Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“Eric!” I didn’t expect him to admit it. “We’ve been over this! I don’t need you to rescue me from Tessa.” I think back to the moment he leaned in to take that picture. How happy I was. And he was putting on an act the whole time.
He turns to me with another frown and says something I don’t understand. “God, Darcy.” He shakes his head. “You are really talented.”
“At what?”
“At assuming the absolute worst.” He sighs. Then he sets his glass down on a table and offers me his hand. “Come on. Take a walk with me.”
“Right now? I think it might rain.”
“Yes, right now.” His hand remains outstretched. With a grumpy sigh, I take it. His warm fingers close around mine, and the ache in my chest redoubles.
Then he leads me away from the party, holding hands like a real couple. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t think about the team seeing that picture. That was an oversight.”
“You know they gossip more than housewives on a reality show.”
“Yeah, my bad. And I’ll delete it right now if you want. Even though that’s kind of shutting the barn door after the cow gets out. But you still have it all wrong—I didn’t post that photo to fool Tessa.”
“You just admitted it!”
“No, I didn’t.” He gives me an exasperated look. “I said I heard what she said about me. It’s almost the same thing that DeLuca said to me once—that if my social media were a person, it would be the most boring guy at the party.”
“Rude.”
Eric guides me down the darkening beach toward one of the big wooden swings that’s been constructed here. We sit down, but Eric isn’t relaxed. His hands are clenched into fists. “DeLuca wasn’t wrong. And then here comes Tessa, with her big gotcha moment. And I wanted to smack her, mostly because she’s right.”
“About what, exactly?”
“Me. When she said that shit about my social media, I looked at my feed. And it’s nothing but hockey. That’s my whole life—hockey, more hockey, and trying to make up for the fact that my brother died young.”
Ouch.
“So, a few hours later, I’m on a beach with you. And we take this funny photo of our ugly marshmallows. And Darcy—” He turns his head, locking his gaze with mine. “Nothing in that picture is a lie. Not one thing. I can’t speak for you, but I was having a top ten night. I wasn’t stressing about the playoffs or the schedule or Weber’s girl trouble. For once, I’ve even given up worrying about how my mother is doing, because we already know the answer to that. I was just living.”
“Oh.”
Oh.
“Yeah, for once in my stupid life, all I want to do is burn some marshmallows and turn my brain off. Oh, and I also want to do this.”
He turns toward me, and I’m not ready. There’s no time to brace myself for the sight of Eric’s intent gaze roving across my lips. Or for the feeling of his broad hand forking through my hair as he pulls me in.
Then his mouth crashes down on mine, hot and demanding. Like he’s trying to prove a point. And for a split second, a last gasp of self-preservation causes me to stiffen in his arms. But Eric is kissing the hell out of me, and I’ve dreamed about this for so long. In idle daydreams during boring meetings, in half sleep on red-eye flights, in dangerous moments of weakness when I’d catch him laughing in the locker room.
Who could fight that? A second later, I melt against him like butter on hot toast. And almost immediately, the reality of his kiss blows away all my daydreams. The real taste of him—marshmallows and urgency—is so much better than the fantasy. The feel of his stubble against my chin, the sound of his breath catching when I tilt my head to improve our connection.
This. Yes. More. I grab his shirt with both hands, scooting closer and kissing him back just as fiercely. I pour all my confusion and anger into the kiss, nipping at his lower lip in a way that makes him growl. His arm tightens around my waist, lifting me into his lap as he deepens the kiss. I respond by dragging my nails across the back of his neck, drawing another sharp intake of breath from him.
The cool night air whispers around us, but all I can feel is the heat of his mouth against mine, the solid press of his body.
It’s everything I’ve always wanted, and I don’t really understand the turn of events that brought me here.
When we finally break apart, I can’t look at him. His hands cup my face, but I keep my eyes closed, trying to memorize every sensation before it disappears. The gentle stroke of his thumb across my cheekbone. The warmth of his breath against my lips. The way his heartbeat thunders under my palm.