Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 93683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Whether it’s his name or my voice that crinkles his forehead prior to his gaze finding mine is unclear. “Gillian?”
“You two know each other?” Rhonnie curiously questions at the same time she leans towards the unexpected situation.
Ear to ear smiles stretch out on our respective faces as I girlishly coo, “Well, we-”
“Tendy?” my older brother Milano – or M – suddenly interrupts during his unanticipated approach. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Tendy?
Like…goaltender?!
Like…on my brother’s team goaltender?!
Like…on my brother’s team therefore we can never date goaltender?
That tendy?
You mean to tell me out of all the goalie options out there – including lacrosse, soccer, and fucking water polo – I somehow magically managed to meet and flirt with the one that’s off-limits?!
I now see that Kira’s late-night espresso of wisdom wasn’t brewed to perfection.
Yes, there’s nothing wrong with wanting a little bit of romance for yourself unless it just so happens to be with one of the hockey players that your big brother coaches for a living.
Chapter 3
Gillian
How is it he’s in my office, yet it feels like I’m the one in trouble?
“Why are they here, Gilly?” M folds his almond brown skinned arms firmly across his white polo covered chest. “What’s wrong with my boys?”
Ugh.
Must he call them that?
Must he remind me that of all the smiles I’ve seen in the world, the only one I’ve ever pictured myself truly falling for just so happens to also be one that he coaches?
I mean…could he not grind that shit in like sour candy to a sensitive tooth?
“One is here for a procedure-”
“What type?”
“And one is here to drive him home.”
“Which is which?”
“Those are not questions I’m going to answer as it would break doctor patient confidentiality protocols.”
An eye roll precedes his headshake. “It’s not like I’m asking to look at their chart, Gilly. I just wanna know what’s going on with them.” His voice noticeably drops in concern. “I just wanna know everything’s okay before I basically disappear for the end of summer, aye.”
What did I just say about not rubbing this shit in?!
I swear, he never telepathically listens!
“Which I get,” leaves me at the same time I rest my ass against the edge of the desk, “but I kinda wanna keep my license, so the call stands, Coach.” My fingers casually grip the surface at my sides. “You need to discuss that with your players. Not me.”
“You know they don’t tell me everything.”
“And you know when you were lacing up, you didn’t tell your coach everything either.”
The tiny wince that scrunches his nose reminds me of my own.
We both do that.
I blame our dad.
Mom’s all eyebrows when she gets called out about something.
“You know, I initially didn’t think there would be a downside to having my younger sister’s practice be the one that partners with the organization on site and is the one recommended to the players who need work off-site but now, I’m having second thoughts.”
“You’re only having second thoughts because you’re not getting your way.”
“A thousand percent.”
Warm chuckles immediately leave us both lightening up the mood.
I love M.
I do.
I know some people aren’t close to their siblings – especially their brothers – but that’s not me.
That’s never been me.
Partially because we’re so damn close in age – the result of your father barely waiting for that safe to have sex again mark to get back to business so to speak – and partially because not being close wasn’t really a choice.
He grew up playing hockey.
Playing hockey meant a shit ton of time at the rink.
Driving to games.
Tournaments.
Conferences.
Ceremonies.
Tryouts.
Both of my parents wanting to be there to support him, meant I was there too with all the other rink siblings shackled to their ice stars.
The difference?
M came to check on me.
Play with me.
Help me study.
He always came to bully away any players – on his team or others – that mistook me for a puck bunny in training or WAG aspire to be.
For that reason, I’ve always kept my distance from hockey players.
That and of course them not being my type any more than I’m theirs.
I prefer men with most of their teeth who have read a non-sports book since they left college, and they typically prefer women who would slice and dice and starve themselves rather than ever reach my size.
How did I not know tendy was a tendy?
My sweater wearer radar must be on the fritz.
Probably should get that checked.
“What are you doing here?” I smoothly shift subjects. “We didn’t have anything on my calendar, and you’re too early for your pre-season cleaning.”
“Weird that you know that.”
“Would be weirder if I didn’t.”
“I was doing some last-minute paperwork at the barn.” His shoulders slightly bounce. “Figured I’d pop over and see if you were busy or had a few to grab a cup.”
Total pro/con of having my practice in The Locker District of Dalvegan, Texas.