Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 81248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
My sole purpose was to get big enough to intimidate any asshole who thought they could get one over me again. I work out because it makes me feel safe. West looks like he’s the type of guy who works out for fun. Eww.
West’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip as he stares, and the small movement sends a spike of lust through me that I quickly stamp out.
“Okay, fine.” West nods. “I saw you and thought, mm, that sexy tweed, and then …”
“What’s wrong with tweed?”
“You look like a stereotype.”
“I’m in a classroom all day, and it’s cold.”
“I skate on ice. Being cold is not a good enough reason.”
“We’re getting way off track.”
“I dunno. If someone asks me for my boyfriend’s clothing item of choice, I’ll be sure to let them know he dresses like a geriatric Sunday school teacher.”
I look down at my jeans. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing now?”
“You’re always so … put together.”
“Coming from someone wearing running shorts and a hoodie.” I hold up my hand before he can continue. “You know what, let’s move on.”
“Fine. Sexy tweed. What’s next?”
“Well, what would you normally do when you see someone you’re attracted to?”
“Normally? Wait until we’re both drunk off our tits, then drag them to the closest location we can get hot and sweaty in.”
Well, damn. Picturing West, sweaty, panting … the image is criminal. He taps his phone again, lighting it up, before turning his attention to the kitchen.
I clear my throat. “You’re not suggesting we tell them that you saw me, invited me for drinks, then we fucked in the closest bathroom stall?”
“Of course not.”
“Thank God.”
“The back alley is more my style.” He pauses. “Was … was my style.”
“What changed?”
“My whole damn life,” he murmurs.
I sigh. “This isn’t going well, is it?”
“Maybe we should get a drink and loosen up.”
“Now I know that’s your signature move, there’s no chance.”
“Jasper!” he mock gasps, resting a hand over his heart. “Are you suggesting I want to sleep with you?”
“No, that’s … it’s not—”
“Don’t worry. I’m a reformed man slut with no standards. Even before I moved home, the hookup scene was getting old. But … it was what I knew, so I kept doing it.”
I blink at him. “I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with that information.”
When he glances at his phone again, a sliver of annoyance passes through me.
“Okay, what’s going on? Do you have somewhere else you need to be?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve barely been here ten minutes and you can’t stop checking your phone.”
“Oh.” He hurries to flip it facedown. “No, it’s nothing.”
“West …”
He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “I struggle to leave my siblings, that’s all. Whenever I’m not there, I’m convinced something terrible is going to happen and they won’t be able to get hold of me. The funny thing is, bad shit happens when I am there, and I don’t know how to fix it, so I’m practically useless anyway.” His laugh doesn’t sound genuine.
I’m hit with the urge to reassure him, but he’s still almost a stranger. For all I know, he is useless, though I have a sneaking suspicion that’s not the case. “How are you going to go away next weekend, then?”
“They’ll be with the sitter. It’s kind of bullshit that I’m less on edge when she’s with them than Asher, because he’s actually really good with them, probably better than I am. But I still have that unease in my gut when he’s with them.”
“He’s with them now?”
“Yep.”
“It’s not my business, but last I checked, he’s an adult. And he’s their brother. I’m sure he cares as much as you do.”
“I just can’t stop reliving that phone call … the one telling me about the accident saying my dad and stepmom were gone. Every time my phone rings, fear slices through me, like it’s going to happen again but with my siblings this time.”
“That sounds like an issue for a therapist.”
“You’re terrible with this reassuring business.”
“Add it to the list of what you know about me.”
Despite his words, I must be doing something right because he slides the phone back into the pocket of his hoodie. “Okay, so we met and didn’t fuck, apparently.” He playfully narrows his eyes. “And I flirted with you for a bit, then asked you on a date?”
“That works.”
“I mean, bit cliché.”
“Well, you already think I’m a stereotype for wearing tweed. Might as well add cliché to the list.”
“Damn, my boyfriend is a catch.”
I lift an eyebrow at him, and he clearly gets the message I’m not playing. But also … I like this. In between moments where his baggage is showing, I’m getting glimpses of the real him. I get the impression that he’s cheeky and a bit snarky, but not in a malicious way.
He’s not how I pictured an NHL hockey player to be.