Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“Did you miss dinner in the caf?”
She shakes her head. “It’s complicated.”
He’s about to argue that there’s nothing at all complicated about eating your fill in the dining hall. But then he has a thought. Maybe he’s not the only one on a coach’s training plan. “Are you snacking in secret?”
She crosses her arms in front of that perfect chest. “My coach and I don’t see eye to eye on my calorie count right now.” She waves her hand toward the machine. “Can you do your macho thing, or should I take another crack at it?”
He looks Zoe up and down, but not in a sleazy way. In an assessing way. “You’re, what, a hundred and ten pounds? And you skated for ten hours today? I don’t get it.”
“You really aren’t from around here, are you? An ice princess has to be pencil thin and still jump like a kangaroo.”
Jesus. “Okay, Ice Princess. But crackers aren’t the answer. You’re not thinking big enough. No half measures.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and scrolls to a number he’d been saving to bribe his campers. “What don’t you like on pizza?”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
“Pizza? You’ve heard of it?” He taps the number. “Quick, what don’t you like?”
“Uh, mushrooms?”
“No way. Me too!” He grins.
“But I can’t carry a pizza into the dorm. There are spies everywhere.”
He studies her again, thinking how sad that is. But how believable. “I can, though. Hello? Hi. Yes. Can you deliver to Filbert Hall, entryway F? Cool. A large pie with meatballs, pepperoni, and maybe olives?” He glances at Zoe.
She nods quickly.
“Yup, olives. Thanks, my dude. Actually—double that order. I have some hungry friends. Thirty-five minutes? Okay, I’ll be waiting outside.” He ends the call. “You’ll meet me on the roof, all right?” He’s actually giddy about this plan. A private party for two.
“On the roof?” she repeats skeptically. “What if it’s locked?”
“It’s not. I scoped it out already. There’s even lawn chairs up there because I’m not the only fun person with big ideas.”
Her eyes widen. Suddenly, the urge to kiss her is overwhelming. But he turns to the vending machine instead. “Stand back, little lady. I’m going to get your horrible crackers now.”
She snorts. “It’ll be really funny if this doesn’t work.”
It might not, but Chase doesn’t actually care. He’s got her full attention and he’s loving every minute of it. He takes three steps back, raising his arms into a kung fu stance. Or at least as much of one as a guy can learn from Keanu in The Matrix. Then, with a highly comical shout, he does a spinning move before firmly hip-checking the vending machine.
The crackers drop neatly into the slot below.
He lets out a war whoop. “Save ’em for tomorrow,” he says, heading for the door. “Because we got a pizza on the way. Meet me on the roof in thirty-five.”
Feeling like he could run another seven miles just on the glow of winning a private hour of Zoe’s company, Chase takes off without a backward glance. He has very little time to shower and change into a T-shirt in the exact shade of blue that makes all the girls coo over his eyes.
But if he had looked back, he would have seen Zoe watching him with a dazzled expression on her young face.
Chapter 7
Present Day
I’m aware that most women my age don’t leave home the way I did—by leaving a vague note about my New York plans on Mom’s kitchen table and sneaking out of town with my clothes and skating gear.
That’s what I did, though. My overbearing mother was on a business trip to Paris, and my stealthy exit bought me a five-day reprieve from her probing questions and sharp comments.
But now I know the exact moment she arrives back home in Massachusetts, because that’s when she starts blowing up my phone.
Zoe, what have you done.
New York? Really?
Which team? Brooklyn?
It’s not HIS team, is it?
It’s only eight thirty a.m., and there’s no way she’ll leave me alone unless I talk to her. So I sit back down on the mattress—my only piece of furniture—and I call her.
“Zoe!” she gasps when she answers the phone. “Where are you?”
“In my new apartment,” I say crisply. “I got a job, as I mentioned.”
“This job,” she sniffs. “Is it full-time? With benefits? Was there a signing bonus? New York is expensive. Is there corporate housing? Where did you find to live in such a hurry?”
I glance around my tiny, drafty New York apartment and flinch. If she could see this place, I’d never hear the end of it. “I signed a lease. The building is close to the Legends’ headquarters.”
She gasps again.
I roll my eyes. “Mom, that’s who was hiring. What do you care which team it is?”
“Because of him. He destroyed you.”