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)
“Hey!”
“Hey yourself,” he replies.
He’s in his truck, which surprises me, but he’s parked somewhere with good lighting because though it’s dim, I can see his face clearly in the yellowish glow.
“Where are you?”
He looks out the window at his side and then the passenger window. “My mom’s driveway. She and June are still up watching movies, so I didn’t want to take the call in the house in case—”
I laugh. “You didn’t want to potentially jack off in your childhood bedroom, but in the truck outside, where anyone might see, is fair game?”
He dips his chin, but it does nothing to hide his cocky grin. “It’s dark out here and nobody’s around. In the house, my mom might hear. Plus, my childhood bedroom isn’t exactly sexy.”
“Probably didn’t stop you when you were a teenage boy full of hormones and bad ideas,” I quip.
He laughs hard. “It definitely didn’t stop me a bit. You already home?”
He can see my couch behind me, so he knows exactly where I am. “Yeah, we did dinner and presents, talked and played Uno, and I came home about an hour ago.” I sent him at least a dozen messages today—showing him pictures of our family feast, telling him how I made Shepherd draw twelve cards (because I don’t care what the instructions say, Draw Four cards are totally stackable), and displaying the engraved gold bracelet Mom and Dad gave me. I might’ve also sent a cleavage picture that I took in the bathroom with an accompanying text of talk later? which is how we ended up here. “How’s your day been?”
His smile is soft, and his eyes dart up to what I’d bet is the house in front of him. “It was good to see Mom and June. It’s been a while since the last time, and I didn’t realize how much I missed them until I hugged Mom and she was hugging me back like she was trying to squeeze the life outta me.”
“Tell me about them.”
“Mom and June?” he asks, and I nod. He sighs happily as he shares. “Mom’s name is Tracy. She’s the best, no offense to yours, who’s a great team mother. But Mom’s been through the wringer, somehow always managing to come out the other side stronger. Fuck knows I put her through it myself half a dozen times with broken bones here, sprained ankles there, concussions everywhere. And that’s before you get to the girl drama she put up with in high school.”
He sends me a glance, likely gauging my jealousy meter, but I chuckle. “You were a player even then? Back in the old days of black-and-white pictures, and four TV channels that went off the air at eight p.m.?”
“Har har,” he deadpans. “And no, I wasn’t a player. I kinda didn’t know what to do with girls then,” he admits, seeming embarrassed by that, “but they would aggressively text me, show up on our doorstep, and make posters to hold up at the games. It was a lot, and Mom ran defense for me, making sure I concentrated on hockey and school.”
“Guess you figured it out,” I say.
He shrugs, not the least bit chagrined by his past. “I figured out that casual hookups filled a need while letting me keep my focus on what I should be doing for the draft. That’s worked out pretty well, until recently.”
It’s my turn to blush. “Are you saying you need to refocus on your hockey career?” I ask quietly, 99 percent sure that’s not at all what he’s saying.
“Nope. Saying serious is looking better every day, especially when you show up looking like that.” His eyes drop down the screen, and I glance at the tiny picture of myself to see what he sees.
I’m flushed, my lips parted on a sharp inhale, and my eyes look extra icy in the thin, pale-blue tank top I’m wearing. Since I don’t have on a bra, the diamond points of my nipples are completely visible.
“As sexy as you look, Joy, I don’t mean that. I’m talking about the smile on your face when you see me, the way you ask about my family, and how you support my love for hockey, even when it requires something a little outside the norm.”
“Well, the whole dick display wasn’t exactly a hardship,” I tease. When Dalton’s eyebrows twitch at the double entendre, I grin even wider. “Tell me about June. Did she like the tennis shoes?”
He rolls his eyes, huffing out a loud sigh at the same time, but there’s a smile at the corners of his lips, so I think the gift must’ve gone over well. “You would’ve thought they were signed by Taylor Swift or something,” he tells me, laughing. “She loved them, so thanks for helping me find them. I would’ve never been able to.”