Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
“I shower and go home.”
“Well, I’m glad you have it all thought through.”
This time his scowl is genuine. “If you want to call me an idiot, do it. You’d be right. Then I can go shower and put this shithole of a day behind me.”
“If only it worked like that.” I eye him and the way his muscles are coiled, wanting another fight. His hand is tight around the ice pack in his lap. “You realize that can’t help your eye unless you actually, you know, put it on there.”
He tosses it onto the bench beside him. “Fuck my eye.”
Pleasant. I stand and cross toward him to pick it up and do it myself.
“What are you doing?”
“My job is to make sure the players have what they need.” I step forward. My finger gently rests under his chin as I tilt his head up before pressing the ice pack over his injury.
Asher cringes for a moment, from the cold or the pain, but it sort of serves him right.
“You want to be careful.” I nod in the direction of his helmet sitting next to him. “Those things aren’t foolproof. You can still get hurt.”
“Maybe that’s what I want.”
My eyebrows jump up. With the ice pack still pressed to his face, he’s uncomfortably close. His body heat is coming off him in waves and matches the way he’s studying me. He wants a reaction from me, and I’m confused about whether he’s telling the truth or whether he’s trying to shock me. I get the feeling with Asher it could go either way.
But then I replay the fight in my head. His anger, the taunting, and then as soon as Simms was on him, he went limp.
“That’s why you didn’t fight back.” Finally, I look down at him.
His glare is more intense than I’m ready for, and I almost want to look away again. “I’m surprised you noticed.”
“I do have eyes.”
“Yeah, but most people see what they want to see.” He tries to play it off like he doesn’t care, but there’s something in his tone that makes me think it’s all bullshit.
“Why have you been ignoring me all week?” he suddenly asks.
“I haven’t. We talked on Monday.”
“Yeah, four days ago.”
“Technically three if you don’t count today, which I don’t, because look—we’re talking.”
“Now who’s playing dumb?”
That makes me laugh, but I quickly cut it off when I remember why I’ve been keeping my distance. “I didn’t think you’d notice. I’m just the bag bitch, after all.”
Understanding slowly takes over. “You know I was saying that to get them to shut up about you, right?”
“Yeah, but it’s the word you chose. Gay men get called bitch to make them sound weak and feminine. And yeah, I’m not some tough jock like the rest of you, but—”
“It’s only a word. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Words have meaning though.”
“I call people bitch all the time. It has nothing to do with their sexuality.”
“In that case, I’m surprised you don’t get punched more often.”
He looks like he wants to argue back but stops himself. For one wild moment, I think he’s going to apologize. “Fine. I won’t call you a bitch again.” That’s close, I suppose.
Asher stands suddenly, and I’m so shocked I forget to step back. His body presses against mine as a slow smile takes over his face. “So you know, I don’t give a shit about the gay thing.” He drops his voice. “The last person I had sex with was a guy.”
Nerves shoot through my gut, but I force myself not to react. He’s playing with me. It’s what Asher does. “Is your whole starting lineup queer?”
“Only last year. Besides, I don’t consider myself queer. Not really. More … whatever floats my boat if you get what I’m saying. Whoever gets the sails going. Whoever pops my … tent.”
I hold up my hand. “I get it.”
“For instance, the last guy was one of West’s old teammates. He was hot and had a wicked mouth, but he was a means to an end. He served a purpose. That’s all.”
My skin flushes because while I don’t know if he’s trying to tease me or turn me on or make me uncomfortable, his rumbly voice near my ear has my body auto responding.
I force myself to step back and put distance between us. “You slept with Ezra Palaszczuk? Intimidating much?”
“You know Ezra?”
“You don’t think every time an NHL player has come out, Dad hasn’t been all ‘Look, you can be gay and play professional hockey’ like that was why I quit?” I roll my eyes.
“Oh. Umm, well, yeah, he and West are best friends, so …”
“Ah, so you slept with him to make your brother angry. Were you hoping he’d hit you too?”
“Westly doesn’t hit. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
I can’t work out whether Asher wants me to like him or to push me away. Sleeping with people to hurt others isn’t a stand-up quality in a guy, but with Asher, I get the impression it goes so much deeper than that.