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)
The blond steps over the velvet rope and Atlas gives me a pointed look. “I’ve got this.”
Atlas meets the woman just a few feet from our table. She beams a smile at him, then looks to me and her eyes lock with mine. “Hi, North,” she purrs, her voice dripping with a kind of practiced flirtation that sets my teeth on edge. “I am your biggest fan. You played amazing tonight.” And then, as if she forgot Atlas was right there, she says, “And you did too, of course. I just love you both.”
I lift my chin and smile politely while Atlas runs interference. “Want a picture?” he asks, turning his body to stand beside her so she can do a selfie.
She gushes appreciation. “That would be awesome. Can North get in on this too?”
She asks this of Atlas, ignoring Farren. From the corner of my eye, I can’t see her expression, but her body language is as relaxed as it’s been all night.
“Sure,” I say and meander over to stand beside Atlas. That’s not good enough for the blond and she rearranges us so she’s in the middle.
I do the Keanu Reeves move, which I’ve always found to be classy as hell, and refuse to put my arm around her. Instead, I hold it out and away from her, although Atlas has no compunction about slipping his around the woman’s waist. I’d like to say he’s doing that to take the heat off me, but I wouldn’t put it past Atlas to try for her phone number.
The woman snaps a few selfies, tilting her head and pouting her lips. “Thank you so much,” she says when she’s done, and I return to Farren’s side.
The blond lingers, her gaze darting between me and Atlas. “Are you sure you don’t want to hang out for a bit? I’d love to buy you guys a drink.”
It’s an offer we’ve heard before and is no big deal, but in this instance it’s rude since Farren is clearly with me. I resist the urge to drape my arm over her shoulders, afraid she might elbow me in the ribs.
Atlas smoothly lets her down. “Actually… we’re sort of in the middle of something.” He nods to me and Farren. “But thank you for the offer.”
The woman pouts but eventually saunters off, her hips swinging like she’s trying to put on a show. As soon as she’s out of earshot, Atlas bursts into laughter as he comes back to the table.
“Classic puck bunny,” he says, shaking his head.
“Puck bunny?” Farren asks, although her tone suggests she knows what Atlas is referring to.
Atlas nods, eager to explain. “It’s what we call women who want to get themselves a hockey player. They’re everywhere. Dressed to get attention. Looking for the hookup and hoping it leads to more. Women like her are a dime a dozen.”
Farren doesn’t smile. In fact, her eyes look at little heated. “Yes, I know exactly what a puck bunny is. And yet I only heard her offer to buy you a drink. Maybe that’s all she wanted.”
I frown at Farren, defending the woman who clearly had eyes for both me and Atlas, her intent clear. “Didn’t it bother you she was coming on to us in front of you?”
Farren scoffs. “I couldn’t care less if she came on to Atlas, but as for you, again… I only heard an offer for a drink.”
“That she made with you standing there,” I point out, incredulous I have to state that it was inappropriate.
Atlas nods gravely. “She was looking to score with one of us, Farren. Trust me… this happens all the time.”
“Maybe so, but I find it a little distasteful that you have names for women and they’re the butt of your jokes.”
My frown deepens. “We don’t mean anything by it. And it’s an inside joke only.”
“It doesn’t sound like a joke,” she says, her eyes flashing. “It sounds like a bunch of guys ganging up on someone who probably just likes hockey.”
“Farren, come on,” I start, but she shakes her head.
“It’s fine,” she says, but her tone makes it clear it’s not.
Atlas looks between us, his grin fading. “I’m gonna grab another drink,” he mumbles, slipping away to give us space.
I reach for her hand and I don’t care if that crosses a line with her. She tries to pull away, but I hold tight. “Hey, I wasn’t trying to be mean to that woman. In fact, you saw we were both being polite. It’s just that there are people who aren’t genuine, and we’ve seen it a lot. But you’re right. That doesn’t mean we should make fun of them. I’m sorry, and I’m even more sorry it bothered you.”
She exhales, her shoulders drooping as she gives me a tepid but apologetic smile. “No, I’m sorry.” She huffs out frustration that I believe is self-directed. “I don’t know why I’m so sensitive. I clearly saw she was flirting. I just don’t like the whole ‘us versus one’ thing. It reminds me of…” She trails off, clearly lost in a memory that I’m guessing wasn’t very good. But she shakes her head and gives my hand a squeeze. “Never mind. I was being overly sensitive.”