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)
I wasn’t sorry I’d come out, but anyone would agree that I wasn’t an exciting bi specimen. I’d spent a while in the closet, and old habits died hard. I dated women in public and fucked men in private. That might never change ’cause at the end of the day, I didn’t want to talk about my sex life or be some kind of bisexual ambassador. I just wanted to play hockey.
I could handle the Walker saga on my own, but damn, I needed to talk to someone or I’d go nuts. Jett was one of my best friends, and he had experience with the public part of being an out athlete.
My friend studied me for a beat. “Listen to Toby and do the interview. And take Walker up on the social media boost while you’re at it.”
“You think so?”
“It’s a no-brainer, Ty. Walker’s good at his job and he feels guilty about fucking up with me and Malcolm, which means he’ll be extra careful to get things right with you.”
“Hmm. Maybe.”
“If you’re here for my blessing or some shit, you’ve got it,” Jett assured me with a wry grin. “I’m done being angry, and I have been for a while. I love my life. I have an amazing boyfriend, good friends, a cool house with lots of plants, a cat who sleeps on my head, and…I get paid to play hockey. Jackpot!”
“Sounds pretty sweet,” I commented, unnerved by a rogue wave of envy.
Weird. I mean, c’mon…I might not have a boyfriend, girlfriend, plants, or a cat, but I was the one going to the AHL.
“It is, and I wouldn’t change a thing. I don’t think about the past, Ty. No regrets, no grudges. I’m out of the equation, so you do you. But my advice is go for it. You have nothing to lose.”
Well…that wasn’t quite true.
At all.
I didn’t trust Walker, but until I was sure he wasn’t playing some underhanded trick, I was going to keep a close eye on him.
No, I could do better than that. My plan to go Sherlock Holmes on Walker’s ass and dig up some dirt on him was already in the works. Everyone had a skeleton in their closet and the ones who liked to dish other people’s stories usually had something juicy under wraps. At least that was how it worked on CSI.
Intrepid investigators uncovered crazy shit like gambling debts out the wing-wang, mafia connections, DUIs, spouses in different countries—you get the gist. I didn’t think Walker was half that exciting, but I’d bet there was something.
Two could play the sneaky-little-fucker game.
Commence the Woodrow investigation.
I’d asked a few fellow students and a couple of retail clerks in town for their opinion on Smithton’s affable redhead, and apparently, everyone freaking loved the guy.
Shar, my favorite waitress at Bear Depot, grinned like an infatuated schoolgirl. “Aww, he’s so sweet. Walker might be the most genuinely friendly person in Smithton. And he’s a big tipper!”
Mel and Darya, the baristas at Coffee Cave, gooped all over him too.
“Walker’s the best. If he’s doing your interview, you’re in great shape,” Darya had assured me.
“Absolutely,” Mel had chimed in. “Walker’s a great guy.”
“The best,” Vincento concurred.
“A pleasure to have in class,” Professor Aaronson had commented.
Great. Walker had Smithton convinced that he was a local hero, and I just didn’t buy it. There had to be more to the guy sitting in the stands with his head buried in his cell.
He’d arrived at the rink during our high-tempo drill and chosen an unobtrusive spot in the shadows. But with that hair, it was hard not to be aware of him—even through a brutal practice.
Sweat dripped from my helmet into my eyes faster than I could wipe it away during what felt like ninety minutes of sprint skating. All I could think was that someone must have pissed in Coach Beekman’s Gatorade.
My knees wobbled as I gulped a gallon of water, nodding along to Coach’s spiel about focus.
“Rule number one: protect the puck,” he barked. “You need eyes on the back of your heads. You get blocked, pushed, laid flat on your ass…so what? You still better know where that damn puck is. This isn’t a foreign concept and it’s not something we need to debate. It’s Hockey 101. You can’t expect to beat St. Mark this weekend if you let your guards down. I mean it. Your passes have to be on the money. None of this flinging shit at the boards and hoping your teammates bail you out. None of this…”
I tuned Coach out. Hey, I respected the hell out of him, but man, I was tired, hungry, and my quads were on fire. I wanted a shower and a double beef burger with fries—regular and sweet potato. Pizza sounded good too. A meat lover’s with extra sausage…mmm, sign me up.