Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
With so many teammates getting married the past couple of years, I had the wedding routine down. Show up, smile, eat, dance, possibly hook up with a bridesmaid. And don’t cheap out on the gift.
Jolie Gizzard’s parents had plenty of money—Coach Gizzard was very well paid—so I’d gone with a gift of $500, which was what most of the other guys on the team were giving. I had a stack of wedding cards in a drawer at home so I never had to run around at the last minute picking one up. Totally my assistant’s idea. I never thought about that stuff.
The parking lot was packed and I didn’t see anyone walking from their car into the church.
Shit. I was late. I had to find a spot quickly and get inside.
I was circling the lot a second time when the sight of a woman running toward me made me slow down. Was that…?
Oh hell. Fucking hell. It was Jolie Gizzard, the bride. I’d only met her a couple of times at team events when she was with Coach, but I recognized her bright red hair immediately. Also, she was likely the only woman here wearing a wedding dress.
Why was she running toward my car, though? I slowed to a stop and looked in my rearview mirror to see if maybe she was running toward something behind me. There was nothing, though.
I rolled down my passenger window and leaned over as she arrived at my car, breathless. She tried the door handle and found it locked, her eyes widening in panic.
“Open it, Boone!” she said.
“What’s going on?”
“There’s no time! Open the fucking door!”
She was frantic, the tears streaming down her face tinged with black eye makeup. Christ, this could only be one thing—a runaway bride situation. And I was sure as hell not going to be seen driving away from this church with Gizzard’s daughter in my car. I needed a trade to Nashville, so staying on my coach’s good side was imperative.
“Calm down,” I said, putting a palm up.
Jolie narrowed her eyes at me. “You calm down, asshole. I said open this door. Open it right now!”
She kept pulling on the handle of my Range Rover, which was making me feel as panicked as she looked. My car was my most prized possession. After saving nearly every cent I made my first four years in the NHL in case I got injured and couldn’t play anymore, I’d splurged on this car.
“Hey, let up on the handle,” I said.
“Then open it!”
Jolie was usually mild-mannered, smiling and making small talk about hockey. I’d never seen her like this.
“Boone, I have to get out of here,” she pleaded.
“Well, I have to keep my balls attached to my body, so I can’t be seen leaving here with you when you’re supposed to be getting married” I looked down at my watch. “Right now.”
She exhaled through her nose, lasering me with a death glare. “I don’t want to go through with this wedding. If you have any semblance of a soul, you will open this door and help me.”
Shit. Everyone knew Coach loved his future son-in-law. I’d be at the top of his shit list if I whisked his daughter away from this wedding.
I had a sister, though, and if she were in this situation…I’d want someone to help her.
Shaking my head, I pushed the button to unlock the door. Jolie immediately opened it and got in, pulling yards of pale pink fabric into the car before closing the door.
“Get down,” I hissed. “I don’t want anyone to see you.”
She knitted her brows together. “Well, either that’ll work, or someone will see us and think I’m giving you a blow job.”
“Fuck!” I slammed my hand against the steering wheel. “Don’t get down!”
I threw the vehicle into reverse and looked in the rearview mirror as I backed up, eager to get out of here as quickly as possible.
“You’re getting me into the deepest pile of shit ever,” I grumbled as I turned the wheel near the parking lot entrance.
“Well, you’re getting me out of the deepest pile of shit ever,” she lobbed back. “And it’s your own fault for running late.”
I glared at her. “Maybe it’s your fault for deciding not to get married a minute and a half before the wedding was supposed to start.”
“It’s done now, and I don’t care what you or anyone else think.”
Her shaky voice deflated my anger in an instant. She was right—she was going to face a shitload of anger and criticism over this decision, and she didn’t need more from me, someone she didn’t even know.
“Where am I taking you?” I asked.
She blew out a breath. “My apartment is in the Loop.”
“Okay.” I shifted in my seat and looked over at her. “You okay?”
Her laugh was weary. “Not really. But I will be. I know this was the right decision.”