Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
God, I wished I lived closer. I would have loved to sit at her table, solving the world’s problems over tea and apple cake. Or stroll through the orchards with the dogs like I did when I was a kid, playing hide-and-seek with one eye on the road, looking out for my dad’s car and—
“Walker? Darling, are you there, or have I bored you to tears?”
I sat up, shaking off unwanted memories like a spider web clinging to my clothes.
“I’m here, but I should get going,” I replied.
“Busy, busy! Just tell me you’re coming to visit next month.”
“I’ll be there.” I grinned at Aunt Kay’s whoop of joy, feeling lighter than I had in days.
And three point five seconds after we’d said our good-byes, a new text popped up on my screen.
Ty: Meet me at the rink tomorrow at 5.
My heart pounded in my chest.
But this was good. This was what I’d been angling for. This was a major story I could make sweeter with a note of redemption.
So why did I feel as if I’d been asked to cover a Category 5 hurricane barreling straight toward Smithton?
CHAPTER 7
TY
Jett popped the tops off of two beer bottles and slid one across the kitchen island to me.
I nodded my thanks, scraping the edges of the label with my thumbnail. “Nice place.”
“Dude, you’ve been here like three times. Housewarming party, summer barbecues ring any bells?” he snarked.
I flipped him off, swiveling on my barstool to check out the layout of the open floor plan of the two-bedroom house my buddy shared with his super-smart physics professor boyfriend.
The farmhouse-style kitchen was adjacent to a large living area decorated in bright colors. It featured a comfy sectional anchored in front of a brick fireplace with a ginormous flat-screen above the mantel and two walls of floor-to-ceiling bookcases. The shelves were filled with intimidatingly thick textbooks interspersed with dozens of houseplants and framed photos of family and friends.
It was a grown-up house.
So surreal. It hadn’t been that long ago that we were teammates, grinding through classes in between parties and endless hockey practices. Now, Jett played pro for a developmental team in Syracuse and was working toward his master’s degree. This house was a huge upgrade from the one-bedroom bachelor pad he’d lived in before he came out. Excuse me, before he’d been forced out of the closet by Walker fucking Woodrow.
I had so much rage for that guy…and curiosity.
Moreover, I didn’t trust Walker, and that old saying “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer” made a whole lot of sense. I couldn’t do that without letting Jett know what was going on.
“Who waters the plants?” I asked, ignoring his jibe about my memory.
“We both do,” Jett replied, flashing an indulgent grin. “Malcolm has a green thumb, but I’m getting there too. I helped bring that one in the corner back to life like a fucking magician. Her name is Agnes. She was shriveled and had two scrawny leaves last winter, and then we got a hold of her. We repotted the plant, put her near a window, fed her some special secret elixir and watered her regularly, and boom…she’s a beauty.”
“How do you know it’s a girl?”
“I don’t, but Malcolm on the other hand, knows their Latin names. For real. I think Agnes is short for something like agneminicus maximus.”
I snorted. “You pulled that out of thin fucking air.”
“Yup.” Jett smiled around his beer bottle, setting it on the island with a clang. “What’s up with next year’s superstar rookie?”
I rolled my eyes. “The usual—partying with Langley and the guys, pretending I know shit about algebra while fighting off puck bunnies, and…dodging interview requests from the geek at What’s New, Smithton?”
His gaze narrowed. “The redheaded influencer dude?”
“Yep.”
Jett whistled. “Guy’s got balls, I’ll give him that.”
I nodded in agreement and gave Jett a brief rundown of my recent run-ins with Walker, excluding the scene in the alley.
Trust me, I didn’t want to go there with anyone. I knew Jett wouldn’t have been scandalized by a sketchy hookup with a football player, but I didn’t need anyone reminding me that I had more to lose now than ever.
Lectures about self-control and propriety had been a hot topic with my agent recently. The Jackals had taken a chance signing an out bisexual player. They liked my energy on and off the ice, and they loved my stats. They also needed a PR boost.
Last season, one of their players made the news for trashing a hotel room he shared with two naked women while his pregnant wife was home with their toddler. And another player posted a homophobic drunken tirade online.
The answer…me.
The problem…also me. I had a reputation.
Generally, it was a good one. I was charming, even-tempered, and a lot of fun at a party.
And I was careful. I played by the rules and only bent them when no one was looking. But what worked at Smithton might not fly in the real world, and I had the strange sensation that my actions sort of mattered. Talk about a fuckload of pressure.