, however, this one adjusted his stance, dropped his elbow slightly, clearly having studied her first throw. You want a piece of me, hockey boy?
Skylar toggled the ball behind her back, preparing to throw a curve, took a breath, and went through motions that were second nature, pitched—
And he actually caught a piece of it.
Everyone looked up as the ball sailed into the right outfield and Sig took off.
But as Sig was rounding first base, all hell broke loose.
The English bulldog accompanying the blonde named Chloe streaked like a rotund comet across the diamond, his pretty owner hot on his heels, crying out the name Pierre. As if that wasn’t odd enough, Sig abandoned his run for second base and sprinted after them, all the way into the outfield, the trio disappearing into the tree line and leaving everyone in attendance speechless.
Almost everyone, anyway.
Redbeard probably couldn’t even pronounce the word “silence.”
“I’ll pick up where he left off,” he shouted, swaggering to home plate and picking up the discarded bat, tapping it against the white diamond, before settling it on his oxlike shoulder. “Next batter, right?”
“Doesn’t anyone want to go check on them?” Skylar asked.
Redbeard glanced back at his dugout for a consensus, getting a handful of shrugs and headshakes in return. “Nah.” He gave a practice swing. “If Sig can’t handle that problem, none of us can.”
As a fellow athlete, she appreciated teammates knowing one another so well, but she didn’t allow that to show on her face. “Fine.” She started to drop into her stance. “I’ll happily demoralize you.”