Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Dread carves itself a new home in my throat.
“This team is your family, Alexeyev. The only thing that should come above them is that kid of yours.” A quirked eyebrow is executed to emphasize her point. “Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Good.” Hennington spins back to face the ice once more. “Now, get the fuck out of my box before I find a way to make it your blood that Fred has to clean off the ice.”
There’s not an ounce of hesitation to be found in my fleeing movements.
I just barely survived that verbal donnybrook with the owner.
No need to get my ass physically handed to me too.
Chapter 9
Joey
“So,” my hands slide into the back pockets of my fitted jeans as I continue to linger in the doorway of Igor’s master closest that’s an ensuite to his bathroom, “you have to arrive in a suit whether you’re home or away?”
“Correct.”
“Why?”
“Dress code.”
“You have a dress code?” Tilting my head to one side thoughtlessly occurs. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“But it’s hockey.”
“And?”
“And it’s not like you’re going for a five course Christmas meal with the mayor of your small town.”
Igor stops adjusting the knot to his paisley tie to meet my glare in his full-length mirror. “You watched another Christmas movie after I went to bed, aye?”
“Hey, I’m not on trial here.”
“Maybe you should be.” The pink accessory is fiddled with yet again. “Can’t possibly be healthy to watch that many movies pre-red and green season.”
“And it can’t possibly be that attractive to wear something you stole from Barbie’s Dream House.”
Igor’s entire face crunches in disgust. “I knew this ish was ugly.”
“Why’d you buy it then?”
“Didn’t. It was a gift.”
“From?”
“My mom.” Annoyance in his voice is instant. “Father has one just like it.”
The halfhearted admission calls me to creep closer.
Soften my tone.
My smile.
“And The Great One forbid I don’t do everything just like him,” he resentfully sneers while yanking off the item.
Palpable bitterness pushes me back to where I was.
Plants my feet firmly at my previous distance.
This is what I call the red of a situation, which is basically made of all of the things I shouldn’t talk about, ask about, or cross the line about. Things like this include who my client is dating or fucking, where my client spends their time when they’re not with their child or at work, and personal Charlie Brown war stories because I’m not here to be their therapist or best friend.
I’m here to help raise their little one.
Set up a reliable routine and stability and communication skills that will allow them to positively progress forward together.
My job is to stay in the green. Learning about facts and figures and to train them on lost skills such as active listening and boundary shaping.
It is not to take their hand into mine.
Or to look deep into their pale blue eyes at the same time I whisper words of encouragement.
Ugh.
But Kris Kringle do I wish it was…
“Should I put in my notes to never pack pink ties then?” I casually ask hoping to lift his grim demeanor to the lighter one I’ve become accustomed to over the past couple of weeks.
Igor carelessly tosses the article off to the side. “Why are you planning on packing my luggy?”
“Part of the job.” The cheerful proclamation is presented on a wide mouth grin. “You’ve got a crazy schedule around practice, games, promotions, team dinners, and whatever else it is you do, so packing is part of my job. Making sure you’re ready to hit the road is no different than making sure you’re ready for practice in the mornings. Part of my responsibilities is making sure I keep the whole team in line at all times.”
“Is that why you bought that big as eff of a calendar for the island?”
“Schedule keeping is a key component to a well-maintained household.” Mirth doesn’t hesitate to seep into my stare. “Plus, it gives Princess Bella over there a healthy place to put her stickers each day.”
“Stickers for the board or stickers no mored,” she rhymes while wiggling on her dress up jewelry.
Igor hits me with a taunting smirk. “Really? That was the best line you could come up with?”
“Look, not every rhyme is gonna be where grandma hides the cookies.”
“Nice lingo gino, Joeski.”
My instant throat clearing is attached to a stern stare.
“Sorry.” He adorably winces. “Nanny Joey.”
Admittedly, I kinda like being called Joeski.
While Joey on its own is already short for Jonati, I’ve never had anyone ever care enough to even try to give me another nickname.
Not even a Jo.
Hell, growing up I was just grateful when someone remembered my fucking name.
It’s almost hauntingly awful how many so-called foster parents don’t even bother.
Being called Joeski when we’re alone has this way of making me feel…special. Like I’m welcomed into his world as much as Bella’s.
Which I don’t need.
It’s just…nice rather than naughty, ya know?