Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“Now you’re telling me.” This time, she definitely rolls her eyes.
“Who’s your favorite god . . .”
She barks out a laugh, and I turn to face her, catching the smirk that lines her face. “Poseidon.” Clever girl. I stepped right into that.
“How did I know you would say that?”
“’Cause you’re smart. You remind me of him.”
I try to keep my face serious, but it’s no use. My lip curls up. “Do I now?”
“Yep.”
“And how exactly do I remind you of Poseidon?”
“He was grumpy too, but he meant well. Not a full asshole like Ares.”
“Good to know . . . and who are you in this equation.”
“That’s yet to be seen.”
“Why don’t you talk to your dad?”
“And on that note . . .”
From beside me, I see Josephine reach over the console and start fiddling with the radio again. This time, I don’t stop her. It was worth a try. Then a song that I don’t know is playing. She seems to know exactly what song it is by the way she sways in her chair.
I try to keep focused on the road, but it’s hard as her shoulders move seductively.
At the red light, I slow the car down to a stop and turn to look at her. Her eyes are closed, and her mouth is softly singing the lyrics.
This girl is trouble.
She doesn’t even realize it, but she is the sexiest woman I have ever seen, and she’s not even trying.
The way her lips move with each sultry word has my dick hardening in my pants. No one should be this sensual. Especially when she’s merely singing in the car.
Her voice is low, and I can’t make out the lyrics, but fuck, does she sound good.
Luckily for me, the light turns green, and I have to go back to paying attention.
We only need to drive for about five minutes more before we pull up to the little coffee shop, where I will have to answer questions I don’t want to. But I wouldn’t put it past Molly to come back if I don’t, so I’ll suck it up.
The next few minutes are painful.
All I want to do is get out of the car. If Coach only knew what I wanted to do to his daughter, he’d kill me.
Hudson would have no problem with any of this, but fuck, why does she have to be Coach’s kid?
I remember the day I knew Robert would change my life. The rink was cold, the air thick with the scent of ice and sweat. Coach Robert, with his clean shave and country club look, pulled me aside after practice.
“Dane,” he said in his gravelly voice, “you’ve got potential, kid. But potential isn’t enough. You gotta work for it every damn day. You’ve got to want it more than anything.”
I nodded, hanging on his every word. It was more attention and guidance than I had ever received from my father, who preferred to simply push me to live the life he always wanted and couldn’t have. An angry, stoic figure in a sea of cheering parents.
Coach continued, his words sinking deep into my core. “Hockey’s more than just skating and shooting. It’s about heart. It’s about sacrifice. You wanna remain at the top of this level? You gotta give it everything you’ve got. No excuses. Especially for you, Dane. You have your sister to consider.”
His advice wasn’t just about hockey; it was about life. About perseverance, about pushing through the tough times. It was about believing in myself, something I struggled with when Dad’s distant nods were the closest thing I had to approval.
“Listen to your instincts, Dane,” Coach said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Trust your teammates, but trust yourself most of all. You’ve got what it takes.”
Those words stuck with me through every game, every practice. They became my mantra, driving me forward even when the odds seemed stacked against us. Coach believed in me and saw something I struggled to see in myself.
Looking back now, I realize that moment with Coach was more than just a pep talk. It was a turning point. It was the moment I realized that I didn’t hate hockey; I hated what it meant to my father. But I wasn’t living for him. I was living for myself, and hockey was as much a part of my life as the air I breathed. I didn’t know any different, and in reality, father aside, I didn’t want to.
He’s been there for me through some of the toughest years. Always encouraging me in ways my father never did.
The distance evaporates, and I make the turn and then throw the car in park.
We hop out and walk inside.
A woman in her early thirties walks right up to me, hand stretched out.
“Hello, Mr. Sinclair. Can I call you Dane?”
No. You can’t, is what I want to say, but something tells me that won’t go over so well.