Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 41634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
"Are you stalking me now?" I ask, putting my hands on my hips and trying to ignore the way my heart just shifted gears from a cardio burn to a frantic, uneven thrum. "You know there are laws against that sort of thing."
Jaxson doesn't flinch. He takes two slow steps toward me, closing the distance until I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.
"Stalking is such a harsh term," he says, his voice a low rumble that vibrates in my chest. "I prefer 'strategically appearing.' A little birdie told me this trail is your favorite. It was a statistical probability we'd cross paths."
"A statistical probability," I repeat, arching a brow. Why do I turn into a babbling idiot anytime this guy is around? “Who did you bribe with game tickets this time?”
He shrugs, a slow movement that makes the muscles in his shoulders ripple. “I don’t reveal my sources.” I hate that I notice. I hate that I’ve started comparing the way his shoulders move to every other man I’ve ever seen. Jaxson is built like a fortress—solid, immovable, and too freaking hot to ignore. “I’m a very goal-oriented person. When I see something I want, I tend to be… thorough."
The silence that follows is thick enough to choke on. The fountain continues to splash behind us, a rhythmic, cooling sound that contrasts with the heat radiating between us. I should keep running. I should say something cutting and jog away, but my feet feel like they’ve been set in the stone beneath us. I notice the way his pulse points are jumping at the base of his throat, the faint scar near his temple, and the fact that he smells like spice and something uniquely “Jaxson.”
"Is that what I am?" I ask, my voice steadier than I feel. "A goal?"
Jaxson’s expression softens, a rare, genuine shift that catches me off guard. He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
"No," he says quietly. "You're the person who puts me in my place every goddamn chance you get. You’re the person who looked at me like I was a human being instead of a professional athlete. You’re the person who makes me feel alive for the first time in forever."
I look away, focusing on the way the water ripples in the fountain. This is the danger zone. Falling under Jaxson’s spell would be so freaking easy. It would be so much easier to resist him if he were just the jerk my brother describes. If he were the arrogant, puck-stopping machine the media loves to hate, I could handle him. But this man is a problem.
"My brother would actually kill you," I say, the words feeling like a weak defense. "He’d skip the hockey fight and go straight for the felony. You know that, right?"
Jaxson takes another step. Now, he’s close enough that I can feel the warmth coming off his skin. He’s so much taller up close and personal. I can see the dampness of his eyelashes and the slight crook in his nose that probably came from a hockey injury.
"I don’t give a flying fuck about your brother," Jaxson says, his voice dropping an octave. "Or what he thinks."
"Why are you doing this?" I need to know that he’s feeling the same crazy things I am.
"Because I can’t forget you. No matter what I do," he counters, his eyes burning into mine. "Please give me a chance. Dinner, Harper. No hockey discussion, no worrying about brothers. Just the two of us, alone."
I should say no. I have a 'no athlete' rule for a reason. Athletes are ego-driven, they’re transient, and in Jaxson’s case, he’s my brother’s literal archenemy. Dating him isn't just a lapse in judgment; it’s a really bad idea. But as I look at him, I don't see the Seattle Knights goalie. I see a man who looks just as tired of the noise as I am.
I find myself smiling before I can stop it. It’s a treacherous feeling, a warm bloom in my chest that tells me I’ve already lost this fight. The denial loop I’ve been running since the charity gala has finally snagged on something real. I’m not just noticing him anymore. He’s all I see.
"Fine," I say, letting out a long, defeated breath. "One dinner. Somewhere private where you won’t be recognized."
Jaxson stands up straighter, his entire posture radiating a quiet, triumphant energy. He doesn't cheer, and he doesn't gloat. He just watches me with an intensity that makes me feel like I’m the only person left in the park.
"No problem," he says. "I can be very inconspicuous when I want to be."
"I highly doubt that," I mutter, looking at his massive frame. "You’re about as inconspicuous as a glacier in a swimming pool."
"Does next Monday work for you?" he asks. "I’m leaving this afternoon for a three-day road trip."