Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
@IceQueen98:
“As someone who dated a hockey player, this episode is my life in 10 minutes. Except I didn’t get muffins out of it.”
@SaltShakerFan:
“That salty muffin is giving ‘disappointing ex’ energy, and I’m here for it. Love this shade and sugar combo. ”
@EasternUDrama:
“So the Draytons are officially the new villains of hockey hookup culture? Love this tea with a side of muffins. ”
@PuckLife42:
“I laughed, I cried, I’m never trusting a caramel muffin—or a hockey player—again. This channel deserves an award. ”
9
Jacob
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Hayes is shoveling cereal into his mouth like it’s his last meal, with a face as long as my dick. His usual morning cheerfulness is missing, and he doesn’t look up from the table at my question.
I narrow my eyes. “That study group get you down?”
“More like the pussy turned sour,” Shawn says, buttering toast at the counter.
I’m watching Hayes when Shawn speaks, and his shoulders tighten at the joke. I thought Shawn was poking fun last night, but maybe his suggestion was closer to the truth than Hayes’ explanation. Who studies after a hockey game when there is beer to drink and girls to fuck?
“Seriously, dude. You should have come out with us last night.”
“The party was jumping,” Shawn says. “Not that Jacob noticed. He disappeared upstairs before we’d even found the keg.”
I don’t smile at the memory. The girl was pretty and sweet, and the sex was decent. By the time I was halfway through, my head had been pounding so hard that I could barely keep a rhythm, and when I came, I thought I was going to have a stroke. I managed to toss the condom and swallow some pills, but it’s only temporary relief. It always comes back, and then I’m hunting for more pain relief. Sometimes it feels like I’m close to losing everything that keeps me sane.
Who would I even be if I can’t play hockey or fuck?
My fingertips twitch. It’s like I’m gripping onto the edge of a cliff, barely holding on. But I have to, for my brothers and our fucking legacy.
Hayes grunts, misery rolling off him in waves, and my frustration percolates. We don’t keep secrets, but my brother’s silence over something I know nothing about has revealed an unpleasant truth. Maybe Hayes is keeping secrets.
You keep secrets, too, my conscience whispers, but I hear it loud and clear. I keep secrets when they’re for the collective good. There are certain things my brothers are better off knowing.
But whatever is going on with Hayes doesn’t fall into that category, and I don’t like the fissure opening between us.
“Is it a girl?” I ask. “Because, if it is, just spill the beans, dude. We’re not here to judge. We’re your brothers.”
Hayes looks up and narrows his blue eyes, his unshaven jaw giving his dark expression an additional layer of gloom. “Just leave it, okay. Can’t I have a morning to myself when I’m not having to put on a fucking show?”
“A show?” Is that what he usually does?
His big hand swipes over the lower part of his face, rasping against his stubble, and he goes back to eating, ignoring my question. I shoot Shawn a confused look, and he shrugs, none the wiser.
This isn’t good.
Footsteps thud against the wood floor in the den, and Malik appears shirtless in the doorway, rubbing his close-cropped hair. The dude is ripped and huge, so I’ve no idea how he managed to sleep on our couch last night. “How’s it hanging, Draytons?” he asks, flopping into a free chair.
“Long and limp right now,” Shawn says, staring down at his groin. “But thankfully, it’s only a temporary state of being.”
“You got more toast?” Malik eyes Shawn’s plate. His uneaten breakfast is shoved across the table, and he stands to find more bread.
Malik takes a huge bite, licking butter crumbs from his lips as he chews. He’s eating and scrolling through his phone simultaneously, and he’s as good at multitasking off the ice as he is when he’s padded up. He grins and then laughs out loud. “You guys ever watch Icing the Cake?”
“What the fuck’s that? One of those shitty Netflix baking competitions?” Our mom used to watch those, along with a ton of other mindless bullshit. I take a gulp of coffee, still watching Hayes, who continues to appear lost in his own world.
“Nah. It’s this hockey channel, except it’s about baking, too?”
“What’s about baking?” Buttons appears with his hair sticking up on one side and his chest bare. He ruffles his hair like he’s trying to put it right, but it only makes him look more like a crazy scientist on the brink of a breakthrough. He leans against the counter, eyeing the pot of coffee.
“Help yourself,” Shawn says, pushing an empty mug toward him.
“Hockey and baking?” Hayes’s confusion reflects my own.