Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
"Obviously." I tilt my head, smirking at him. "What? You think I didn't do my research on the family my brother is marrying into?"
He grunts, his expression tensing.
I immediately regret what I said—mostly because I know there's a whole world of complicated history with their mother lurking in his past. He probably doesn't want to talk about any of it…or think about it, for that matter. The woman is pretty much the worst mother on the planet.
"I'm just kidding." I lean closer, like I'm going to tell him a secret, just to lighten the mood. "Don't tell my brothers, but I'm secretly a hockey fan. It's far more interesting than football."
Harlan's laugh is rough and abrupt, like it caught him by surprise. I kind of love it. He's got this stoic, surly thing going on, and then when he laughs, it's like a little ray of sun blasts through.
"Football is for people who don't understand violent poetry," he says, deadpan. "Hockey is for the ones who do. But I'll keep your secret if you keep mine."
"Oh, so we're sharing secrets now, huh?"
"Might as well." He shrugs, making a show of glancing around. "What the fuck else are we going to do tonight since we can't run away?"
I can think of a few things…but I don't say that. Instead, I arch a brow at him, genuinely curious what secrets he has. "Fine. What's your shameful secret, Captain?"
His lips twist. It's not quite a smile, but close. "I only have a fantasy football league so I can draft my brother every season and then spend the whole thing fucking up all his stats."
I throw my head back, cackling. "Tye will be devastated."
"Oh, I know." Harlan's eyes glimmer with wicked satisfaction. "I've been doing it for years. He hasn't helped anyone win a damn thing since I started."
"That's diabolical. I like it." I eye him sideways, grinning like an idiot. "Please feel free to draft both of my brothers to your garbage team and absolutely demolish their stats." Their heads will explode. That's always a fun time for me.
"I'll consider it for a price."
"What's your price?"
His gaze flicks down my body again, his expression heating in a way that makes my core clench. "I'll tell you later."
"You do that," I murmur, my heart thudding against my ribcage.
He grins, a real smile this time. Jesus. He should really do that more. He's sexy as hell when he's smiling.
"You're a dancer, right?" he asks after a moment.
"No, I'm a ballerina."
His brows furrow. "There's a difference?"
I prop a hand on my hip, leveling him with a firm glare. "Is there a difference between football and hockey?"
"Touche," he murmurs, a tiny smile flickering at his lips.
"Anyone can dance. It takes dedication to learn ballet."
Harlan's gaze drifts down my body again, but he isn't looking at me like most people do, as if they think it's wild that I might actually be a ballerina at my size. He's looking like he thinks I'm exactly the right size for the job.
"You look like you were built for it," he says quietly. "To move, I mean." His eyes linger on my thighs, then dart up to my face.
"Thanks," I say, fighting the urge to press my legs together. He'd probably notice that, right? "I guess you'd know since you throw your body around an ice rink like it's fun seven months a year."
"Don't forget the playoffs," he says.
"We definitely can't forget those," I tease him.
"Smart ass."
I grin, not denying it. And then I catch a blur moving through the crowd. It's Hattie, with Sidney right behind her. He's got her hand like he thinks she'll fly away if he doesn't keep a death grip on her. They're making a beeline for the nearest exit.
I check my phone. "Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Looks like I won."
Harlan's eyes flick to the spot where Sidney and Hattie are already disappearing from the room. He looks entirely unbothered, almost satisfied.
"I suppose you want a prize for that." His mouth is so close I can smell the hint of whiskey on his breath. For some reason, the comment fires through me like a dare.
"I mean…I do appreciate being recognized for my talents," I murmur, tipping my head back.
He studies me, his head tilted just so, the way predators look at prey when they're deciding if they want to hunt or not. Except…I've never been prey a day in my life. I have claws. Always have.
"What's your price, ballerina?"
I lift my hands, shooting him a little smirk. "Guess you'll have to find out."
"Tease," he says, but there's a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth that says he loves it. "You know I'm looking forward to it."
"Looking forward to being fleeced by a ballerina?" I arch a brow. "That's mighty brave of you, considering you don't even know my price yet."