Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 50801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Every thought empties from my mind, narrowing to the sensation of his lips against mine. I didn't know kisses like this existed, and even though he's kissed me plenty of times, I’m still shaken every single time.
His hands fall to my hips, gently squeezing there as his tongue rubs against mine, the two of us gripping each other as if we're the only things we can hold on to.
His hand travels lower down my thigh, and he bends slightly, hooking his hand behind my knee to draw my leg around his hip. I gasp at the contact, heat blazing through me—
My alarm chimes from where my phone sits on the counter next to us, the shrill sound breaking the two of us out of our kiss.
I cringe, my body buzzing with need as I silence the alarm and look up at him apologetically. “I have a client coming in fifteen minutes,” I say. “I still need to get my room set up and my table ready.”
Paxton quickly kisses me again. “Well, what I want to do with you will take much longer than fifteen minutes,” he says like it's the most natural thing in the world. He kisses me again, then gently sets me right, and takes a small step back.
His eyes trail the length of my body one more time as he nods.
“I’ll be thinking about you all day,” he says, grabbing his gear bag and keys as he heads toward the front door. “If you're done with your clients by two, I know Blakely and Reese are coming to the pick-up game.”
“They're going to pick me up,” I say, still slightly flushed. How can he look so good in simple gym clothes, standing there looking at me like I'm his favorite snack?
His smile is what takes my breath away, all pride and excitement just from me coming to watch him play a pick-up game. Not like I haven’t already been to every single game before, but now? It's like me showing up for him is different somehow. And I can't deny how much I love putting that smile on his face.
“Perfect,” he says. “Always play better when you're there watching me.”
I laugh, butterflies flapping in my stomach. “I always watch you,” I say as I head toward the door.
“Must be the reason I'm so good.” He waggles his eyebrows at me, a confident grin over those full lips before he leans down and kisses me one last time. “See you in a little while,” he says before he heads out the door, almost like he has to physically force himself to take the steps away from me.
I shut the door behind him, completely understanding the feeling.
Which doesn't make sense at all, seeing as how we’ve been practically inseparable since coming home. You’d think we'd be tired of each other by now, but I guess that's what happens when you blur lines with your best friend.
I hurry up to my designated massage room, sliding new sheets onto my table and turning on the warmer in preparation for my client. I go through the routine motions, all the while doing my best to not to think of how good this new normal feels, and how I'm terrified of losing it.
CHAPTER 13
PAXTON
The first day of training flashes by in a blur, complete with more grueling techniques from Blakely—aka Coach Wren—who seems to have spent her entire off-season enlisting Lawson to help her perfect more brutal ways to torture us on the ice. I'm seriously questioning my friendship with him after today.
But despite the ache in my muscles, there’s a deep sense of satisfaction being back on the ice in an official capacity. Sure, we've had plenty of pick-up games before this, but training is on a whole other level.
And I can’t say I’m sad to be walking to the locker room now, more than ready for a shower and a chill night on the couch catching up on true crime dramas with Monroe.
“No,” Clay’s voice rings in the hallway, and I spot him near the locker room doors, his phone to his ear and a scowl on his face. It’s not his normal scowl, but a truly agitated one. “You've got to be kidding me,” he says, now pacing next to the locker room door. “The guy tried to lift his skate. You would’ve laid him out too—” He abruptly cuts off, dropping his phone for a few seconds and pressing his lips together before raising it to his ear again. “That was last season. I can't believe we're still dealing with this.”
More Badgers are filing into the locker room, but I hang back. Clay and I aren't best friends, but we've been Badgers long enough to have developed a closeness. And I'd like to be here in case he needs to vent after whatever this phone call is leading to.