Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“Shit! You scared me!” I answer. “What’re you doing here? I thought everyone was gone.”
She huffs out an annoyed sigh. “You have hockey camp, the Moosettes have dance camp. An entire room full of annoying brats whose moms think they’re the best thing since Maddie Ziegler. Ugh!”
Her irritation with the kids is surprising, especially given my unexpected warm spot for the kids in my camp this morning. But my bigger concern is . . . she was in the building while Joy and I were skating, kissing, and generally, looking pretty damn comfortable with each other.
Thankfully, Mollie must not have seen us, because if she had, it’d be the first question she’d have. It’s a good thing, too, because I definitely wouldn’t trust her to keep quiet.
“Wow, sorry it was rough,” I answer, putting a solid three feet between us. “I’d better get going.”
But as soon as I step back, Mollie steps forward, getting even closer to me than she was before. “Leaving for Christmas already? Want a last-minute present before you go?”
She looks up at me through long, dark lashes and delicately licks her lips.
Alarm bells sound loudly in my head. I want to tell her to back the fuck up. In fact, it’s right on the tip of my tongue. But something stops me.
Yes, I need to draw a clear boundary here, especially given my conversations with Joy after the girl at the festival was flirting with me. But also, Mollie isn’t an enemy either Joy or I need if we’re trying to keep a secret. She set off my “Danger, Will Robinson” radar before, which is why I stopped fucking her, so telling her that I’m with someone else might be enough for her to go boiled-bunny-psycho. It’d definitely be enough to trigger a follow-up question of, Who is she?
“No,” I say firmly, shaking my head to emphasize my answer.
I don’t offer a reason or an excuse. I don’t promise maybe later or give her any hope. It’s cold, direct, and honest, all things I’m known for being. But still, her bottom lip pouts out.
“You used to be fun, One-Night,” she purrs. “We could have fun again.”
“Merry Christmas, Mollie.” I push my way past her, being careful not to touch her in the slightest, and not replying to her use of my much-hated nickname or desire for fun.
Outside, I hop in my truck, feeling like I need a shower. Not because of the half day of sweaty, hard work, but to get the heebie-jeebies off after that unexpected encounter.
I should tell Joy about Mollie, and potentially other Moosettes, being in the building while we were getting cozy.
If you do, it’s going to ruin the last night before you go home.
That’s probably true. Besides, nothing happened. If Mollie or anyone else had seen us, they absolutely would’ve said something. None of the Moosettes can resist potential gossip, especially about us players.
As for Mollie’s flirting? She offered, I declined. It’s gonna happen. I’ve got fans, I’ve got a history. But it’s up to me to clearly draw those lines and not cross them, which I did.
So yeah, no big deal. Joy and I can do our early Christmas celebration, and maybe I’ll see what happens if I try to make Joy do anything, like call me Mr. Days.
Chapter 23
Joy
“Merry Christmas! Mom, Dad!” I shout as I walk into the house with an oversize reusable bag full of haphazardly wrapped presents.
“In here,” Hope answers from the kitchen.
I pause to drop my bag of goodies underneath the tree in the front window, noting that there are quite a few Martha Stewart–worthy wrap jobs, plus a few gift bags with a single sheet of tissue paper tossed on top. Those are definitely the work of my sister and my brother, respectively. At least mine are somewhere in between.
I’m still taking off my coat and boots when Dad calls out, “Hey! Grab these.” He’s coming down the hallway with a precarious stack of boxes and bags of various sizes. I rush to finish hanging my coat on the hook and meet him halfway.
“You know, you could make more than a single trip from the closet to the tree, right? It doesn’t have to be one Hulk-level load.” Even as I tease him, I take a few from the top of the pile that are the most at risk of falling.
“Ain’t no weak-ass bitch,” he grunts in a fair imitation of my brother that makes me laugh.
I glance behind him like Mom’s standing right there, listening to him use language she would not appreciate, and laugh even harder when he whips his head around to find the hallway empty behind him. “Rude. Might have to take a few of these back to the closet and return them to the store. Especially the ones marked Joy.” He glares at me for a split second, but then he drops the charade because we both know he’s not doing anything of the sort.