Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
“It’s not over yet,” he said. “You never know. Maybe she’ll fall for you while fixing you.”
I laughed at that. “I don’t know if I can be fixed.”
“Personally, I love your little outbursts,” Cross said. “Fucking entertaining as hell.”
“Glad I can amuse you,” I said. “Tonight certainly should be interesting.”
Honestly, I didn’t care if she wanted me to dance my anger issues away or if she wanted to analyze me—I just wanted to see her.
Which was inherently strange, seeing how originally she was supposed to be nothing more than a bet. A bet she’d laughed at when I told her about it the first night we spoke. She’d thrown her own boundaries at me right away, her blunt way of delivering things quickly working under my skin.
I liked it.
Liked the way she held nothing back. Most people walked on eggshells around me—minus my inner circle—and it was hard to get a read on where they truly stood with me.
Not Alexandra. She didn’t give an inch, and she seemed like she couldn’t care less about how much money I had—she’d barely even blinked at the sight of me getting into my Aston Martin.
It was refreshing, especially when most of the women I met were solely interested in what I could give them rather than what I offered as an individual. Not that I could blame them. As long as they were upfront about their interests, I was all for it. Always had been.
Well, not always, but since my ex, that’s the only way I’ve operated. Which was the exact reason I told Alexandra about the bet on night one. She may have laughed, but she had her own set of extreme rules for dating—rules that directly conflicted with the goal of my bet. But I guess it really didn’t matter now, since the dynamic had changed.
She was the key to me keeping my position as owner of the Hurricanes. That outweighed any bet I had with Gareth, despite how much it stung.
Not to mention the memory of her mouth beneath mine, her body soft and pliant against me, the way she’d whimpered when I’d slid my tongue between her lips haunted my every waking thought. I took things further in my dreams.
I needed to stop that shit now.
“Did you call to check on me, Cross?” I asked when he hadn’t said anything else. “Or was there something you actually needed?”
“Wanted a progress report on the bet,” he said, laughter in his tone. “This is the most epic of our bets, after all,” he continued.
I rolled my eyes, turning left down another street. The navigation system was taking me south and a few blocks west.
Feminine laughter trilled in the background on Cross’s end, and I furrowed my brow. “Where are you?”
“Lucid,” he said. I recognized the name of one of Charleston’s most popular clubs. “I was going to see if you wanted to meet up. Bring your date here. Let us meet her.”
“It’s not a date,” I corrected him. “This is a session. Who’s with you? And what the hell are you still doing here? Shouldn’t you be back in Calgary?”
“I extended my stay,” he said. “Visiting Bristol. Her and Briggs are here, and Gareth too. Ash declined my gracious invitation.”
Damn. The offer was tempting. Crossland’s sister was an amazing designer, but I’d always liked her for her ability to check Cross any time she could. It wasn’t often Cross hung around longer than he needed to after our monthly games. Our responsibilities—teams, franchises, business deals—took us all over the place at any given time.
Missing a chance to hang with my friends definitely stung, but I wasn’t ready to toss Alexandra into that part of my world just yet, despite her mentioning she’d have to monitor me in my environment soon. Like I was a fucking science experiment. Jesus, hopefully she’d keep that up and my fantasies revolving around kissing her other places would cease to exist. It would make it a hell of a lot easier if she did.
“Maybe next time,” I said.
“You’re not going to be able to hide her from us forever,” he said. “Life coach or no.”
“Let me get past the first few sessions before I subject her to your bullshit,” I said.
Cross laughed. “Afraid she’ll be more interested in me? I mean, you wouldn’t really be able to blame her.”
“Dick,” I said, but I was smiling. We had a strict code—don’t mess with each other’s potential interests—and we stuck by it. But Cross enjoyed playing the field even more than I did, and sometimes he couldn’t help himself. Women were naturally drawn to him, sometimes more than one at a time, and he somehow juggled them all and left them smiling, with no hint of developing a reputation as an asshole.
Nope, that title belonged to me. But there were worse things to be called, I suppose, and besides, I was only an asshole when it called for it—which was usually every other day during the season. Or when bigot fans ran their mouth a little too loudly around me.