Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
“You should really rethink the whole dietician thing. I think you’d be great at it,” I say.
“I’d have to go back to school for four more years, though. And come up with the money for that. Besides, I have a perfectly good degree that makes me a solid salary. It would be a waste of money to walk away from that.”
“What if you didn’t have to walk away entirely? You can still manage Flip’s portfolio. You could use your accounting degree and work in nutrition with sports teams. There has to be a way to pair those two things.”
“I can’t afford another four years in school.” She cuts her last ravioli into four small bites and spears one. It must be cold by now. “It’s too hard financially.”
“Money shouldn’t be the thing that prevents you from achieving your dreams,” I argue. Flip could put her through school, and so could I, but explaining that would be hard. And she wouldn’t accept it from me. “Eliza teaches some courses. What if you started with just one? Or a night course? Not too expensive and then at least you could see if it’s something you wanted to pursue?”
“Maybe something to consider in the future. Some people spend their lives chasing dreams. I’ve spent mine chasing financial stability,” she says softly.
“It’s okay to change your mind and decide you want to chase something else,” I counter.
“What else do you want, aside from an illustrious career as a professional hockey player?” She pops the last bite of her ravioli into her mouth.
You, I want to say. For this not to end. For the things I’m afraid of not to ruin this. To give you the things you want. To make you smile like this every day.
But I don’t say any of that. “To win the Cup before my career is over.” I don’t want to talk about hockey right now, though, not when things feel unsteady there. I glance toward the kitchen to make sure Eliza isn’t around and drop my voice, changing gears. “And to hear you scream my name when we’re alone later.”
“Well, I can definitely guarantee you the second if I don’t end up in a food coma.”
“Should we take dessert with us? Save it for later?” I want to be alone with her. If there’s one thing I’m skilled at, it’s making her feel good in bed.
She bites her lip. “Might be a nice midnight snack.”
We thank Eliza, and she invites Bea to come back any time for a free cooking class. She sends us off with leftover ravioli, sauces, and our desserts. I don’t know that the whipped cream with the cakes will make it, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.
I drive us to the house I rented for the night—another favor I called in. Hotels are great, but we’d have neighbors, and I don’t want Bea to hold back. I want those moans, and sighs, and shrieks, and giggles.
“Whose house is this?” Bea asks when I pull into the garage.
“A friend.”
“What kind of friend?” She side-eyes me.
“A guy I used to play hockey with in New York.”
“You went to a lot of trouble to set this up, didn’t you?”
“It wasn’t trouble, and it was totally worth it.” I grab our leftovers from the back seat and extend my hand.
She slips her palm into mine. I like this kind of easy contact. I wish I could do it more often.
I lead her through the house, put the food in the fridge, and grab the bottle of champagne I had in there. “Let me show you the rest of the place.”
“You mean the bedroom, right?”
“If that’s what you want to see first.”
I stop at the second door and flip on the light.
“This is like something out of a freaking fairy tale.” She bites her lip and hugs my arm. “You better be careful, or I’ll start thinking maybe you actually like me.”
I skim her cheek with my fingers. “I do like you, Bea.”
“You like my vagina.” She nudges my arm with her shoulder. “The rest of me annoys the shit out of you.”
“I am a big fan of your pussy, but”—I curve a hand around the back of her neck, brushing my lips across her cheek—“the rest of you is pretty great too.”
Before I can claim her lips, she spins out of my grip and grabs her bag from the end of the bed. “Hold that thought for like two minutes.”
“What?” I move toward her.
She holds up a finger as she races across the room. “Two minutes. I need two minutes.” She disappears into the bathroom and slams the door. The lock flips as my fingers wrap around the knob.
I knock a few times. Gently. “Don’t make me break this door down, Bea.”
“Two minutes. I promise it’ll be worth the wait!” she calls.