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)
Seriously?
What. In. The. Actual. Fuck?!
I gotta grow a pair.
We’re only gonna be apart a couple minutes, not a fucking lifetime.
On my arrival, I plant my hands on the edge of the area. “You wanted to see me, GM?”
“Yeah.” She stops giving her very round stomach a comforting pat to point to the crowd. “This I like. This shows our fans that all of you have families that you love and are dedicated to off the ice.”
“Come on, Hoss,” Snowman begs around his laughter a couple feet over. “Come skate with me. You know you want to.”
“I’d rather take a high stick to the twat, Frosky,” our media coordinator chirps back.
“That I don’t.” Her finger gestures in their direction. “Handle it.”
“Player’s Only Meeting.”
“Perfect.” She resumes what I am guessing are soothing rubs to the swollen area. “Bricks says this was your nanny’s doing?”
“Da.” There’s no stopping myself from glancing to the side where she’s now holding hands with my daughter. “It was.”
“This is good publicity. Really good. The headlines practically write themselves.” A single snap near my face has me relocating my attention to the place it should’ve never left. “Don’t let it become bad by getting your dick involved.”
This time my nodding is stronger.
Coated in compliance I should’ve never temporarily abandoned for my own selfishness.
One word is all my boss needs to hear, so it’s the only one I say, “Ferda.”
She kicks her chin in dismissal, and I take it.
As much as I fucking hate that she brought the shit up, she’s right.
I already let my dick come before my team once.
I can’t let it happen again.
Ferda translates to for the boys…for the team…and they are what has to come first after my little girl.
Even if that means not getting my dick touched again before I fucking retire.
Chapter 13
Joey
“Be real, Berks,” I demand as my laughter finally fades. “Stop giving me the Cindy Lou Who treatment.” Reaching for my glass of water is attached to me asking, “Are you seriously considering leaving A2?”
“Yeah.” Berks, my best and only real friend, casually shrugs her creamy almond brown slender shoulders that are being displayed in a maroon, off the shoulder sweater. “I’ve had a good run at the hospital. Met some good people. Slept with some better ones.” She leans her six-foot frame towards the middle of the table to not so quietly whisper, “Crue Vann is still hands down my favorite fuck of the week any week we fuck.” Snickers leave us both during her return to a more upright position. “But…” her dark eyebrows lift to imply contemplation, “I’m overdue for a change. And considering the extensive program Dalvegan Memorial Hospital wants for their new pediatric acute care wing is literally the shit my dreaming of a white Christmas wishes are made of, not accepting the job would be the dumbest shit I’ve ever done.” Her fingers stretch to the middle of the table to grab another egg roll. “Besides that whole almost getting knocked up by a biker episode back in college.”
Berks and I both attended Wordsworth University in Camelot on full ride scholarships.
Pretty sure that’s why they made us dormmates too.
Dormmates who eventually became roommates who eventually become besties with an unbreakable bond no matter where in the world one of us runs off too.
We both were and are still very much into the treatment and development of children yet in very different avenues.
Berks deals with guiding them through the scariest shit imaginable – no matter how old you are, having a disease killing you or possibly never leaving the hospital again is terrifying – while I guide them through learning to have space, to take up space, that they are worthy of space regardless of the fact that their household situation may try to convince them otherwise.
We’re basically a bestie matchmade in heaven.
And a love affair for year-round Christmas shit is simply the gingersnap crumble on top of our butterscotch pudding parfait.
Oh!
Maybe I should make those for Christmas!
Anna wants me to make something out of spite since her son refused to let me for Thanksgiving.
Their relationship is adorable.
Even more so since he can’t see where a shit ton of his quirks come from.
“Enough about me.” She chomps down on the round treat. “We’ve basically talked about me since the moment we sat down.” Her mouth quickly moves to consume its contents. “Let’s talk about you.” Dipping the object in sweet and sour sauce is accompanied by a playful smirk. “And I don’t mean how much you’re gonna love meeting me for lunch at Thick Thais at least three times a week around nanny duties.” Giggles briefly bounce back and forth. “How are you doing post your last episode?”
“I guess okay?” Adjusting my oversized gray cable-knit sweater is absentmindedly done. “I mean…nothing…has come back yet.” Another guilt filled fidget leads to me tugging my top around a second time. “No nightmares. No flashes. No déjà vu spells. Nada.”