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)
Interesting.
“Here she is,” he says as he pivots his body toward the door. My head turns in the direction with him, and the moment his daughter saunters through the door, my heart stops.
What the hell is this?
Her footsteps are barely audible, but in my head, they echo like a freight train. Actually, that might be the sound of the blood rushing through my veins or the pounding headache that is now threatening to knock me unconscious, and the reason stands right in front of me.
Hellfire.
The little hellfire is the coach’s daughter.
Fuck my life.
10
JOSIE
A deer caught in headlights, that’s what I am.
The moment I stopped, I saw him, and now I can’t pull my gaze away.
It’s him. Holy shit. It’s him. How is this possible? The look on his face is one of pure shock. And how could it not be? Last night was random. No names and all our talk of hating hockey . . .
Wait.
He said he hated hockey.
Was that real? Or an act.
No. I’m good at deciphering how people are feeling. I can read people well and take in their emotions. That was all real.
He hates hockey, yet he plays for my father.
“Josie,” the man’s—who I now know as the sperm donor—voice cuts through my thoughts and forces me to pull my gaze away from the handsome and sinfully sexy stranger from last night.
I step up to where he is forcing me to turn away from my one-night stand turned awkward first day at work, and look up toward the man I only just met.
Should I call him sperm donor? Dad? Coach? Robert? Mr. Harris?
All of the above.
Since it’s a job, I’ll call him Coach Robert.
Yeah, that’s easier.
Coach Robert nods down at me. “Josie will be interning with us this season.”
A bunch of the guys start to speak at once, and despite my best efforts, I can’t make out what anyone is saying.
How long do I have to be here today? Will he try to speak to me?
My heart rattles in my chest. I hope not . . . yet I do. I want to speak to him.
“Now, listen closely. . .” Coach Robert takes a step forward and looks right at some younger, handsome player. “No one, and I mean no one, will cross me on this. Josie is off-limits.”
His words drop like the bomb that they are. The stranger in front of me goes ramrod straight. If I didn’t know better, I’d mistake him for a statue. His jaw is stiff, and he stares at me like he hates me.
A chill runs up my spine.
What the actual hell?
Does he think I did this on purpose?
Does he think I knew?
Well, if he does, then he has a thing coming for him because I didn’t.
After a few more minutes of the coach yapping about God knows what . . . yes, I know I should be listening, but alas, I have more pressing matters at hand, like why the hottie is giving me death glares.
Finally, the meeting concludes, and the stranger walks. I follow him.
I’m not sure where he’s going, and I’m sure my sperm donor is expecting me, but when I turn my head over my shoulder, I see he’s already preoccupied with the young guy he was staring at during his speech. This must be the team “player.”
Too bad he’s not the one my “father” should be worried about.
“Hey,” I whisper-shout, and surprisingly, he stops.
With slow and wary steps, I make my approach. He turns around to face me. Large blue eyes that only yesterday made my knees weak are now narrowed and hard. Decadent lips are set into a straight line, and the hard-set jaw I’m staring at makes my hands tremble.
He crosses his arms over his chest. “Did you know?”
“Know what?” There are a few different topics he could be speaking on.
“Cut the shit. Did you know who I was?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“I find that hard to believe,” he snaps. My shoulders straighten, and I stand tall.
I open my mouth, then clamp it shut as I think of what he’s implying. Does he really think I planned this whole thing? I take a deep breath, calming down the storm brewing inside me with the words I want to say before I’m calm enough to speak.
“It’s the truth.” I inhale again. “I had no clue who you were. If you remember, I’m not a fan of hockey?” I lift my brow in challenge. “If anyone was lying last night, it wasn’t me.”
“You want me to believe this is some sort of coincidence?”
“Or fate.”
“Cute,” he chides. “But I don’t believe in that shit.”
“Listen, it is what it is. No harm done. Unless—” I step closer to him, lip tipping up into what I like to consider a sexy smirk.
“There will be no unless,” he says, voice hard and unyielding. “Coach is like a father to me.”