Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“Oh, I’ll be ready.” Jake snorted. He pressed his body close, snaking his hand around to squeeze my butt before rolling on top of me. “Speaking of asses…it’s my turn. This is mine next.”
I fluttered my lashes like a cartoon character. “You want in my ass?”
He nipped my jaw. “I do. I want to fuck you like you fuck me. It doesn’t have to be tonight, but soon. I want you to see stars and new planets. I want to make you feel so, so good.”
I dropped my head on the pillow, exposing my neck for his kisses while I kneaded his firm cheeks and ground our hips together. Yeah, that was definitely going to happen, and I wanted it. I wanted Jake every way possible, as often as possible.
I wished we had more than a few weeks, but if all we had was now, I’d make sure this would be a summer to remember. For both of us.
No regrets.
20
JAKE
Iloved coaching juniors. They were elite athletes who’d willingly given up a slice of their summer break to work their asses off indoors. Warm-up laps, countless practice drills, and grueling competitions were part of the daily routine. These teens didn’t mind callouses, scars, and tough training sessions. This was their chance to see how the pros trained and to connect with agents and scouts hoping to spot new talent.
We made it fun for sure, but it was no picnic. We didn’t take it easy on them or play childish games. We were serious and focused and—
“Ooooh, yeah. Who’s ready to par-tay?” Trinsky whipped his T-shirt off and whizzed across center ice bare chested, waving his tee like a banner to the utter delight of the teenagers gathered around the coaches armed with whistles and official-looking clipboards.
Nikitinova, a Russian defenseman with Detroit who’d had a short stint playing for Denver two years ago, howled with laughter. He was personally familiar with Trinsky’s antics and was obviously a fan of his brand of mayhem. So were the five other pros, snickering and egging him on. Even Denny chuckled.
My lips quirked instinctively because A, it was funny, and B…it was so like Trinsky to make an entrance. He couldn’t just glide in and introduce himself like everyone else. No, Trinsky had to get the entire rink’s attention and interrupt the flow of practice.
Annoying, am I right?
Yes, I was absolutely a gazillion times right. And this was exactly the kind of behavior that had made me request to not be in the same group. Even better if we weren’t coaching at the same rink.
But damn it, now that I knew Trinsky, I understood that he turned up his personality to put people at ease. That shouldn’t have made sense. However, I’d seen him in action…with Eddie and the countless teens he’d coached in Elmwood over the past few years.
His big gestures pulled spectators into the fray and sent a message: there was nothing to be afraid of here.
These kids didn’t have to ingratiate themselves to him. Trinsky didn’t need the hero worship. My guess was that his main goal was to defuse tension, get everyone to relax, so they could concentrate on their game or whatever the situation called for. His presence was going to be an interruption anyway, so…he made it memorable.
Trinsky liked attention, but he cared about the kids. Genuinely.
I swallowed hard, thinking about the dozens of instances where he’d made the grand gestures, instigated the big contests. My mind wandered to body surfing with Eddie, the huge grin on his face as his older brother constructed games he’d never lose so he wouldn’t be afraid.
You had to have a really big fucking heart to be so invested in someone else’s peace of mind. I couldn’t have been more charmed or humbled, but damn it, that wasn’t how I was supposed to play this.
Like a true buzzkill, I blew my whistle and gestured for everyone to settle down. I fixed Trinsky with a razor-sharp glare as he sprayed ice at my feet, proud of myself for not cracking a smile.
“Great. Trinsky’s here,” I deadpanned. “Gang, this is Mason Trinsky, forward for the Denver Condors and—”
“Jake McMilligan’s favorite player in the league,” he finished, smacking high fives and fist bumps with the kids and coaches.
“Milligan.”
“That’s what I said.” Trinsky beamed at me and turned to Riley Thoreau, acting head coach for the Juniors and one of my personal idols. “Sorry I’m late. I just arrived last night, and I didn’t get much sleep.”
He had the nerve to slide a conspiratorial glance my way. My cheeks heated on cue.
“No worries. The groups are set. You’re with Nikitinova,” Riley said. “We’ve got a ton of drills to get through—turn and burn, forechecking, breakouts. Campers, you’re in great hands. If you have any questions, ask. If not, get to work and have fun.”