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)
I down the cocoa in one gulp and follow him, letting the sugar and expensive liquor burn a path straight to my stomach.
Even though he warned me, I am not prepared for the chaos of the den. The room is full of hockey players, all yelling over each other and stealing gifts from one another like overgrown children. The gifts are, predictably, a mix of gag and actual luxury. There's a heated toilet seat, two different gaming systems, an expensive watch, tickets to Bali, a Speedo that looks like a crocodile's mouth, fart spray that seems to be a hot ticket item, and a literal ham.
Trent and I settle on the couch, with him perched behind me, his arm draped over my shoulders like he's staking a claim. I try to focus on the chaos, but every time I look up, someone is staring at us—sometimes grinning, sometimes smirking, but always staring. It's disconcerting as hell.
But it's not until I stand to get another drink that all those looks finally begin to make sense, shaking my world on its foundation.
"Yo, Kirk!" Paxton Hill, one of the rookies, shouts across the room. "How'd you finally manage to convince Dani to go out with you?"
I freeze in the doorway.
"You've been following her around like a puppy for months," another of the rookies adds, laughing. "We were taking bets on whether she'd figure out you were full of shit and take out a restraining order on your big ass."
Wait, what? They knew that he was faking an injury just to spend time with me?
Trent just laughs in response. "She couldn't say no after she nearly killed me."
"Ah, so you're blackmailing her," Karsen says. "Sounds about right. You've been threatening to maim us for months if we smiled at her wrong."
"He threatened to beat me with my own damn skate if I even looked at her," Cale mutters.
"You still aren't allowed to look at her," Trent growls, his eyes locked on me with an intensity that leaves me breathless. "She's mine, and I will end you."
The entire room hoots and catcalls. But I just stand there, my Solo cup clutched in one hand and my heart hammering as the intensity of his declaration sears through me.
My mind spins, trying to fit all of this new information into place, but I don't even know where to start. I mean, I've been half convinced that he's been high as a kite for the last twenty-four hours and would eventually snap out of it. But…he's been threatening the entire team about me for months. They all know how he feels about me. This isn't just something he decided yesterday. This isn't a result of his brush with death or a residual effect of the drugs they gave him.
He wants me. Apparently, enough that he's told everyone. Literally, the whole damn team knows how he feels about me.
The revelation is so huge, I actually have to sit down.
"You good, Sunshine?" he asks when I plop beside him, my knees weak.
The man I've been obsessed with…has been a little bit obsessed with me, too.
"Yeah," I say, my mind still reeling. I'm not just good, though. Right now, I'm freaking great.
Nearly an hour later, the den descends into another round of chaos, but Trent barely notices. His eyes are locked on my face. And even with the team erupting around us while one of the rookies in an elf suit does a festive striptease to Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer, I'm two seconds from launching myself at Trent.
I'm trying like hell to cover it with aggressive cocoa consumption, but that's only making me hotter. All I can think about is the fact that everyone knows how he feels about me. All I see is the way he's watching me like he's desperate to get me alone.
When I'm ready to burst, he finally makes a move. Between one breath and the next, he's crowding into my space, his lips against my ear. "Let's get out of here for a minute."
I nod, not trusting my voice, and he instantly shepherds me out of the den. His hand low on my back sends heatwaves through my system.
We pass the tree, where a pair of teenagers are making out beside the stairwell, and a line of little kids fight over who gets to sit on the inflatable Santa's lap.
Trent finds a hallway I'm ninety percent sure wasn't there earlier, then leads me through a gallery of framed team photos and past a sideboard decked with Christmas nutcrackers and at least three candles labeled "Festive AF."
At the end, he pauses at a closed door, glances over his shoulder, and gives me a sly, unrepentant grin.
"What?" I ask, my heart pounding for reasons that have nothing to do with nerves or the amount of sugar I've consumed tonight.