Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
But I put moving in together out of my mind. It’s too tempting a thought being that close to her, and I don’t need more temptation than I already have in my wife.
The first two periods against Chicago are fast, brutal, and exactly what I need right now. With ten minutes to go in the third, I sprint across the ice, chasing down the puck as a Chicago forward winds up and fires a slapshot toward our goalie. Lambert’s a beast in the net, though, and he easily swats it away. Bergstrand is there to grab the rebound and flicks it to me. I’m off again, skating hard toward Chicago’s net, dodging a couple of defensemen. For a moment, I think I’ve got a clear shot—until, out of nowhere, I’m slammed into the boards. The hit jolts me, pain slicing through my abs, my jaw rattling.
They want to play rough? Fine. I’ll play rough.
I shove the guy off with a sharp elbow, flashing him a grin that, in hockey lingo, translates to a clear fuck you. I skate after the puck again, avoiding a penalty. Maybe it’s the smile, maybe it’s the good guy rep. Whatever it is, I’ll take it.
The game barrels on like that. Elbows, hits, bruises, crashes. This is the best kind of hockey—rough and physical, demanding everything I’ve got. This is where I thrive. Forgetting the world and just…playing.
Life will be there for you later.
It’s what my dad, Carlos, used to say when I was younger, whenever I was too worried about John, even after he went on meds for his condition. I took Carlos’s words to heart, and I still do. I can hear the roar of the crowd, but I keep it in the background, not letting it distract me. Until—
I make a pass to Falcon after the next line change, and my attention is momentarily yanked toward the stands at center ice.
What the…
Did that just happen?
I snap my gaze back to the ice, but I’m a fraction too late and almost trip over my own skates. A woman in the second row just flashed her bra at me, and I’m pretty sure the sign she’s lifting over her head says, Call Me If It Doesn’t Work Out.
I blink, forcing the bizarre moment out of my mind. We’re down by one with seven minutes left. I jump over the boards for the line change, grabbing my water bottle and taking a swig. I park myself next to Bryant on the bench. “We’ll get it in the next one,” I say.
“We fucking will,” he replies, giving me a fist-bump.
As Winters flies down the ice, I focus on the game, but something about the crowd noise tickles the back of my brain. It’s growing louder.
And it sounds like…second wife?
I glance at the Jumbotron. I’m not surprised often, but this? This throws me. I’ve seen my share of signs like Meet Me at the Players’ Entrance, or I’ll Make Your Night Worthwhile. Even the occasional phone number.
But this is a first—Can I Be Your Second Wife?
Bryant elbows me and shoots me a disbelieving look. “And ten thousand hockey fans are devastated you’re taken,” he says with a chuckle.
I shake my head, still not quite processing the news. But there’s no time to dwell on it. Coach calls for a line change, and I’m back on the ice. The moment my skates hit the surface, everything else fades away.
This time, I’m nothing but focused. Determination powers me as I fly down the rink. Falcon races ahead, and he’s open. I flick the puck to him, the pass perfect, and he lunges for it, sending it screaming past a Chicago defender and right into the net.
The horn blares—we’re tied up.
Two minutes later, Winters sends the black disc my way, and I send it home. The arena erupts, and when the game ends, “Tick Tick Boom” blasts through the sound system, signaling our victory.
The guys are pumping fists and slapping shoulders as we skate off the ice. But once again, something in the stands catches my eye. I can’t help but steal a curious glance. There’s a sea of signs waving my way.
You Might Be Wifed Up, But You’re Still My Fantasy Hockey MVP!
Taken, But You Can Still Score With Me!
Call Me If You Need A Backup!
Falcon catches my eye, grinning. “You’re getting hit on even more? Dude, can I have your luck, please?”
“I’m sure you do just fine,” I say.
He scoffs but adds, “Who knew all of San Francisco would be heartbroken that your ugly ass is hitched?”
Honestly, I’m still a little stunned that everyone knows. I head through the tunnel in a daze, both from the last-minute victory and the fan reaction. After I change out of my gear and tug on a workout shirt at my stall, I head to the media room with Everly for the post-game press conference.