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)
I ease into his reserved spot, cutting the engine. The parking garage is quiet, a few other players’ cars still scattered around. I see a text from North that says he’ll be out in a few minutes and decide to scroll through my phone to kill time.
Job hunting today was… something. I hit up a bunch of bars I’d researched, dropped off a few applications and even had one impromptu interview. The manager offered me a position on the spot, but I told him I needed to think about it. The truth is the thought of stepping back behind a bar is daunting. It’s not that I hate bartending, I’m just tired of it. The hours, the grind, the endless small talk—it’s all starting to feel like a rut.
Funny how I never felt that way before, but it seems since meeting North, nothing is the same.
About fifteen minutes later, North emerges from the arena, his hair damp from the shower, a gym bag slung over his shoulder. His Titans-branded hoodie stretches across his broad shoulders, and he looks every bit the professional athlete, which still messes with my head sometimes. He’s just North to me—a mix of maddening and irresistible—but seeing him like this reminds me he’s also a big deal to thousands of people.
He opens the passenger door and tosses his bag in the back seat of the extended cab before he starts to climb into the passenger side.
“Nope,” I say, stopping him as I pop open the driver’s door. “You’re driving. I’m done wrestling this thing for the day.”
He smirks but doesn’t argue, stepping back as I hop out. We meet in front of the truck, and as we pass each other, he catches my arm and pulls me in for an unexpected kiss that curls my toes.
When he lifts his head, he asks, “How’d the job hunt go?”
The late-afternoon chill bites at my cheeks, and I pull my coat tighter around me. The underground garage is cold but not unbearable.
“Fine,” I say with a shrug.
North’s brow furrows. “That’s not exactly a glowing review. What’s up?”
“Nothing,” I snap, brushing past him and heading to the passenger side.
The sound of a door opening nearby catches my attention, and I glance up to see Atlas and Foster emerging from the arena. Foster tosses a puck up and down in one hand while Atlas struggles to balance a cup of coffee and a bag of gear.
“North! You driving Miss Daisy home?” Foster teases with a smirk, nodding toward me.
“Something like that,” North replies, shooting him a mock glare. “Try not to spill coffee all over your car this time, Atlas.”
“Don’t hate me because I’m a multitasker,” Atlas retorts, lifting his cup hand in a partial wave before the two disappear into the rows of parked vehicles.
North opens the driver’s door. “You’re not getting off that easy. There is something, and we’re going to talk about it.”
I sigh, pulling open the passenger door and sliding into the seat, the plush leather cool against my legs. The faint smell of North’s cologne lingers in the cab, mingling with the subtle pine air freshener dangling from the mirror. He settles into his seat and turns to face me, his expression soft but insistent.
“What happened?” he presses, his hands dropping to my thigh where he squeezes it gently.
“I got a job offer.” I fidget with the seat belt. “I’m just not sure I want it.”
He studies me as if he’s trying to read between the lines. “Why not?”
I hesitate, the words knotting in my throat. It’s not that I don’t want to tell him—I just don’t know how to explain it in a way that doesn’t sound ungrateful or aimless.
“It’s just…” I start, but my voice trails off.
He doesn’t rush me. Instead, he shifts into a more relaxed position, his elbow resting on the center console, his fingers drumming lightly. The steady rhythm is almost soothing.
“I have an idea,” he says, calm but encouraging. “Let’s go for a walk by the river.”
I snort, rolling my eyes. “It’s freezing out there.”
“Stop being a baby. You’re a Canadian. I’m sure you’ll survive.”
North jumps out of the truck and with a groan, I follow suit. I meet him at the rear of the truck, buttoning up my coat. “You’re seriously dragging me out into the cold to talk about this?”
“Yep,” he says, grabbing my hand and leading me through the garage and back into the arena. The front lobby doors on the opposite side of the building sit adjacent to the river walk and is the straightest course to reach our objective. “Because whatever’s going on in that head of yours is worth freezing my ass off for.”
A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. There’s something about North’s determination that’s both infuriating and endearing. Maybe a walk by the river isn’t the worst idea after all.