Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 41935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 210(@200wpm)___ 168(@250wpm)___ 140(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 210(@200wpm)___ 168(@250wpm)___ 140(@300wpm)
“Looks like you were smarter than me,” he says. “I had a little poof of meat mousse for dinner.”
“Sounds filling.”
“Do you mind if I sit?”
I shrug. “No, I don’t mind.”
He sits down beside me, putting his knees up and resting his forearms on them. For a minute, we sit in silence, the crashing waves the only sound. I catch a hint of his scent--a light, clean smell with a note of sandalwood.
“Been to Malibu before?” he asks.
“Farrah had an event here once. But I stayed at the hotel the entire time, so I don’t think it counts.”
He looks out at the darkened ocean water. “It’s my first time. It’s really different from Minneapolis.”
“Is that where you grew up?”
“No, but it’s home now. I grew up in Ohio. What about you?”
“Detroit, Michigan.”
“I’ve got a buddy there. A friend from high school.”
A couple walks in front of us, hand in hand. Once they’re past, Dalton looks over at me. “So, how long have you worked for Farrah?”
“Let see...almost three years.”
“Do you travel home for your time off?”
I smile wryly. “What time off?”
He pinches his brows together. “You do get time off, right?”
I subtly breathe a little deeper, wishing I could lean closer and smell him better. “I go home for Thanksgiving and Christmas.”
He just looks at me in silence for a few seconds. “Are you serious? She won’t give you time off?”
There’s a flare of aggravation in my chest. “It’s not that she won’t. It’s complicated.”
“Were you exaggerating? You get weekends off, right?”
I almost laugh because I can’t imagine what I’d do by myself for two full days. Before I worked for Farrah, I had two jobs. I haven’t had two days in a row to do nothing in more than six years.
“Our setup works for us,” I say, hoping he’ll drop the subject.
“Are you happy working for her? Running errands and getting water and blotting her sweaty face?”
I am already emotional over my parents, and his completely out-of-line questions send me over the edge. I pick up my fast-food bag and stand up.
“Fuck off, Dalton. You don’t know anything about me.”
“Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you. I just--”
“You don’t have a fucking clue.” I’m yelling at him now, the guy walking by with his dog veering out of the way to avoid us. “But how could you? You’re a millionaire pro athlete starring on a reality TV show.”
“Alice--”
I flip him off. “Thanks for ruining my few minutes of peace, asshole.”
I turn and try to stomp off angrily, but my feet sink into the sand. Damn. Trying to storm away from this conversation is turning into a workout, my calves feeling it.
Dalton doesn’t follow me to try to defend himself. Good move on his part.
I’m normally even-tempered. I have to be working for Farrah. But Dalton made his shitty comments on the wrong day. Angry tears fill my eyes as I walk around the house, avoiding the back entrances where I’ll run into people.
Instead, I slip in through a side entrance and go to my room. Once there, I close the door and curl up on the bed, still crying.
Are these angry tears? They are, but they’re sad, too. I picture my parents’ faces on the call tonight, both of them looking older than I remembered. And tired. So tired.
Who am I to feel sorry for myself when my mom does what she does? I swipe the tears from my face and take a few deep breaths.
I take a minute to breathe before I pick up my phone to respond to the text Farrah just sent.
It was just a bad day. Tomorrow will be better.
six
Dalton
This is what I get for trying to be friendly. I put my foot in my mouth and now Alice is pissed at me. I’m already battling JP to get Farrah to pick me, and now her assistant thinks I’m a prick.
In fairness, I am a prick sometimes. If someone messes with one of my teammates on the ice, they don’t have to worry about an enforcer coming for them--it’ll be me. A good captain stands up for his teammates. Coaches have told me I stand up too much, especially at times when we can’t afford penalty kills because I’m in the penalty box.
That’s me, though. I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve, but when it comes to hockey, my fists are an effective way of letting people know how I’m feeling. I can also be impatient. When I was a rookie, I ran my mouth like it was my job. I’ve mellowed, but I’m still pretty set in my ways.
I wasn’t being a prick to Alice, though. I was trying to be helpful. If she tells Farrah what I said, I’ll have to figure out who my second choice is to end up with. Farrah will be all over JP, and that smug bastard will never let me live it down.