Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 53034 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53034 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
I sigh dramatically, hoping she might take a hint. She doesn’t.
“Ladies, I hope you don’t mind,” a deep voice says in a playful tone.
I pull the hood of my hoodie up over my head and tug on the strings to tighten it. Lucien continues.
“My buddy is thinking about using a pickup line on a woman, and I told him it’s too cheesy. Since you’re even more beautiful than she is, I was wondering if you could tell me whether it would work on you.”
The woman next to me giggles as I grimace, trying to keep my focus on the game I’m playing. Careless men are picking women up at bars around the world at this very moment, and I can’t stop it from happening. I need to stay focused on myself, and where the hell is my dad?
Lucien clears his throat. “Hey girl, is your name Anesthesia? Because you’re a knockout.”
The three women burst out laughing like it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever heard. I audibly groan, but no one notices.
“I mean, if it was you trying that line on me, it would definitely work,” the woman next to me says.
I turn to look at her. She’s maybe twenty-one, with long blond hair and an overeager smile.
“You’re so familiar to me.” She’s breathless with excitement now. “Where do I know you from?”
“Are you a model? I did a magazine thing last year and there were some models in it.”
She blushes, basking in his compliment. “No, I’m a nursing student.”
“If you need to practice mouth-to-mouth, I volunteer.” He grins wickedly and she laughs again.
“Are you a hockey fan?” he asks.
“I’m a massive fan. Oh my god, wait ... Are you ... Lucien Beaumont?”
There’s a smile in his voice as he replies. “I am. And you are ...?”
“Gullible.” I turn on my stool and look Lucien in the eye. “How many times have you picked a woman up with that stupid line?”
His brows shoot up in surprise. One of the blonde’s friends, a brunette with bright-red lipstick, glares daggers at me.
“Who invited you into the conversation?”
“I’m trying to look out for her, which you should be doing.” I look at the blonde. “You’re disposable to him. You deserve someone who isn’t picking up a different woman every night.”
Lucien is scowling, mentally calling me a cockblocker. “I’m sorry, who are you? Are you just some random person inserting yourself into other people’s business because some guy stood you up?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “No one stood me up.”
“Right, because look at you.” Red Lipstick sneers at me. “You’re wearing a nasty hoodie with a stain on it and you look like you’re in the middle of a bender. Instead of being jealous of other women, go take a shower and locate your dignity.”
Her words make me recoil, my temper igniting.
“I’m the one who needs to locate my dignity?”
“Ladies.” Lucien puts his hands out in a calming gesture.
“Now I know what we’ve been smelling since we got here,” Red Lipstick says. “She’s living proof that not all incels are men.”
“Okay, bitch.” I slide off my stool, the flare of anger in my chest the strongest feeling of any kind I’ve had in months.
“Hey, don’t,” Lucien says gently, putting a hand on my shoulder to keep me from charging toward Red Lipstick.
“Beaumont, why the hell are you touching my daughter?”
I know that voice very well, but I’m not used to it being so lethally calm. My father, the coach of the Cleveland Crush, is far more furious than I am right now.
Lucien’s hand flies away from me like I’m on fire and he’s getting burned.
“Coach, I’m sorry.” His swagger is long gone as the apology spills out of him. “I didn’t know she was—”
“You’re at a bar trying to pick women up? After that piss-poor performance tonight? You should be back at the rink practicing—or sleeping. But instead, you’re here touching my daughter.”
I’d forgotten how much fear Noel Turner instills in his players. He was once a pro hockey player himself, and even though he’s forty-seven, I’d still put my money on him in any fight. He’s six foot two and he and Lucien are eye to eye.
“I’m sorry,” Lucien repeats, a couple of his teammates coming over to stand behind him. He looks at me. “I’m very sorry.”
“Hey, Talia,” Carter Stanton says, nodding at me.
“Hi.”
I haven’t seen him in years, but he’s a longtime Crush player, and we’ve been at the same functions a few times when I was still in college. Since I graduated three years ago, I’ve been in San Francisco, and I haven’t made it back for many games or events.
“This was a misunderstanding, Coach,” Carter says, stepping forward so he’s beside Lucien. “Lucy’s gonna go home now, right?”
Lucien nods. “That’s right. I’m going home, and again, I’m sorry, Coach.”
I’m not smiling outwardly, but I’m enjoying his discomfort. A lot.