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“Eat up,” I order, ending this conversation of Weston’s idiocy. “So, you can go home and plan your wedding.”
Hollyn chuckles, and it volleys over the table, warming the inside of my veins. She’s so damn carefree and otherworldly that I can honestly say I’ve never met a female like her before.
Being a professional hockey player comes with its share of groupies. I’m not a huge fan of one-night stands with fans; however, sometimes, a woman is undemanding enough with my status that I allow myself a few hours to take her to her hotel room.
Then I split.
But it’s been a while, and maybe that’s why I’m so pent up.
“Have you ever been married?” Hollyn suddenly asks me, and I almost choke on the bite of burger I just swallowed.
There she goes again.
I’m not that interesting, but maybe it’s because I don’t give anything away, and I’m like one of those books that she reads.
“Do I look like I’ve been married?”
She lifts her shoulders. “I don’t know. What does that look like?”
“You tell me,” I shoot back because it should be obvious enough. If I had a woman, I wouldn’t be here doing this and getting interrogated by some redhead with a brain that doesn’t shut down for one second.
“Well, I know you don’t have cats,” she presumes randomly. “And there could’ve been that one that got away.”
“You read too much,” I accuse with an unwavering glare. “When do you eat and just be quiet?”
“Never.” She says it as though she doesn’t give a fuck what I think or say about the manner. Hollyn is going to give it to me straight each and every time. She’s going to tell me how she is and isn’t. “That’s the whole point of eating a meal with someone else, Reid. You talk.”
“I eat.”
She smirks at me through nibbles of her grilled cheese, and I don’t know why this thought won’t fuck off, but she’s adorably hot.
Like I will show you everything I like to do with a woman when I’m alone with her hot. I know that red hair offers some little wildness to her. It’s embedded in her DNA. She’ll read half a romance novel by the time we’re done with practice, and I’m not sure why that’s a detail I pick up, but my gaze runs over to her sometimes.
She never moves.
Never looks up.
She doesn’t notice anything until one of the kids starts crying, then she’s on her shit.
Hollyn is something else altogether.
“Fine, big man,” she concurs softly. “We’ll eat and you can drive me home.”
Thank fuck.
HOLLYN
REID: Get packed up. We’re going to New Brunswick.
Is this the part of the movie where he kills me?
I’ve been on Reid’s nerves since last night when he agreed to my proposal, but I didn’t force him to do it. My negotiating skills are on par, and after two upset kids and two sets of parents wondering how it’s even possible that they’d cry after a practice, Reid has been sending me scowls and boring daggers at me for keeping him here.
Oh well.
He could be cleaning toilets at a high school instead of doing this, for all I know. I’m certain this is the safer bet and he’ll need to get over it.
HOLLYN: I don’t get into cars with strangers who want to randomly take me on a road trip.
