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)
And the first thing you learn about Shepherd is that he loves the hell out of his family. He talks about them nearly as much as he talks about hockey, which is a fucking lot. That’s why I know his sister, Hope, has never been in trouble a day in her life. She’s the Good Sister.
Which makes Joy the . . .
Nope. Shut that shit down, Dalton. She’s your best friend’s little sister, and you’re done with your Bad Girl phase.
The good news is that if Shep’s shit-talking about Hope’s visit, then he doesn’t have a clue about my dick waving around like a flag at nearly full mast last night.
“Tell her I said ‘hey’ before she jets out,” I say, and he tilts his beer at me.
We sit in silence for a minute, eyes scanning the crowd around us. Everyone’s smiling, laughing, and having a great time. I’m glad, even if I feel a bit on the outside of it. It’s not that I’m not included. I’m part of the team, part of the family, in the thick of things, but inside, I keep it all at arm’s length. It’s what I’ve always done, how I always am, and everyone knows and respects it, not getting too close, physically or emotionally, with me.
“I’m gonna hit Amara up for a second. I’ll be back,” Shepherd tells me, scooting away toward a girl he’s talked to a few times. She’s pretty, with dark curls, dark eyes, and seemingly zero interest in my boy, which drives him insane.
I take a sip of my beer, and like a beacon from heaven, or maybe karma, shining down on the dance floor, I spy Joy swaying in time to the music that’s playing over the jukebox. She’s wearing jeans with slashes in both knees that let her tanned skin peek out, low-heel boots, and a green sweater over her Moose jersey. She’s smiling as she sings along with the music, her arms over her head, flashing a sliver of her belly.
Ice dumps into my veins.
Not because of her, but because Max is dancing with her. He’s my teammate, a decent guy, and as close to a friend as I have beyond Shep. I mean, Max and I aren’t swapping-life-stories-over-whiskey types, or anything close to it, but I’d show up to help him move out of his apartment if he asked. Not all the Moose fit that description.
Objectively, he’s not even close to her, merely beside her, effortlessly joining in the circle with Joy, Hope, and a couple of other people. Still, I don’t like it. Especially after his too-easy flirting with her earlier. He’s slipping and sliding down a slope to danger.
My eyes dart around to find Shepherd, but he’s preoccupied and hasn’t noticed one of the guys getting too close for comfort with his sisters.
Well, sister.
I slam my beer to the table and stalk across the floor. I must look like approaching fury because people move out of my way, parting like the Red Sea, until I’m next to Max, bodily putting space between him and Joy. “You got a death wish I need to know about?” I snarl at him.
“Huh?” His smile vanishes as worry clouds his eyes.
“Don’t fuck with the balance,” I warn. Coach has given us that advice at least a dozen times per season. On the ice, there’s a delicate balance between defense and offense, between teammates, between when to go balls to the wall and when to play it smart. Max is on a tightrope, risking the balance with Shepherd by flirting with Joy. It’s not worth it. She’s not worth it. Not when we just had our best opener in recent history, and that includes the season we went all the way. “If Shep sees you, he’ll kick your ass, and as much as I hate to admit it, we need you.”
Max’s jaw drops open in protest, probably about to say something asinine like, We were only dancing, Dad, but someone else is quicker to the punch. Behind me, Joy snaps, “Quit cockblocking, Days. If I want to get railed by a Moose, Max or otherwise, I will.”
She will do no such thing. Not on Shepherd’s watch, and if he’s busy, not on mine.
I whirl to tell her that she absolutely will not be getting railed by any-fucking-one, only to see her grinning so widely that I can nearly count her molars. She bursts out in laughter, which is instantly echoed by Hope.
“Jesus, you should see your face. Lighten up. It’s a celebration,” Joy informs me, as if I’m not already well aware of that fact. “We’re not having sex on the dance floor. I wasn’t even twerking . . . yet.”
Still grinning happily—or is she drunk?—she takes my hand and twirls herself under my arm while I remain frozen in place, watching her give me her back and then face me once again. The thought of Joy twerking her ass in those jeans, or worse—better?—without the jeans, sends all my blood south.