Kane Read online Sawyer Bennett (Arizona Vengeance #8)

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Romance, Sports Tags Authors: Series: Arizona Vengeance Series by Sawyer Bennett
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Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
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Mollie shifts on her knees to get closer to me, leaning over and pressing one hand on my stomach, the other on my thigh. Her neck twists so her eyes can meet mine. “But we’re exclusive. Your hot little number who walked out of your apartment the other day is nothing but a distant memory, right?”

“I don’t even know who you’re talking about,” I reply with a lopsided grin.

She smirks. “Good answer.”

Then her hand is wrapped around my dick, and she’s lowering over me. When she takes me in her mouth, my head falls back to the pillow. I sigh with utter contentment.

Although I haven’t said it, I’m pretty sure I’m falling helplessly in love with my best friend.

Or maybe I’m already there.

CHAPTER 9

Kane

The first day of training camp starts in the team meeting room at the arena. It’s stadium-style, ascending several rows to accommodate all the players and essential staff.

I arrive early, taking the time to catch up with teammates I haven’t seen over the summer. Many spend the time traveling. While we always are just a call or text away, it’s great to see faces again.

Sitting in the front row is our first line, the real stars of the team. Legend Bay is our goalie, Tacker Hall at center, Bishop Scott, who is our captain and star right-winger, Dax Monahan on the other side at left wing, and our defensemen, Erik Dahlbeck and Aaron Wylde. I move down the line, giving them each a fist bump. I got to hang out with them in the first week of July for Bishop’s wedding in beautiful St. John. It was a great time, made even more so by the fact Tacker pulled off a surprise wedding of his own there.

Not sure what sort of magic mojo is going on with this team, but during our first year in existence, each of these men managed to fall helplessly in love and shackle themselves into monogamy.

As someone who was quite reluctant to leave Mollie in my bed this morning, I can certainly appreciate it.

I move up to the second row to sit with my line. Jim, Jett, and Bain are already there, along with our new backup goalie, Noah Martin. I’d met him last week in the gym, and he seems like a great guy. He’s got some big shoes to fill, left behind by Baden, but I think he’s up to the task. I slap digits with each of the guys before moving to the next empty seat and plopping down.

“Anyone seen Riggs yet?” I ask Bain, who sits to my right.

“Nope,” he replies.

I glance around the room as other players are trickling in but don’t see him. I have to say, I’m more than curious. He comes with a reputation of being a team player on the ice but being strangely detached off. I sure hope he meshes with us because this team is about as cohesive a unit as possible, especially coming off a championship win. I know all too well that one broken cog in the wheel can throw things to shit.

The coaching staff meanders in, including our head coach, Claude Perron. He’s a bit of a hard ass, but his style gets proven results. Not surprising, I see the team’s owner, Dominik Carlson, saunter in, too, dressed in an expensive suit with perfectly styled hair. He’s the fucking bomb—just ask anyone in this room. He not only put together a championship team in our very first year in the league, but he has personally helped individual players time and time again, proving he cares about us as individuals and not just moneymakers.

The last of the people file in, and one of the assistant coaches shuts the door. I note with dismay that Riggs hasn’t come in, and I exchange worried glances with my second-line guys. We know Coach won’t put up with being late, and he’s not one for giving second chances unless they are well deserved. If Riggs isn’t careful, he’ll find himself riding pine. There are plenty of players in this league that would kill to join the second line of the Arizona Vengeance.

Coach walks up to the podium, then raps his meaty fist on it to get everyone’s attention. The chitchat dies down. His voice booms, “Well, look at you all sitting there… fucking champions.”

The room erupts into cheers with fists banging on our flip desktops and feet stomping in approval. Coach holds his hands up, chuckling. “All right, all right. Enough of that. The Cup was last year, and this is a new year. We have our work cut out for us. Every team in this league has a hard-on for us, and they’ll be coming at us with fire in their bellies and evil desires in their souls, trying to knock us down. Are we going to let that happen?”


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