Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
“You gotta do your own thing. Make your own choices, Lambert. That’s what I learned last season,” Wesley says.
I mull on that for a few seconds. I suppose Wesley’s proof, though, that talking openly can be a good thing. Last season, he spoke up in a big way about his life. That kind of honesty and vulnerability made a huge difference to the team and the community and to his personal life—it’s the reason his girlfriend is happily back in town, shacked up with him.
“You did, man,” I say, offering a fist for knocking. He knocks back. “You showed the fuck up in all the ways.” I heave a sigh, and it’s not so much one of resignation but maybe…acceptance that I’ve got to make some changes. “I guess I have to do a better job of that. When my agent called me into his conference room and showed me a fucking whiteboard with the likeability quotient, it was a rude awakening. But then again, it was a pretty rude awakening a year and a half ago when I walked into the home I shared with Lyra and saw Fletcher Bane from the Supernovas balls deep in her, so…”
Asher shoots me a sympathetic frown. “That’s enough to make anyone shut down.”
But that was only the start of it. That wasn’t why I stopped talking to the press. It wasn’t why I killed my social media either. What happened a week or so later at my sister’s house was—after the fight on the ice with Bane. After the media wouldn’t leave me alone. After they hassled my sister.
“But apparently my attitude isn’t sitting well with team management, and I need to figure out how to be nicer…or else.”
“Just let ’em know you treat us to smoothies—that’s nice,” Asher says.
“You could treat the whole city,” Wes puts in, and I smile, appreciating their effort to fix this.
I roll on, building up a head of steam. “But it’s not like I’m going to grab a mic or fire up social media I don’t have and say, well, folks here’s why I think the world is a shit show, and here’s why that song isn’t about me. I’m not going to air my dirty laundry. It won’t change anything and the media will demolish her,” I say, getting fired up. I can’t stand my cheating ex, and I despise Bane, but I detest the press even more. They twist everything and they’d contort the truth in ways I couldn’t even imagine.
I guess this reputation makeover is the only way through. I rake a hand through my messy hair, resigned to whatever’s next, including the details Garrett shared with me, the part where the team has an opportunity for me to participate in The Ice Men documentary series. “And all of this means I’ll be hanging with our cheery, chipper, smiling publicist more. Yay me,” I say dryly.
Asher snort-laughs, not even trying to hide his amusement. “Good luck with that.”
“Yeah, the whole thing is going to be hard, but especially because we’re like a bottle of tequila and good choices. We don’t work well together.”
Wesley clears his throat. “I think Asher means good luck with working closely with the woman you’re hot for.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you’re going to hate it,” Asher adds.
I narrow my eyes. “I never said I was into her.”
Said being the operative word. I’m not denying I think about her at night. I’m not pretending she isn’t starring in some seriously dirty dreams. I’ve just never voiced it to these punks.
Besides, there’d be no point in liking her, especially now. I can’t mess up this image makeover. It’s too important for my goals. For a life beyond hockey. For the future my parents and sister deserve. Everly’s the key to making this happen, so it doesn’t matter how sexy she is, how much I want to unbutton those staid work blouses she wears and discover the woman underneath—the one with the alluring lingerie. I’m dying to discover the other side of dangerously sexy Everly, with her pouty mouth and big brown eyes and that sleek ponytail that drives me crazy. The fact that she can’t stand me inexplicably turns me on more, which says something about me I’m not sure I’m ready to face. She’s a challenge, all right, and what’s even more messed up about this lust I feel for her? I can’t stand her either, yet she still haunts my mind late at night.
My brain is an asshole.
And I’m going to have to ignore its taunts.
Asher stares at me like he’s a lawyer busting me in court, pulling my focus back to the conversation and away from filthy thoughts. “You didn’t have to say you were into her,” Asher says. “It’s clear, man. You’re the boy who pulls on her pigtails in class.”