Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 155203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 776(@200wpm)___ 621(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 776(@200wpm)___ 621(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
“Damn, I want to be you when I grow up,” Beckett remarks.
“Anyway, I told Logan I needed a private place to practice, and he offered up this rink. I grabbed the keys from him earlier.”
“Nice perks you got there from Daddy,” I can’t help but crack.
“Hey, Daddy is the reason we’re here, isn’t he? So I can talk you up to him?” She offers a saccharine smile. “So I’ve either got a famous dad who can benefit you and you don’t complain about it, or I don’t and you’re shit out of luck. Can’t have it both ways, prom king.”
She has a point.
“Locker rooms are down here,” she says, leading us to the end of a fluorescent-lit corridor.
Her jeans are practically painted on, and I can’t help checking out her tight, perky ass. Beckett’s looking too. He catches me doing it and gives me a knowing grin. I scowl at him.
We reach the men’s change rooms, which are locked. Gigi stops and fumbles with her key ring. “Hold on. I’m not sure which one it is.”
As she bends forward to stick the first key in the lock, her purse slides off her shoulder and down her arm. She attempts to catch it before it falls, but to no avail. The bag tumbles to the shiny floor, its contents spilling out on the way down.
A giant box of condoms lands at my feet.
Beckett and I stare at it, then exchange an amused look.
Gigi’s cheeks turn a shade of red that doesn’t exist in nature. She quickly kneels to collect the fallen items, shoving everything back in her purse.
“You didn’t see that,” she orders.
I raise a brow. “Value pack, huh? Big plans this weekend?”
“They’re not mine,” she says through gritted teeth.
“You’re a bad liar, Gisele.”
“Okay, fine, they’re mine. But I acquired them against my will.”
“Out of curiosity, how many rubbers do you require per session?” Beckett pipes up, grinning with delight.
She’s on her feet, trying another key. This one also doesn’t work.
“Goddamn it The keys are against me,” she moans.
Beckett’s still working through the condom math of it all. “I mean, a box of fifty, huh? Let’s be ambitious and say we go three or four rounds a night. That’s three or four condoms. Although I guess if it’s a group thing…you know, like the three of us here—”
“Oh my God. Would you stop?”
“—then we’re talking two condoms at once, three or four rounds. That means you could hypothetically go through six to eight condoms per night. Damn. We’re knocking that whole box out in less than a week.”
Gigi sighs and looks my way. “Is he always like this?”
“Pretty much,” I confirm.
She locates the right key, and the loud breath of relief she releases makes me chuckle.
“There.” She pushes open the door for us. “Go suit up.”
“Should we put the condoms on now or after?” Beckett inquires.
“I hate you.” She moves down the hall toward the women’s locker room. “I’ll meet you guys on the ice. Rink B.”
In the men’s room, Beckett and I change into our practice gear.
I strip off my shirt, then give him a dry look. “You’re not as cute as you think, you know. And you sure as shit ain’t getting a three-way out of her.”
“Bullshit. She was interested.”
That gives me pause.
Was she?
“Nah,” I finally answer, because Gigi Graham really doesn’t strike me as a threesome type of girl.
“That’s a shame. The more the merrier. You know that’s my motto.”
I want to say he’s joking, but he’s not. In the two years we’ve known each other, the kind of debauchery I’ve witnessed from Beckett Dunne has been pretty extraordinary. I also never heard a bad word about him from anyone he ever hooked up with at Eastwood, so that’s something, at least. Hell, most of those chicks remained in our friend group. Those good looks and Gold Coast tan provide him with a lot of leeway.
“What about you?” he asks as he sits on the opposite bench to lace up his skates.
“What about me?”
“You interested?”
I lift my head to find him grinning at me. “Sorry, brother. I think you’re pretty, but I just don’t feel any sparks.”
“I mean, in her. Because you look interested.”
I duck my head and finish lacing up. “I’m not.”
“Really.”
“Really,” I say, because for some reason uttering the words “Yes, I’m interested” makes me…uneasy.
Because I’m not interested.
I don’t think.
Fuck. Why am I even dwelling on this right now? That’s not why we’re here tonight.
The Zamboni has just concluded its final lap when we meet Gigi out on the ice. We’re not wearing our full game gear, but enough padding that we can knock each other around a little if we want. Beck and I also brought some mini orange pylons, which I stack on the ledge in front of the home bench along with a few bottles of water.