Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
"What?" I ask, pretending I'm annoyed and not two seconds from tackling him to the floor.
He shrugs, but there's a challenge in his eyes. "You said no to Christmas," he says. "Fine. I don't like it, but accept it. You're coming with me to Colt's party tonight, however."
My heart slams against my ribcage, a nervous pit opening in my stomach. "Colt's Christmas party?" I ask. "You mean, with the team?"
"It's not as awful as it sounds," he says through a chuckle. "You'll have fun."
"I'll have an aneurysm," I correct, pressing a hand to my chest. "You want to bring your physical therapist to a team party, the day after we" —I gesture between us because, like a dork, I can't say the words— "and you don't think that's going to be the talk of the locker room until the end of time?"
He just smirks, pulling me into his arms. "I don't give a single fuck what they talk about, Sunshine."
"You're not supposed to date support staff," I whisper, but it comes out weak and unconvincing because I'm not actually sure if that's a rule for them or one for us. Players can pretty much get away with anything so long as they don't make the team or the league look bad. We're the ones with a list of rules a mile long. And I'm the one who's broken the big one repeatedly.
"What we do is our business." He says it with all the confidence of a man who won't be at risk of losing his job when the execs find out. He has that luxury. I don't.
I also don't have the energy to argue, not with his hands on my body, his thumbs brushing the sensitive skin under the edge of my shirt.
He shuffles us until I'm crowded up against the counter, trapped between it and his body. "You afraid they'll judge you?"
"No," I say, which is a lie. They will absolutely judge me. Girls like me do not end up with men like him anywhere except in movies. "Maybe? I don't know. I just… I need this job, Trent. I can't screw it up because I–" I almost say, "love you," but manage to keep that under wraps at the last second. "Because I got carried away."
He studies me, his green eyes bright. "You think I'll let anyone threaten your job?" He drops his forehead to mine. "You think the other guys would? Everyone loves you. And I don't care if everyone knows about us. Christ, I want them to know you're mine, Dani."
I try to stay strong, but it's impossible when he's this close, this warm, and this irresistibly honest. He wants people to know that he's with me. He doesn't want to hide our relationship. If this isn't a Christmas miracle, I don't know what is.
I sigh, caving like a paper house in a windstorm. "Fine. But I'm telling them I'm your unwilling hostage."
"Don't give me any ideas."
"That was not an invitation to tie me to your bed, Trent."
He rumbles laughter before kissing me, slow and sweet. When he pulls back, he links our fingers together, pulling me into the living room.
He flops down on the couch and pulls me with him, so I end up tucked under his arm like we've been doing this for years.
He puts on a movie but immediately turns toward me, ignoring it.
"What was it like, growing up in foster care?" he asks, like it's a normal conversation starter, playing with the still-damp ends of my hair.
I snort. "Chaotic, mostly. But I didn't have to share a bathroom with a dozen other girls until college, so that was nice."
His amused laugh brings a smile to my face. "I bet your brothers were worse."
"Oh, they were absolutely worse," I agree cheerfully. "You ever seen what happens when four teenage boys get into a fight over the last bag of Doritos? There's blood. And broken bones. I got really good at patching up wounds."
He looks at me, his head tilted. "You said that's why you got into PT?"
I nod. "That, and I like feeling useful. Like I can fix things, you know? I was never really able to do that growing up."
"You mean with your mom?"
"Yeah," I whisper, swallowing hard. "I guess I like knowing that there are things and people in this world that I can help put back together when they're hurting."
He's quiet for a second, processing my confession, and then his eyes meet mine, his expression soft and deep. "You fix a helluva lot more than you know, Sunshine."
I don't know what to say to that, mostly because I know he means it. He's had a rough couple of years with a lot of injuries, but he keeps pushing anyway because it's who he is and what he knows. Hockey is his life. I like knowing that I've made this season a little easier for him. He deserves that.