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)
There’s no surprise when he makes the first swing without bothering to protect his own face. The first hit connects hard with my jaw merely fueling the rage that’s already thrumming through my system to pump faster. Grabbing a handful of his sweater, I yank him towards me at the same time my other fist flies around to nail him in the nose. While an expected grumble of agony rips out of him, it pales in comparison to the next that shoots free when I land another shot in the same location. Reestablishing my balance again and again around his thrashes isn’t hard and using his frame for leverage between punches simply makes it easier to continuously pulverize the area so much shit is spewing from.
Blood splatters along my knuckles.
Coats the ice underneath us.
The same ice that after just two more direct blows to the middle of Nurmi’s face is joined by his tooth and turtling torso.
“Enough! Enough!” One of the zebra’s yells our direction during his frantic skate over. “Enough!”
“Stay the fuck away from my rookie, Nurmi.”
Deeper groans of pain pull a victorious grin into place as I rip off my bucket and chuck it across the ice. All of a sudden, the stick taps from my teammates increase in frequency and volume, their applause of approval pushing to extend my arms outward and demand from the home crowd of onlookers to do the same.
Get louder.
Fiercer.
Scream for green the same way I’m willing to spill blood for it.
An eruption of even louder shrieks from the fans has me glancing in Peck’s direction and presenting him with a solid pound to my chest. “Ra.”
He smiles, shakes his head in amusement, and repeats the action despite the linesman trying to block his way.
“Off the ice, forty-two!” is the last thing I hear as I exit the rink for the locker room.
Five for fighting isn’t so bad.
It’s the game misconduct and bucket removal that’s really gonna bite me in the ass, but like always, it’s worth it.
I’m proud to be the one my boys can count on to have their backs, just like that sexy, curvy little NDA needing nanny is proud to be the one who can do the same for my family.
Chapter 11
Joey
I’ve waited long enough.
I really need a copy of my NDA.
I really, really need to know what it is I can and cannot comment on.
Should and should not comment on.
How much trouble Ig can get into if his nanny – aka me – says something about the team that might have outsiders questioning her faith or belief in it.
In him.
Which for the Christmas card, I absolutely support the ever-loving shit out of what he does for them.
Given how new to the sport I am – with most of my lessons coming from his parents and one very easy to follow YouTube commentator – I think the decisions he’s been making – or following from his head coach – when it comes to the D are great.
I damn sure don’t think they’re “soft”.
And for the P.S. on that same card, I think that’s a terrible term.
Just like I think it’s terrible to bombard the hot chocolate drinking woman – who was clearly baffled by such a large selection of bone broth in the upscale grocery store – with intense, hockey strategy framed questions at seven in the morning.
It’s even fucking ruder to ask her if she thinks her incredibly skilled boyfriend – who she then has to correct to employer despite wrongfully wishing she didn’t – should’ve been traded to a team that actually has a chance at going to The Cup.
I swear, had that set of newborn banshee twins being pushed around by their zombie looking mother not come around the corner, providing me with the perfect opportunity to segue into something I’m actually educated on, I probably would’ve said something else that had me roasting over an open fire or Jack Frost punching me in the nose.
Which brings me to the why I need my copy of that contract for reviewing.
It’s so unlike me to not have made a copy or lost a copy of the original copy or to not have CC’d Berks on the email for safe keeping.
And…it’s even more unlike me to wait six weeks to responsibly retrieve a replacement, especially after knowing my bestie can be of no help in the department.
Putting away the fresh pomegranates and lychees in the fridge leaves me with only one set of items to properly store.
I plop my hands on my black leggings covered hips and shoot death glares at the containers of bone broth mocking me.
Where the fuck do these rectangles of reindeer remains go?
The pantry?
The fridge?
Back to the Christmas hating house of horrors they were extracted from?!
Feeling my cell buzz in the pocket of my oversized, off the shoulder gray knit sweater, I momentarily abandon my haranguing of the so-called food to answer it. Seeing it’s a text from Anna warrants me to immediately open it.