Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“Again, I’m sorry,” I reply and before she can think to stop me, I brush my lips over hers. “I’ll do better, although I can’t speak for Atlas or the others.”
Her lips twitch into a small smile. “Okay. Fair enough.”
“Does that kiss indicate it’s safe for me to return?” Atlas asks, a fresh beer in hand.
Farren flushes slightly at the reminder and moves a few inches from me. She swirls the straw in her margarita but the smirk on her face tells me she’s fine.
“Excuse me.”
Another female voice and I brace, groaning that another puck bunny—or rather, a woman who likes hockey—is approaching us.
I glance over to a petite woman with raven-black hair and the lightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen standing near the velvet rope. Her hands are folded before her and she looks nervous. She’s very pretty but dressed what I would call sedately in a baggy cable-knit sweater, jeans and boots, a thick coat draped over her arm.
Her eyes dart between me, Atlas and Farren, and the smile she finally offers is genuinely apologetic. “I don’t mean to intrude…”
“It’s fine,” Farren says, waving her over the velvet rope. I’m guessing she’s now going to champion any woman who wants access to us, choosing to give them all the benefit of the doubt.
She approaches warily, looking around at the handful of other players left. “I’m sorry to bother you, but… I’m looking for Penn Navarro.”
Atlas and I exchange a look. Farren’s brow furrows.
“Um… he’s not here,” Atlas says.
The woman shifts on her feet, looking frustrated. “Was he here tonight? Do you think he’ll be out after tomorrow’s game?”
Her words should be setting off stalker warning bells, but there’s something about her that screams innocence instead. “Actually, he doesn’t really hang with the team,” I say. “Can we help you with something?”
“I just… I need to talk to him. It’s important.”
“If you’re looking for an autograph or something,” Atlas drawls, indicating he’s trying to ferret out her intentions, “your best bet would be to wait by the players’ garage exit.”
“It’s not about an autograph,” she says quickly, her voice trembling slightly. “I’m a friend. From a long time ago.”
I study her carefully and a glance at Farren tells me she’s doing the same.
“A friend?” Farren asks, light and breezy.
The woman nods. “Yes. I know it’s weird, but I really need to get in touch with him. Do you think you could give me his phone number or maybe his address?”
“You know we can’t do that,” I say kindly, and she nods in agreement. It was a desperate attempt and I can tell she didn’t expect it to work. “But I can call him and ask him if it’s okay. Would that be okay?”
She blows out a sigh of relief. “Yes, actually. That would be great.”
I pull out my phone and flip through my contacts, locating Penn’s number. I’ve never used it before, not even for a casual text, but I have all the players and some other important Titans staff in my contacts.
He answers after a few rings, his voice wary. “Hello.”
“It’s North,” I say, my eyes locking onto the woman. “We’re at Mario’s and there’s someone here looking for you who says she’s a friend.” I lift my eyebrows at her, a silent request for her name.
“Tell him it’s Mila.”
“She says her name is Mila and—”
“I don’t want to talk to her,” Penn says flatly and then the line goes dead.
I stare at the phone, stunned, my eyes darting between Farren and Atlas before pinning on the dark-haired beauty. “He said he didn’t want to talk to you.” Her face falls, tears welling in her eyes.
I feel a pang of guilt. Something about her feels important. Like she’s more than just some random person from Penn’s past.
I glance at my phone, an idea forming. “Farren, Atlas. Can I have a private word with you?”
Mila takes a step back. “I should go.”
“No, wait,” I say, motioning to the table. I set my phone down beside my beer. “Stay here. We’ll be just a minute.”
The woman looks dubious but she nods, stepping closer to the table and looking around. I walk off, Farren and Atlas following me. I move a good fifteen paces and huddle up, keeping my eyes on Mila.
“What are we doing?” Atlas whispers.
“Pretending like we’re discussing something important,” I reply, watching as Mila’s gaze falls to my phone.
“We aren’t discussing something important?” Farren asks.
“No,” I reply, cutting her a quick look with a smile. “Just giving the stranger a little bit of time.”
Farren starts to look over her shoulder but I stop her. “Don’t look. Just act casual like we’re talking about something.”
“I’m so confused,” Atlas mutters, but then says, “Did anyone see that documentary on Netflix about mushrooms?”
Farren laughs but I stare intently as Mila bends slightly over my phone. I see her lips moving, as if she’s repeating something she’s reading.