Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I snorted and rolled my eyes. “I’m very nice.”
He made a comical yikes face. “Right. All I can tell you is that my stress level has gone down fifty percent since I got here. And you want to know something even crazier? My pain-o-meter is down a few notches too.”
“That’s because you haven’t been playing professional hockey all summer. I’m sure your body appreciates the chance to heal.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever not have something aching, but it’s less severe somehow. Maybe it’s a lack of stress. My shrink tells me that if you hang on to negative shit, you internalize it. Next thing you know, it’s spreading throughout your body, tightening muscles, giving you arthritis and migraines. Have you ever had a migraine?”
“Um, no.”
“They suck. Zero stars, highly do not recommend. I used to get them once a month like fucking clockwork. Somewhere in there, I shredded my meniscus and my body couldn’t decide what hurt worse, so suddenly everything hurt. Fun times,” Smitty scoffed. “Right this very second, it’s more of a dull ache. I’ll take that all day long. I’m still beat up and battered, but I’m relaxed.”
“Hopefully you still feel that way after hanging out with a bunch of teenagers,” I advised, offering my hand. “I’ll be in touch. With any luck, I can have the keys to you by tomorrow.”
He stared at my hand. I thought he was going to say something sarcastic—maybe joke about going from naked strangers to polite strangers doing business, but he just smiled that knowing, almost wicked grin that made my pulse skip and skitter. Then he slipped his palm against mine and the Earth tipped on its axis.
“Cool. Tomorrow.”
His voice was pure gravel—sex personified.
I forgot what we were talking about. What was happening tomorrow? Was I supposed to be somewhere or do something? Did it matter? I swallowed hard as I met his gaze.
My heart was in my throat, beating out of control. He was closer now, inches away, his smile wavering as I licked my lips.
Smitty pulled his hand from mine, but he didn’t budge. He was still there, so close I could see flecks of gold in his brown eyes. Blood rushed to my head, whooshing in my ears so loud it sounded like a helicopter landing.
Walk away, make a stupid joke, stop this, don’t let it go too far.
That would have been the right move, the safe move, the conscientious “no one gets hurt and nothing changes” move.
I was so good at playing it safe.
Not with him.
But before I could reach for him, he walked away.
I followed Smitty to the porch and locked up, surreptitiously eyeing him as he checked out the neighborhood from the top step.
“So…which house is yours?”
I swallowed hard and pointed at the huge two-story brick house partially hidden by a large walnut tree directly across the street. He tore his sunglasses off and hooted merrily.
“How is that funny?”
“Are you kidding me? How is it not funny? Oh, man…this is gonna be a blast. I thought I was going to have to start jogging again and make up excuses to bump into you, and I fucking hate jogging. Turns out I just have to look out the window. Is this my lucky day or what?” he crowed.
“And here I thought you might find my proximity slightly disconcerting. You know…like a normal person would.”
“Nah, I’m not normal.” Smitty waggled his brows and moved to the sidewalk. “Later!”
Wait. That was it?
“Hang on. Didn’t you want a ride into town?”
“No, thanks. I’ll walk. See ya, neighbor.”
I watched him swagger away, head held high, oozing confidence and sex appeal and…damn it, somehow I knew Walnut Street was never going to be the same again.
8
SMITTY
Elmwood High School was a state-of-the-art, modern campus abutting the forest. The architect had gone for a rustic contemporary look with locally harvested wood, glass, and steel. And it worked. Let me just tell you, the main entrance gave log cabin meets fancy Aspen lodge vibes that in no way, shape, or form resembled my alma mater. This school was incredible.
It was the first eco-friendly, sustainable structure boasting its use of renewable energy, waste reduction, and water efficiency in Elmwood according to my tour guide and temporary assistant coach, Court Henderson. It reminded me of a super nice hotel with sweeping views and cathedral ceilings. However, the classrooms and open-concept hallways lined with student lockers indicated that this was in fact, a place of learning.
And a kickass place to play hockey.
No shit. The rink at Elmwood High was beautiful. It was pristine in the way brand-new things were. The stadium seating was shiny, the scoreboard gleamed, and the ice was smooth as glass—not just Zamboni smooth. We’re talking so smooth you could see your reflection. Not a nick, not a scratch anywhere.
This coming season would be the Elmwood Hawks’ second one…ever. It was a brand-new team with a brand-new staff of coaches—including moi.