Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
He floats across the ice, and I notice that his teammate mirrors his strides on the other side. They move around the goal and head back down, skating hard together, stride for stride. It’s mesmerizing to watch, and when they come to a stop, Benson isn’t even winded. But the other guy, he lies on the ice, sucking in deep breaths, and looking extremely pathetic.
“Please tell me we’re done,” he begs, but Benson pays him no mind, coming to where I’m standing by one of the doors as he throws up his cage. He hits his glove on the release lever and pushes the door open. His eyes are bright, his smile wide as he takes off his glove before reaching for his sweater on my body and pulling me to him. Our lips meet, and I melt into him the moment my hands touch his burning chest. He smells to high heaven, but I couldn’t care even a bit. I have missed these lips.
As he pulls back, I notice his hair is curled against his forehead, drenched in sweat, and I love how red his nose is. He’s so cute. He slaps his helmet down and winks. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I practically purr as he reaches for the door.
“I’m not gonna lie, Cam. I want more of that mouth.”
I grin. “Then hurry up.”
“Don’t gotta tell me twice. Sinclair! Get the hell up! I got a hot date to get to!”
I laugh as the door shuts, and he flashes me a wide grin. God, that grin causes the most delectable shivers to run down my back. I can’t even blame it on the cold. Nope, it’s all him. Benson skates to where Sinclair is lying, circling him and yelling at him to get up. I lean on the door and watch as they run drills. Benson is commanding and lethal, and while Sinclair may act like he hates every second of what Benson is doing to him, I can see the awe in his eyes. Hell, I probably match him.
Because I sure as hell am in awe of him.
I guess kissing him was like flipping a switch for me. It turned on, and now I can’t get enough. Unlike when we started this, when I would think about him or wanted to tell him something, I’d refrained from contacting him. Now, though, I text him just for the fluttery feeling I get when his text bubble comes up. It’s silly, I know, but I regret how I handled this. How I tore myself down and didn’t allow myself to do what I wanted.
Enjoy him.
’Cause good lord, there are a lot of things to enjoy about Benson Jeannot.
This last week without him has been hell. Our schedules never lined up to see each other, but that didn’t drag me down as much as I thought it would. We were always in contact, and we even watched TV together over FaceTime when I was heading back from a meet in Florida. It was his idea. He even Cash Apped me money for a snack at the gas station since he refuses for me to use my own money. It was sweet. Cute. God, I’m falling for him. Just like I knew I would.
I watch as he tortures Sinclair, and I don’t miss how much Benson enjoys doing that. Hell, I’m enjoying it too. Benson is so much fun to watch. Not only when he’s doing his own thing, but when he’s mentoring. The thing for me is that he doesn’t just demand things from Sinclair; he does them with him. He goes just as hard as he asks Sinclair to, and I admire that. It inspires me to be better when I’m coaching the younger girls on my team. I work hard, but I sure do let them carry a lot of mats so I don’t have to. I should be doing the same. I should be setting the example like Benson does.
Benson leans on the goal, and he is jerking his glove toward the spot in front as Sinclair listens intently, his eyes never leaving Benson’s. A small grin pulls at my lips, loving how authoritative Benson is. He demands greatness. It’s fucking hot. I lick my lips as I watch him, totally turned on, but like a bucket of cold water, the thought of wearing that stupid dress puts me back in my place. Though, as I watch him skate toward me, I wonder if it wouldn’t be worth wearing that damn dress just to be taken by Benson.
I know for a fact that his head looks great smushed between my thighs.
That core memory leaves me breathless as I watch him rub his gloved hand all over Dawson’s face, much to the other guy’s dismay. Dawson hits him in the shin with his stick, but Benson just laughs as he heads toward me, that striking smile making his eyes shine ever so beautifully. When he comes to the door, I lean into it and he leans against it as we stare at each other. My breath warms the glass, and laughing, I write, “Hi.”