Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
How her white, long sleeve, shirt covered top half is uncontrollably shaking.
Damn.
I’ll sign up to play in hell when it freezes over if it means being the only one that she laughs like this for.
“I prefer sweaters to hoodies. Hoodies tend to swallow me whole. It always looks like I’m wearing a carnie tent,” is thoughtlessly rambled into the camera I know is still filming. “And my gran’s spicebush berry honey cookies are my favorite fall treat. She always sends me a box – no matter where I am in the world – right before the season starts.”
Her smile – which I’m admittedly addicted to – immediately softens.
Sweetens.
Transitions into something so inviting I can’t help but continue to ignore Coach’s yelling that I’m sure I’ll pay for later in training.
“And your favorite fall beverage?”
“Pumpkin spice latte.”
“God, you’re so fucking basic.”
“Gotta know the basics to building something that lasts, Hoss.”
The woman I’m not ready to give up hope on unexpectedly lowers her device and warmly coos, “I couldn’t agree more, Tanner.”
Chapter 5
Arden
Do I support athletes giving back to the community?
A lot more than what my tits are getting in this long, lacy, off-white cocktail dress, that’s for damn sure.
“Ohmygod, I love when BE works with catering,” squeals my twin as she accepts a honey-mint lamb skewer. “You can just taste the oculence.”
“Opulence.”
“What does meat have to do with jewelry?”
Not twitching a glare is impossible.
How?
How did this happen?
How did I get all the brains, and she got all the boobs?
Oh…that’s right.
I actually put work into mine while she simply bought hers.
That actually sums us up as individuals pretty fucking well.
I work for what I have.
She’s handed everything.
Which despite the brand building lie my parents are hellbent on telling themselves is the case with this whole social media brand testing spectacle they’ve concocted.
Somehow – to no real surprise – I’m still doing the majority of the work.
The boys wanna bang her, not talk to her.
They wanna look at her, not listen.
They wanna picture her naked, not get in a photo op.
It’s basically now my second side job to my main job since following Tanner around like a fangirl is my first.
Er.
Frosky.
Um.
Snowman.
Having to interact with him one on one in the barn is bad enough.
Being forced to dress up to do it outside of the rink is a Ridley Scott movie level of vengeance in the making.
I really should just find another job.
I’m sure Finland is a great place to go.
I’ve heard their hockey league is amazing, plus Bear would appreciate that weather much more than the constant heatstroke we currently live in.
I just…I’m not sure I can learn to speak Finnish that easy or how well playing Shakira will roll over.
Those are pretty much my only problems.
The whole lack of blonde hair, blue eyes, and paler skin thing I’m quite accustomed to already.
I’m used to sticking out and getting blatantly ignored like a frumpty dumpty anytime hockey hoes are in the vicinity.
I’m sure it might suck less in the same place they filmed Robert the Bruce.
Or was that Scotland?
Hm.
Maybe I should move to Scotland.
They’ve probably got hockey there.
Oh!
What if I just travel south and over until I hit Germany?
Set up shop there?
Learn more about that heritage.
My parents cover our Black and Mexican ones pretty well, but our German ancestry lessons are much rarer.
They primarily linger in the beverages department since those are the roots that led to our billion-dollar company.
Gotta admit.
Wouldn’t mind backpacking around the region and drinking my weight in brewskies.
“Remember,” Audrey loudly interjects, pulling my thoughts back to The Last Duel style conversation I’m being forced to engage in, “we’re both here for the same reason, Dumbo.” A mousy nibble of the appetizer is taken. “Seriously. Did you have to wear that thing here? You look like you could fly away with it.”
The cruel reference to my hearing aid has me shyly adjusting it in unspoken shame.
It’s not as if the thing is a fucking choice.
Unlike her designer perfume that is choking the air out of the room.
Arrogance over what she’s deemed a verbal victory is clearly heard in her tone, “This is a work event.”
“No, Last of the Hohicans,” effortlessly slips past my glossed lips. “I’m here for work. You’re here to find a husband, so that you never have to work.” I let my gaze glide to the left to steal a glimpse of the crowd at the poolside bar, anxious to find Snowman, grab a bit of footage, and get home to watch Denzel being Macbeth per my mom’s request. “Big difference.”
“Except,” she carelessly disregards the mostly untouched snack on a server’s unsuspecting champagne tray during his pass by, “flirting and dating and fucking are all work, which is something you’d know if you ever did them.”
The harsh – and unfortunately truthful – line is also her exit one.