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)
And they didn’t.
Sure, the identity stealer has occasionally had a close call or two with scandals over the years, but nothing like the broadskies she used to run with or the ones she still does.
Seriously.
How many times can you have a “sex tape leaked” before you decide to stop making them?
Or…I don’t know…just become a porn star?
Profit from them?
Getting things whipped together is my job during the pancake prelims and honestly, my second favorite part.
Eyeballing the right amount of water to add to the bowl full of premade mixture unfortunately barely precedes Tanner bringing back up the lost subject. “What happened with your original surgeon?”
I take the offered duck shaped wooden spoon and begin to whip. “He left the practice.”
“Why?”
“Because his fiancée was also his partner’s fiancée, but they each thought the other one had stopped seeing her, which turned into an even bigger nightmare when they found out that she was technically already married to one of their ex-patients who was suing for malpractice.”
“Bloodyhell!”
“Yeah,” Dad casually joins in, spraying the pan, “I’ve got connections to some of the best PI’s in the business.” He pauses to make threatening eye contact. “Recuerda eso.”
“That means ‘remember that’, correct?”
Intrigue crosses his face. “You also learned Spanish from your teammates?”
“I’ve picked up a few things living in Texas, although, admittedly, it was the choice of tone and context clues that gave it away.”
Laughter momentarily flutters through the space again before my boyfriend returns to investigating, “When did you discover all this?”
“Day before yesterday.” Stirring increases in speed. “And I wasn’t avoiding telling you. I just hadn’t yet.”
“Because?”
“Because you needed to keep your head in the game. You were still dealing with a bit of jetlag and then Becks drunkenly trashing your apartment and then the league record headlines and the LMC sponsored open skate and I just,” my stare stays planted in the bowl, “I didn’t wanna add to the stats, aye?”
“Arden,” Tanner creeps closer and commands, “look at me.”
Reluctantly, I do.
“You are my Slayer,” he gingerly declares, “and you matter…your stats matter to me more than a couple shite night’s sleep or broken freezer door or talks of me breaking records or your sister’s tea flavor interrogation in front of a barn full of fans.” His spatula free hand winds around the nape of my neck. “Clearskies?”
I begrudgingly nod.
“Very well then. Let’s get this skills test started, aye.” A loving stroke from his thumb is delivered. “I need to destroy your father to win his respect.”
“Verdadero,” Dad teasingly confirms. “One hundred percent.”
“Silver dollar eating contest coming up first it seems,” I jovially insist and scoot my way over to the burner to begin cooking them. “Get ready to fight for my love.”
“I didn’t need the extra motivation,” Tanner lightly chuckles, “however, I will most certainly use it.”
Surprise rips through my stare prompting me to focus on the cooking task at hand.
Okay.
So, we didn’t just say we loved each other for the first time.
But like…we didn’t not not say it.
Right?
Chapter 18
Tanner
I absentmindedly rotate the Roman Army Officer Centurion on horseback that Father gave me at Christmas while grumbling to him over speakerphone, “How the hell is it I can tell you what female gladiators were called – gladiatrices – as well as when they were theatrically banned – around 200 AD – yet cannot come up with one word that means excessively arrogant?”
Father lightly laughs at my expense. “The irony is not lost upon thee, yes?”
“Must you mock me in Old English while this bloody crossword mocks me in modern?”
“Is that our son?” Dad cheerfully investigates, approaching the conversation I imagine.
“It is.”
“Tanskies,” he jovially chimes, “you ready for Seattle tonight?”
“I am ready to have an obscure word for excessively arrogant.”
There’s a short pause prior to him to asking, “Does your name happen to fit?”
“Bloodycomedians the lot of you,” is mumbled in between pen taps.
“Your dad comes by it honestly,” Father lovingly insists. “I have only learned the metaphorical ropes, recently.”
“Credit for that shit goes to the hunky blue-eyed director he’s been playing technical advisor to.” There’s a pause in which I picture Dad tossing Father a mischievous grin. “And that better be all you’re playing, Trent.”
“Oh, come off it, Carson,” Father chuckles once more. “We both know I am far too old for that lad to fancy.”
“And we both there are plenty of dudes his age that would love to have you on their jock.”
“You know what I would bloody love?” I interject between knackered breaths. “An answer to this bloody crossword nightmare.”
Louder laughs spring free before Father investigates, “Starts with?”
“No idea,” is unhappily huffed. “The first letter does not cross anything.”
“How many letters total?”
“Eight.”
“Yikes,” Dad mutters. “I’m out. Most of my vocab doesn’t expand past six.”
Additional snickers successfully get me to smirk only to have it cut short by an unexpected thud in a different room of the apartment.