Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
She nods. “Working at this camp helps, though. The tuition helps keep my mom’s business afloat. And this is her biggest enrollment year ever.”
“Oh.” It’s a lot to take in. But something occurs to him. “You’re part of the draw, yeah? Because you almost made it to the Olympics.”
“I guess.” She shrugs. “But the almost part makes it a special kind of draw. So many of these girls are hate-watching me this summer. The bunheads smell blood in the water.”
He runs a hand over her smooth knee and thinks that over. “I don’t think that’s true. They worship you.”
She makes a face of disbelief. “Nobody worships someone who almost made it. There’s no glory in that.”
“Inaccurate. Stand up a sec?”
After she slides off his lap, he walks her over to the edge of the roof, protected by a waist-high wall. He glances around the quadrangle below until he finds what he’s looking for. “There. See those girls?” There are four teenage campers sitting on a blanket on the lawn, swatting mosquitoes but unwilling to go inside until curfew.
“What about them?”
“Look at their hair.”
Zoe squints into the fading light. “It’s… nice? What’s your point?”
“The bunheads don’t wear buns anymore. Most of them, anyway. That bitchy one—Melanie? She still wears a bun. But the rest of them…” He reaches up and wraps a hand around the thick braid hanging over her shoulder. He gives it a little tug. “I’ve noticed lots of these instead.”
Zoe turns once again toward the girls on the lawn, who are gathering their things. She takes a long look at their braids and frowns. “That’s just a coincidence.”
“It’s not,” he says, taking her hand. Gently he tugs her back toward the middle of the roof, where nobody can see them. “They dress like you, too. You tie your T-shirt like this.” He places his hand on her hip, where there’s a knot.
“That’s just to get the fabric out of my way,” Zoe says, her gaze softening as he gives her hip a meaningful squeeze. “I don’t like it flapping in the breeze.”
“Mmm,” he says, leaning in to trace his lips along her smooth neck. “I’m telling you, those girls would do anything to be just like you. And that only happens when you have their respect.”
“Oh,” she says. Although it isn’t clear whether she’s agreeing with his theories or she’s getting turned on. Maybe it’s both things, because she slides a hand up his chest and tilts her chin to give him better access.
He takes her warm face in two hands and kisses her softly. And when she whimpers, his body lights up like a stadium lamp. He parts her lips and deepens the kiss.
Lately, it’s always like this. Deep kisses and questing hands. When both of hers slide onto his ass, he quickly escalates the kiss from the juniors to the pros.
It doesn’t take long before they’re both riled up and desperate. He makes himself break the kiss and take a deep breath. There’s no privacy here.
She tucks her chin into his shoulder and sighs. And for a few minutes, nobody speaks. Until she suddenly says, “You called her Sister Walsh. Is that your private nickname?”
Who? “Oh, yeah. Your mom reminds me of the nuns who taught Sunday school. Like she wants to scare everyone and give them ten Hail Marys.”
Zoe draws back to look at him with sparking eyes. “That’s her secret dream.”
The nickname has another meaning, though, which he doesn’t bother to mention. Zoe’s uncle is his hockey coach. He’s the guy who said, Don’t touch my niece.
The niece who turned out to be Zoe.
God, he’s an idiot. But it probably wouldn’t have mattered if he’d figured this out sooner. He wouldn’t have been able to stay away.
He runs a fingertip down Zoe’s perfect nose. “I’m probably dead if anyone finds out about us.”
She laughs. “Me too. But they won’t. That’s why I told you not to come upstairs earlier.”
“Who was up here?”
“A couple of bunheads.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Didn’t we just talk about this? Were they wearing buns?”
She looks away, smiling. “Braidheads just doesn’t have the same ring.”
“True. How’d you get rid of them?”
“I told them I was working on a new piece of choreography and I come up here to work in secret.”
He snickers. “Good one.”
“Well, I am,” she insists. “We only have two weeks to come up with our program. It’s going to be amazing.”
“Really? Did you find a better skater than me to do this piece with you? Because I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m the worst dude at camp.”
She shakes her head. “This isn’t going to be about jumps. I mean—
we’ll jump, but you can do singles.”
The competitor inside him says, “I bet I could do a double.”
“I bet you could,” she agrees. “But it doesn’t matter. We’re going to have the coolest piece, because this song is sexy and kind of dark, and everyone else will be trying to impress Sister Walsh with Swan Lake and ‘Clair de lune.’”