Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Luckily, I keep those moments to myself.
“Even though you didn’t answer me, I’m going to assume you want some,” he says, that low voice way too sexy for this time of the morning. “How many eggs?”
“Three. I’ll get the coffee.”
“I’d assume you’re being nice, but I feel like it’s more of a self-preservation thing.”
“How so?” I ask.
“Because you don’t trust me not to poison the food, and I don’t trust you not to poison my coffee.” The teasing look he throws my way makes me a little too happy. “Guess we’re just going to have to take that risk.”
“I like risks.”
“I know. That’s why you’re here.”
I pour our coffees, and Oskar steps closer than he needs to take it from me.
“The chances of you offing the star player on the team are slim though. Whereas I’ve wanted to get rid of you since you started this job as my shadow.”
“Get rid of me?” I cock my head. “Or get under me?”
He laughs as he steps back and hands me my plate. “Eat this and find out.”
I retake my seat, and Oskar pulls one up opposite me. The smell of bacon and eggs makes my stomach growl, and even if I really thought there was the possibility for him to lace it with something, I’d probably still take my chances.
I lock eyes with Oskar as I spear a piece of egg and pop it into my mouth. His lips twitch, and then he grabs his coffee and takes a slow sip, still watching me over the cup.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“Good. You?”
“Completely fine.”
“Give it a minute, then.”
I marvel at how ridiculous he is, then set my fork down. “We haven’t argued as much this week.”
“I’m happy when I’m not horny.”
I narrow my eyes because we both know that’s bullshit.
“What? You were expecting a heart-to-heart or something?”
“Or something. You’re definitely not … you.”
He throws his hands up. “First I’m too me, now I’m not enough me. What do you want?”
That’s a good question. Obviously as his PR rep, my answer is for him to keep doing what he’s doing, but as me … I like Oskar. And I hate that I like him. I give him the realest answer I can.
“I want you to be you but without all the media attention.”
“That’s an oxymoron.”
“Big word.”
He taps his temple. “I’m smart if you haven’t noticed.”
“I didn’t.” I smile at him through a bite of bacon. “At least until this week. You’ve been making smart choices.”
He shrugs awkwardly. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I’m interested to know why.”
“You want me to spill all my secrets? Open up? Be vulnerable to my jailer so I can see that you’ve cared all along? I’ve seen that movie, and it’s called Stockholm syndrome and isn’t as romantic as people think.”
Damn him, he gets an actual laugh out of me. “Fine, don’t talk to me. We’ll eat breakfast in complete silence. That won’t be awkward at all.”
“What about you? I’m always the one sharing. You tell me something.”
“Like …”
“Well, even big bad babysitters have to come from somewhere, right? What lab did they make you in?”
“One in Texas.”
Oskar blinks. “Southern boy? No way.”
“Deep South. I basically have sunshine in my veins.”
“That explains the sunny personality, then, though not your lack of accent. What about your parents?”
“What about them?”
“What are they like?”
“I haven’t seen them in a long time.” I keep my tone light and airy, but I don’t think I pull off the nonchalant act. It’s hard to do when it comes to my parents.
Oskar’s cocky expression dims, which makes me think he’s come to two conclusions: dead or disowned. “Why?”
“The gay thing.” I keep my voice light because even though it was fucked-up, I’ve long worked through my issues with them. “And at least they cared enough to fill up my bank account before they shoved me out the front gate.”
Oskar drops his fork loudly onto his plate. “Assholes. Want to invite them to a game and I’ll shoot a puck at their heads?”
“Aww, I didn’t know you cared.”
“No one should have to go through that. Even you.”
“I detect a level of affection buried under all that animosity,” I tease. “But it’s okay. I have a great life.”
He lifts a skeptical eyebrow. “At what point during getting your college degree did you stop and think, ‘following around a professional hockey player to make him behave himself sounds like my idea of a dream job?’”
“Never. Obviously. It was more, ‘following around a professional hockey player sounds like perfect spank bank material. Go, future Lane!’”
My insides thrum happily as he laughs. I watch him practically inhale the rest of his food before throwing back what’s left of his coffee. “This has been fun, but I gotta go. Are you driving me in today?”
I hesitate over the question. The answer should be of course because letting him go anywhere alone is dangerous, so I’m unnerved when my answer is, “You go. Keerson has been trying to get me to go out for lunch, and, well, you’ve done well this week. I think you’ve earned a day off without your babysitter.”