Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
She swallows hard. “I know I’ll never make the Olympics. I’m too old.”
I bring in my brows. “That’s not true. How old are you?”
“Fourteen.”
I wave her off. “I went at eighteen, and I’m sure you know Jett. He only had four years before he went.”
She chews on her lip. “But that’s because of you. You were so talented, it made him look good.”
I snort at that, and even though I am two seconds from hiding his body in the woods my mother loves so much, I admit, “While I appreciate the praise, Jett was actually extremely talented and worked really hard to complement me on the ice. If anything, I skated so well because of him.”
My parents would argue that till they’re blue in the face, but I know the truth.
We wouldn’t have won without each other.
Her eyes widen at that. “Really? Dad always says it’s because of you.”
I smile. “Really. Just like Jett, you’re a natural.”
Skyye’s eyes fill with hope. “So, you think…”
Her voice trails off, and I shrug.
“I think if you work for it, you could make it.”
“But if not, think I can skate for Disney on Ice?”
I grin widely. “Oh, that’s a given.”
Skyye’s whole body lights up, and when she gives a little wiggle of excitement, my heart sings. It’s moments like these that fill my cup. I never thought I wanted to coach when I was younger, but it truly is my calling.
When her gaze moves past me, I turn to see Dean Moore standing at the entrance by the glass. Dean has always been a handsome guy; he was a heartthrob when we were younger, and no one could ever lock him down. He has shaggy reddish-brown hair with the lightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. He’s massive, but then, everyone is bigger than me. Even twenty years later, he’s as handsome as he was when we were kids, all sharp angles to his face and a proud nose. Beside me, Skyye waves, and he smiles, waving back, admiration in his eyes for his girl.
When his eyes fall on me, I smile and then say to Skyye, “Why don’t you go through the series we just went over, and I’ll go talk to your dad?”
“You’ll take me on?” she asks, so hopeful, I’m breathless.
“Yup, you’re stuck with me,” I say, squeezing her shoulder. “I’ll be back.”
I skate toward the boards where the door is and open it with more force than I should have to. If the boards were replaced, then I wouldn’t have this problem.
Damn Jett.
I plaster on my customer-service smile as I step out onto the padding that needs to be replaced too. I’ll just add that to the endless list that I’ll fight Jett on. Dean’s smile steals my attention as I come up to him. To my surprise, he pulls me in for a tight hug. I’ve seen him three times now at the Belles’ games, so I’m unsure why he’s hugging me this time.
He pulls back, holding my biceps. His hands are big, warm, and when I look up into his blue gaze, gratitude swirls in his blue depths. “I haven’t seen her smile like that in a long time.”
My lips curve into a real smile. “She’s a great kid.”
He nods in agreement. “She’s my world.” His devotion is beautiful.
Breathless, I say, “She wants to work with me, and I want the same, if that’s okay with you.”
He doesn’t even have a chance to answer me, though, as the rink door flies open, crashing into the wall. Before I can add that to my list of things that need fixing, my gaze falls on a very bare-chested, very angry Jett. He prowls toward us, his brows furrowed and his fists clenched at his sides. His chest is a masterpiece of all kinds of colors, and I want so badly to examine each part of him. I knew he was tatted, but hot damn, he’s a work of art. His chest is wide, thick, and even without the abs he had when we were younger, he’s mouthwatering. I tear my eyes from his chest to take in his shorts and his hockey socks that go up to his knees. He has no shoes on, and I don’t know why he looks like he’s about to lose his cool.
It isn’t until he reaches out, removing each of Dean’s hands, that I cock my head to the side.
Wait, does he not want Dean touching me?
Surely that’s not it.
But when Dean only laughs, shaking his head, he tells Jett, “Cool it, JT.” He continues to laugh, but Jett doesn’t, and I’m too shocked to move. “We’re talking about Skyye.”
“Don’t need to touch her for that.”
I gawk up at him and, without thinking, I ask, “Why does it matter if he touches me or not?”
Jett turns his heated gaze on me, his eyes searching mine. “Because I said so.”