Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 147021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
There’s no one more off limits than my best friend’s daughter.
Peggy Aurora Hammerstein. The Toronto Terror’s unofficial team princess. I would never do anything to mess with our team dynamics this late into the hockey season, but seeing her work in the front office changed something for me.
I see her as she is now: a powerful woman with ambition for miles.
When I hold her against me, she fits perfectly.
Her little flirts and taunts push my buttons, if she doesn’t stop–my control just might break.
But I can never cross that line. I can never know what it could be to call her mine.
I’ve never wanted anyone more than Aurora and no one can ever know.
*This is Hollis Hendrix's standalone novel. If you want to meet Hollis before you read this book, check out If You Hate Me, Rix and Tristan's story.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
HAMMER
Of all the stupid things I could possibly do, this wins the gold medal. So, so stupid. Like what would ever possess me to do something so unfathomably idiotic?
I’m supposed to keep Hollis’s cats company while the team is on an away series, not succumb to my tried-and-true teenage fantasies.
I should be dating someone my own age, a nice guy from one of my university classes. But having a professional hockey player for a dad hasn’t really helped my love life. Worse, my crush on his teammate started as a small, harmless thing that I tried to ignore. Tried and failed.
I knew better, know better, but I was weak and cuddled up, and my vibrator was right there in my bag. Brand new, and magical, and waiting to be tested…
What was I supposed to do?
Not test it out in Hollis Hendrix’s bed.
But it’s too late, the mistake has been made.
I, Peggy Aurora Hammerstein, masturbated in my dad’s best friend’s bed.
CHAPTER 2
HAMMER
“This is my literal nightmare.” I slam my thumb against the button until the elevator arrives. It feels like my soul has left my damn body. I throw myself inside and struggle to calm my breathing as the numbers climb to the penthouse floor. My stomach is flipping, my mouth is dry, my palms are sweating. “You have time to get rid of the evidence. It’ll be fine.”
The team never comes back from an away series this early. Except today they are. I thought I’d have hours after my class meeting. The sheets still need to be washed. I need to get rid of the evidence. And I left my freaking vibrator behind. How the hell could I have left it behind? In all the months I’ve been taking care of Hollis’s cats, I’ve always stayed on the right side of the infatuation line. Until now. And look at the mess I’ve gotten myself into.
I pace the tiny steel box as the elevator ascends forty-four stories. It takes an eternity. The doors finally slide open, and I launch myself into the hallway.
I will never do something this stupid ever again. The sensor on Hollis’s door turns green as I pass the fob in front of it. I’m immediately accosted by Postie and Malone. I ignore them while I key in the alarm code.
Once that’s taken care of, I give the needy orange tabby rescue cats a quick head scratch. “I need to take care of a few things, and then I’ll give you a treat. Your dad will be home soon.”
The floor creaks from somewhere in the penthouse. The cats’ ears perk up. I freeze for a moment, then peer over the back of the couch as Hollis steps around the corner.
This is worse than bad. This is emergency-level holy shit. I cannot erase the evidence if he’s already home. My eyeballs nearly pop out of my head and roll across the floor. Because he’s fresh from the shower, running a towel over his face. Another towel is wrapped around his waist. It’s ratty and smaller than the usual huge bath sheets he uses. Because the clean ones are in his laundry room. And so are the dirty sheets.
I should cover my eyes, or turn around, or announce my presence. But I’m too busy having a freaking panic attack. I can barely breathe. The rapid drumming of my heartbeat is all I can hear. Also, the possibility that I might die of embarrassment is real. Apparently, I can still appreciate the visual delight that is a mostly undressed Hollis Hendrix, though.
His jacked-up hockey body is a sight to behold. His biceps pop, highlighting his half-sleeve tattoo as he runs the towel over his dark, wet hair. It’s a cool piece of art that’s impossible not to admire. On his biceps, a hockey player skates across a frozen lake, the sun shining down on him. In the background, huge pine trees frame the edge of the water. As they rise to his shoulder, the winter scene changes to fall. The evergreens turn into maples with their boastful yellow, orange, and red leaves. Single vibrant leaves flutter over his shoulder and across his chest. Muscles flex and ripple, water droplets cascade over his drool-worthy pecs before he swipes them away.
I’m in so much trouble right now. So much trouble. From his spot across the room, I’m obscured by the couch. But freaking Postie, the noisy asshole that he is, gives me away by meowing obnoxiously.
I shoot to my feet.
Hollis startles and holds the towel in his hand to his chest. “What the fuck?”
“I’m so sorry!” I shout.
Postie meows and hurdles over the couch like an Olympian. Malone’s tail puffs up, and he hustles his chonky butt across the room and disappears into Hollis’s bedroom. The corner of the bed is visible from where I’m standing. I consider following him, but I’m not as fast as a cat, and there will be questions.