Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
“Merde,” Jean-Louis mutters from across the room. “You really don’t know?”
I glance up sharply as the room goes quiet. I must have some kind of look on my face. Half the players in the line of fire take a step back, and Torrance leans back into his stall, seeking refuge.
In the end, Nix is the only one brave enough to say, “Elly has a podcast, man. I guess she made it before she met you or whatever. It’s called Love on Ice, some social media detective figured it out a few days ago.” He pulls his phone from his bag. “I can show you, if you want. I listened to one of the episodes. It’s actually not bad. I mean, she clearly knows the game and seems to like you a lot, so…”
My legs go weak. I sink onto the bench. “Play it.”
Parker steps forward, gloves lifting into the air. “Hold up, maybe we should—”
“Play it,” I cut in, needing to know what everyone else knows about my wife.
My family.
Fuck. How did this happen? How did I let it happen? How did Schwartz let it happen? If this has been out on social media for a few days, we should have realized and made a plan to handle it by now.
And Elly should have told you. She really fucking should have, a voice in my head pipes up as Nix thumbs the screen, sending Elly’s voice floating through the room.
It’s her—undeniably, absolutely—but she sounds different. Her voice is deeper, looser. She sounds confident and playful and… fucking sexy. Just like that dick Partridge said.
“Okay, listeners, I wasn’t going to do another episode this week, but my roommate’s asleep, and I’m two glasses of wine deep and I just…” She sighs, another sexy-as-sin sound. “Well, I need to talk to someone about a certain someone.”
My hands start shaking as dread dumps into my bloodstream, but I press them flat against my thighs.
What the hell is she about to say? In front of my entire team?
Maybe I shouldn’t have told Nix to hit play.
But hell, most of them already seem to know all about the podcast. They’ve probably already listened, laughed, and formed their opinions about what kind of person Elly is.
But they don’t know her. Not like I do.
Like I thought I knew her anyway…
“You know who I’m talking about, loves,” she continues. “My boy, my MVP, the rookie sensation I can’t stop gushing about every ten minutes. But seriously, his forearms are poetry, ladies. If you don’t believe me, check out episode thirty-six. I do a deep dive on those arms, supporting their place in the forearm hall of fame with charts and science.”
She exhales a husky laugh that has me shooting a quick glare around the room to make sure no one else is thinking about how hot it sounds.
But most of the team still looks embarrassed for me, concerned, or like they’re wishing they had a box of popcorn to accompany the show.
“But here’s the thing,” Elly adds, her voice going soft. “Grammercy Graves is so much more than a sexy pair of forearms.” I flinch a little at my name on her lips, but do my best to hide it as she continues, “Guys, he spent the entire weekend visiting sick kids in the hospital. But he refused to let the cameras film him because he didn’t want the kids to feel like it was some kind of publicity stunt. He wanted them to feel special and important and to protect their privacy. How beautiful is that?”
“It is pretty beautiful,” Torrance whispers, only to slide back into his hidey hole as I jerk my glare his way.
“Beautiful and kind and thoughtful,” Elly continues wistfully. “I mean, if he weren’t already my number one hockey crush of all time, this story would have done it. Now, well…” She sighs again. “I might as well have Property of G. Graves tattooed on my inner thigh.”
“Jesus,” someone mutters as my teeth grind together.
“Shut up,” Nix hisses. “Just listen, it’s not bad.”
“I’m sure there are other men like him out there in the world,” Elly says. “Other men who are great at their jobs, devoted to their families, and funny and charming and classy and sweet to sick kids, all while looking sexy as hell with sweaty hair, but…where do we meet them? Because so far, I haven’t found a guy who even comes close. So, I guess I’ll just keep crushing on a man who has no idea I’m alive and talking about him in my bathtub. Unless I find a better place to record. What do you think, loves? I’m feeling the bathtub acoustics right now, but the closet wasn’t bad, either. Anyway, now that I’ve spent the mandatory eight to ten minutes bragging on our favorite hockey boy, let’s move on to some other big news that dropped yesterday. Over in the Western Conference, they’re—”