Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
“Why did we want him to join our club again?” Corbin asks with a groan as he records my winning score on a piece of paper. “It’s bad enough I had to see him at my bakery last night.”
“It’s okay,” Ivan says, then lifts his phone and snaps a picture of me. “We have blackmail power now. We can release photos of you being social.”
“No one would believe they’re real anyway,” I say with a scoff, then sink down into a lawn chair, relaxing. It’s good to chill for a bit after we all met for a hard workout this morning at Miller’s home gym. We’ll hit the road tonight for some away games.
“That’s true,” Riggs says thoughtfully, twisting at the label on his bottle of bubbly water. “Everything is fake these days.”
I flinch. Does he know about my fake romance? Do they suspect it’s all a ruse? But how could they?
“And I’d deny it,” I say, keeping the focus far away from my inner thoughts and my outer dating life. “And thank you for inviting me to your Lawn Men Club so I could eviscerate you.”
“Feel free to leave now,” Miller says, nodding to the bar. “And don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
“You’re stuck with me schooling you now,” I say.
“And since we’re stuck, let’s talk Montreal,” he says, shifting gears to chat about the team we’ll be playing next on their turf. “They lost their star forward and their offense has been weaker this season. We need to control the blue line and be aggressive with puck possession.”
“And that also means the D-men need to keep their D-men off the puck too,” Ivan puts in.
We dig into a game plan, something we’ll share with the other guys on the plane and the coaches. When we’re done, Ivan turns back to me, stroking his chin.
“You went to the coffee shop the other day. For a team promo.”
It doesn’t sound like a harmless observation. More like a setup. “Yeah,” I say, nonchalant.
“What’s that about? Is this another layer of the Lake onion?” Riggs asks.
“Just wanted to help,” I say.
“More like help your new woman,” Ivan says with a satisfied grin, then wiggles his bushy brows. “You’ve got it bad. Admit it.”
“Please,” I say, adding a scoff to sell it.
Riggs pats me on the back. “Our boy is smitten.”
I turn it right back to him. “Like you too, Fanboy,” I say, using the nickname Corbin gave him when he pursued and fell for a reality show star—now his girlfriend.
“Yep. I’m calling it,” Ivan says, then reaches for his wallet. “Here’s a grand on Lake falling in love.”
I double scoff. They have no idea how far off they are. “I’ll bet against it.”
Corbin whistles, then shoots me a sharp stare. “You really want to go there?”
Remy deserves the world. She deserves a man who’s not broken. She deserves someone who believes in romance.
And that’s just not me.
“I do,” I say, and I bet against us.
18
THE PERFECT SQUISH
REMY
I’m finishing up my podcast in a studio in the Mission District, reading a How We Met story about a couple who were reaching for the same avocado at the farmers’ market.
“And then, we debated how ripe it should be,” I say, recounting the tale a listener submitted to me of how she met her wife. “And she insisted it should be almost squishy. I said ‘not quite squishy’ and we discussed the squishiness of avocados over the display at the farmers’ market for a good long time till I asked her out.”
I pause and sigh happily into the mic. “Listeners, is there anything better than the perfect squish of an avocado? Wait. You don’t even need to answer because the only answer is yes.”
Then I return to my computer and read the rest of the tale the couple sent me. “And now as I wrap up this week’s episode, I have the term of the week for you. It’s…good growl, as in a good growl brand of chivalry. It’s when a man—or hey, a woman can growl too, because I’m all for equal opportunity growling—makes that sexy, rumbling sound in their throat and goes all possessive for you.” I shudder at the memory of Lake’s sounds. “And let me tell you, once you hear it you don’t ever want to go back to a time without growls. Until next time, don’t forget to send me your cutest meet-cutes to share on the air.”
I hit end on the computer and save the recording. I glance up at the window for the studio and wave at Skylar, my good friend who records her podcast here too. She hooks me up at the end of her hour-long slot here and since my show’s a shortie, weighing in at less than ten minutes, I can just slide in for free. That is the only way I can afford the studio.