Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
“Babe,” he says once he gets in the room, walking over to me. “I’m calling you.”
“Really?” I say, muting the television. “I didn’t hear my name. I heard something, but I didn’t know who you were talking to.”
“Babe,” he says again. “My parents aren’t coming.”
I turn off the television. “What happened?” Worry sets in.
“Nothing really. Justin, my youngest brother, fell on the ice and his cage lifted up, and he has to have stitches and Mom doesn’t feel right about leaving him.”
My hand flies to my chest. “Is he okay?”
“Yeah, he’s fine. They are already home.” He sits down, grabbing the remote from me and switching it to the sports channel. We aren’t even on the channel for long before his name is brought up.
“Today is the day to see if New York actually made a mistake by signing the washed-up Matthew Grant.”
“Oh, please,” I say out loud, looking over at Matthew, watching his eyebrows pinch together while the two reporters go on and on about the pros and cons of having Matthew here. I can’t stand to listen to the bullshit, so I reach over and snatch the remote from his hand, turning the television off. “Assholes.” I get up, throwing the remote on the table, sitting on the table in front of Matthew. “Listen to me. Don’t let them get in your head.” When he doesn't say anything I continue, “If anyone is getting in that thick headed skull of yours it's me.” Nothing. He just blinks. “You get me, babe?” I throw in the babe to try and get him to focus on my words. I know I reach him when he smiles. His eyes light up, the sides of his eyes crinkling. “Now we need to get ready. You need to go pack and get in the zone. Or whatever you guys do. But you won’t give those two wannabes any other thought.”
“You like me.” Is the only thing he says.
“Seriously, after that whole speech that’s what you get?” I get up, walking out of the room, turning once I get to the first step. “You better not make me look bad by sulking.” I storm up the stairs to my room.
I make my bed, going over a to-do list in my head when I hear a beep alerting me of a text. Picking it up, I see it’s from Vivienne.
Salope!!!
I laugh because it’s the French word for slut. I answer her back.
It takes one to know one.
Touché, mon amie. So did he get to eat his breakfast?
He made us omelets. I’m packing now.
Omelets doesn’t sound like pussy. Is that an English term? She follows with the crying emoji.
I’m rolling my eyes. Can you hear them? When I get back, we need to have coffee.
Oui, madame. Don’t forget to not pack undies.
See you soon. Stay out of trouble.
Moi? Jamais! Me never.
I throw my phone on my bed, going to my closet, and getting my small overnight bag, throwing panties, bras, jeans, and also PJs in it. After my shower, I close up my toiletry bag and dump it into the bag. I look at the clock, wondering how much time I have. I notice it’s already three, so I decide to do my hair and light makeup. This is the first time I’m traveling with the team. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to dress, so I go for business casual.
Once I set my hair in waves I walk over, grabbing my tan pencil skirt that reaches me just below my knee. I grab a black silk button-down shirt that goes up to my elbows. I pair it with a thin gold belt and my black Louboutins. I grab a black leather dressy jacket for after the game. I finally zip up my bag and head downstairs, spotting Matthew in the living room already dressed.
He’s sitting with his elbows on his knees with his hands crossed, his head down on the bench that’s right in front of the window. I walk in and he doesn’t even raise his head. Suddenly a knot forms in my chest. I stop in front of him and put my hand on his shoulder. He’s wearing a plain black suit, his white shirt underneath. The smell of his rich cologne fills the room. “Hey,” I say quietly.
He looks up, his eyes troubled, a dark brown, so dark they look black.
“What's the matter?”
“I’m fucking scared,” he finally whispers out. “What if I fuck up? What if I choke? What if I go out there and I’m really not set for this game? What if this is the end for me?”
I’ve always gotten the strong vibe from him. He’s always carried such a presence about him, a cockiness, but this vulnerability just makes him that much more amazing.
“You can’t fuck up.” My hand rubs his shoulder. “The only thing you can do is prove them wrong. Go out there and skate like you never skated before, all the while chanting ‘fuck you’ in your head.”