Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
The team was a brotherhood of sorts, and all the guys would have their families—wives, girlfriends, kids, moms, dads, former coaches—come to cheer them on. Except me. No one ever cheered my name, or came to watch me play, or gave a shit if I was alive or dead. Back then, I wore that hurt like a chip on my shoulder, which is probably how Dom saw it so easily. Now I dodge any questions about family and, if pushed, usually say I haven’t talked to my parents since the day I turned eighteen, even though the truth is, I stopped talking to them long before that. I just existed in their house like a ghost, me ignoring them and them ignoring me for years before the quiet noncelebration of my eighteenth trip around the sun set us all free.
So Dominic had pestered me to go with him until I finally relented just to get him to shut up about it. He’d spent the whole flight telling me all about his amazing parents and his annoying sister, but even as he bitched about her, he had this stupid grin on his face, so I knew he cared about her. The picture he’d painted was of a dorky, weird, much younger brat. What walked out of the kitchen that first night had been anything but.
Penny was then—and is still—an absolute stunner, with curves that beg for a man’s hands, a mouth that you never know what’ll come out of, and a sunny disposition that could make Eeyore smile. Or a grumpy asshole like me.
I’d been smitten before Dominic had even introduced us. Then I’d remembered the first rule of brotherhood—a man’s mother and his sister are strictly off-limits. Multiply that rule times a billion, and you’ve got an approximation of how protective Dominic is about his sister. His mother, too, but I’ve never had any desire to have her sit on my dick. Penny, though? Yeah, I’ve thought about that particular fantasy a few thousand times over the last five years.
Which is why it’s always been safest to avoid her at all costs. It’s doubly hard when I’m forced to be in her vicinity and treat her the way Dominic does, which is to say, like the annoying brat she can sometimes be.
I sigh heavily, resigned to seeing her, talking to her, and later, a night of replaying the whole encounter and punishing myself for being the asshole I always am to her. It’s for her own good, but also for mine.
Dominic is the one thing I have in this world. My teammate, friend, and brother. And his family is the only family I have. I won’t do anything to fuck that up. Even if it makes me miserable and angry at the unfairness of the world and the hand I’ve been dealt.
The errant thought is enough to make me want to punch something. But my locker walls are made of steel mesh that’ll do real damage to my hand, so I force myself to relax, splaying my fingers to stop me from fighting my own hatred for myself.
“All right. Let’s see if Penny-Nickel-Dime has broken any bones today,” I grunt, using the childish name her family bestowed upon her and rolling my eyes like I’m annoyed by her accident-prone nature and don’t worry about her as much as Dominic does.
Or maybe even more.
“Get dressed, Honey,” Dom tells me, using the nickname I got because my last name is Mahoney. Well, the name and the fact that I’m sticky as hell on the ice, never losing my footing or a brawl. I don’t mind it. It could definitely be worse. Just ask our center, Jack Off, whose actual last name is Jacofovich.
I could delay things, get dressed so slowly that Dom gives up on me and agrees to just meet me at Pro-Bowl, but I don’t. As much as I don’t want to see Penny, I also want to see her more than anything. It’s been weeks since we’ve had an actual conversation, though I see her when she’s doing her Ice Hawkette duties during the games. I try to ignore her then as much as possible, though. I have a job to do, and if I saw some spectator getting handsy with her in the little crop tops or short skirts the cheerleaders wear, I’d likely end up in jail.
So before Dominic has even pulled his jeans on, I’m fully dressed and telling him to hurry his slow ass up. “I’m hungry, man.”
I am. But not for a chicken-rice bowl. I’m hungry for two seconds of Penny’s eyes on me, full of fire and fury, as she spouts out ridiculous comebacks to my rude commentary. It’s the only way I can keep her at a distance . . . by treating her like a bothersome little sister, just the way Dom does.