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)
“I don’t.” She cuts me an unhappy glare. “Because I did.”
“Shouldn’t you join the rest of the team?” the cinnamon skinned male on the other side of Hoss grunts at me, severing our conversation. “You know. Over there.” He kicks his goatee covered chin in the direction of my team. “Wayyyyy over there.”
I cockily lean against my stick. “Nope.”
Khurana less than quietly grumbles his displeasure, an action that simply encourages me to grin wider.
Yes.
I’m full fishbowl aware that he wants Hoss like I do.
That he’s always wanted her like I do.
Too bad for him she’s basically The Cup.
Something he’ll never even get to compete for.
Hoss returns her attention forward, flips away one of the dangling strands that’s near her eyes and motions to Khurana to begin filming. Once she gets confirmation, he’s begun, she waves over Cap with two fingers, who awkwardly clomps across the distance.
God, it’s like watching a drunk horse blooper from Spartacus.
“Taste test time with LMC, Cap,” Hoss manages to announce with a straight face. “You up for the challenge?”
“Da,” he grunts in tandem with shrugging one shoulder.
“Tell us what you’ve got, Audrey,” she professionally insists.
“Today,” her sister theatrically begins with an eyeroll worthy pout to the camera, “you’ll be testing one of the limited-edition, specialty fall flavors, we’re rolling out in select cities this year, but globally next.” She unnaturally purses her lips again and pours a tiny splash of light brown liquid into one of the cups. “It’s a praline pecan latte.”
He downs the shot only to immediately gag.
Horror doesn’t hesitate to hop onto Audrey’s face as she cowers away from the sight.
“Not a fan, Cap?” Hoss lightly laughs unlike her twin.
“Nyet.”
“What is your favorite fall drink?” she asks at the same time he crunches the empty cup.
“Sbiten,” he effortlessly answers prior to throwing away the object and resuming his trek to the ice.
“Traditional Russian drink,” I quietly inform the woman in charge of the situation.
Hoss motions for the next player to come up, which is Thayne Groff our best tendy. The instant he’s in camera range, she good-naturedly goads, “Groffee, the one and only king of coffee!”
“I’m like Folgers, snipe. I know what belongs in your cup.”
He’s so fucking weird.
I think it’s a tendy thing.
Every goalie I’ve ever met always is.
Her smile naturally widens for him, and it’s impossible not to grunt in jealousy. “And what’s your favorite fall drink?”
“Caramel apple iced- coffee,” he joyfully exclaims. “French press me, baby!”
“Did not see that ‘ish coming.”
“Nah, that’s my job,” our goalie flirtatiously winks.
He can fuck right off with that shit.
He’s not her type.
Or…at least…I don’t think he is.
I don’t really know.
I’ve never seen her with anyone.
Or trying to get with anyone.
Huh.
Wonder why that is.
“And what do you think of the latte?”
Groffee politely nods at Audrey in gratitude upon taking the offering, chugs back the shot, and loudly smacks. “Not bad.” He licks the remains off his lips. “I’d let Matty buy me a cup.”
Laughter over a pracky incident from last season becomes his exit and another player’s entrance.
It doesn’t take long for the process to find smooth pacing. One by one, each player arrives at the table, casually talks to or jokes with Hoss, drops their opinion on the drink, and hits the ice.
There’s no resistance on their part.
There never is.
Again.
Being around her is like being around the boys.
You feel at ease.
Accepted.
I can’t speak for them, but I know that’s the type of shit I’m always after.
“Your turn, Snowman,” Hoss declares, smile – to my surprise – still lingering. “Get into the game.”
“I will, if you will,” I suggest with a crooked grin and waggle of the eyebrows.
“How often does that line actually work for you, bud?”
“Come on, Hoss,” a gentle nudge with my elbow is executed, “you know what The Great One said about taking shots.”
Yet again to my surprise, she continues to beam. “You referencing his most famous quote or his less famous one?”
“Whichever one keeps you looking at me like that.”
Redness faintly hits her cheeks at the same time her teeth sink into her bottom lip.
Well, fuckme.
Is Gretzky unknowingly giving me an assist?!
“Fine,” Hoss casually caves.
Holy shit, he did!
He really is the greatest player of all time.
Only he could be providing an apple and not even be in the fucking barn to do it.
Strolling into frame prompts Audrey to not only pour me a drink but move closer.
Uncomfortably close.
The level of uncomfortable close that swaps her twin’s smile for a sneer.
“Looks like we’ve saved the best for last,” states the underdressed female on the other side of the cart.
“We certainly did,” I effortlessly reply while extending the beverage to the woman I anxiously want to stop hating me. “There is no better taste tester than, Hoss. She’s effing fearless, aye?”
Hoss firmly presses her lips together to prevent her smile from returning.
“What else do you call a woman willing to try Scotch bonnet chili peppers on her poutine?”