Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62128 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62128 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
I don’t hate the sensation.
I glance at Blakely and Monroe, who both give me suggestive looks that send all three of us into a fit of giggles.
“Oh, this is going to be such a fun night,” Lawson says, practically beaming at Blakely.
“Yes!” I say with likely too much enthusiasm. “Oh, wait,” I continue, rifling through my clutch. “We must document.” I swipe open my phone, starting a video. “Look like you’re having more fun than any NHL team in history,” I say, panning the camera around.
My friends immediately answer the call of action, laughing and cheering. Monroe starts spitting out stats for Pax, explaining to the camera why he’s the best defensemen on the Badgers, and Blakely matches her passion with equal reasoning for Lawson being the best playmaker.
I do my best not to laugh or agree too loudly behind the camera, but assure myself I can edit out unwanted noises later.
“What about right wings?” I ask, flipping the camera around to myself to join in on the fun. “Stokehill here already has eight goals for the season,” I say, moving the camera to get him in the shot. The sight of him standing behind me, looking way too mischievous with that smirk of his, almost makes me stumble over my words. “And he has a career goal number of twenty-eight.”
Nash’s blue eyes snap away from the camera, looking at me with surprise.
I swallow hard, forcing a laugh. “For those who were curious,” I add, hoping to cover the momentary slip in my fangirl status.
“Moving on,” I say, heading through the bar, hunting down other Badgers and getting a lot of awesome content. I ask them a few typical social media questions—what song is on repeat, what snack is getting them through the holidays—and I’m pretty impressed I can remember to do my job while also technically not working.
“Get some good content, Reese’s Pieces?” Nash asks me once I’ve found my way back to the bar, where I’m met with another round of shots from my girls.
I take the shot quickly, feeling a little wobbly on my feet but also just too happy to really care. I haven’t let this loose in months, and since my job hasn’t exactly been the dream I thought it would be, it feels good to escape.
Not that I don’t love my job, I do. I just thought after getting a degree in marketing I would’ve had one video go viral by now or at least secured some more interest in the Badgers for endorsements and sponsored posts than I have.
“I did,” I answer Nash, using the bravado in my voice to try and make my mind feel like it’s the truth. “Who knows,” I continue. “Maybe something caught here tonight will be the video that puts the Badgers in the limelight.”
“We’re getting there,” Nash says. “I like your series on post-workout recovery.”
My eyes flare wide as I glance up at him. “You watch the page?”
He shrugs. “Sometimes.”
I laugh. “Checking to see how often I post your pretty face?”
His grin is downright wolfish as he leans down. “Ah, so you admit you think I’m pretty.”
I roll my eyes, waving him off as I scan the area around us. Everyone is having a great time, and The Queen’s Rum is packed. I’m glad they’re getting the business they deserve. I bob my head to the music, filtering in and out of Monroe and Blakely’s conversations as the night winds on.
“Oh!” I say, my attention snagging on a showdown of all showdowns happening across the bar at the tables. “Get that!” I ask, practically shoving my phone in Monroe’s hand because she has the better angle.
She scrunches her brow. “Get what?”
“Kiplin and Torrington are arm wrestling!”
Monroe spins around in the small space between the bar and Pax, and points the camera their way. It’s quite a spectacle, watching the team’s captain and one of the thickest-built Badgers face off in such a way. Both of their faces are pinched with the exertion, but it doesn’t look like either of them will budge one way or another. They’re entirely too stubborn. It’s entertaining as hell.
“Excuse you,” a feminine voice says at the same time someone pushes me.
I’m so taken off guard I stumble slightly, but Lawson steadies me.
“Whoa,” I say. “Thanks,” I say to Lawson before turning around to see who’s in such a rush for the bartender—
“Come on, Nash,” the woman says. “My friend said you had a thing for blondes. Don’t you want to make sure I get home safe?”
Nash shakes his head, moving around the woman to get to me, his hand on my elbow. “You all right?” he asks, leaning down to ask the question in my ear.
My heart flutters in my chest at the sweet way he asks, at the concern in his eyes, the way he smells like violets and leather, all of it.