Right Man, Right Time (The Vancouver Agitators, #3)(40)

If Sarah will be there, this might be the perfect time to introduce Ollie to everyone. After all, this is why we’re doing this whole thing, right?





Silas: Hey, what are you doing this Saturday?

Ollie: I was planning to go on a long run. Why? Do you need something?

Silas: The team hosts a family skate welcome party before every season starts, and its Saturday. They make a big thing of it. Hot chocolate, s’mores, catered dinner. Wasn’t sure if you could make it?

Ollie: Of course I can. But there is one big problem.

Silas: Don’t tell me you don’t know how to skate.

Ollie: Guilty.

Silas: Jesus Christ.

Ollie: Uh, pardon me for not growing up on the ice like you. I spent my youth being teased . . . remember? The last thing I wanted to do was flop around on the ice.

Silas: Well . . . good thing you have me.

Ollie: Are you telling me you’re going to teach me how to skate in front of your entire organization and their family members? You understand how humiliated I’ll be if you make me use one of those kid walkers.

Silas: Consider it payback for donkey pervert.

Ollie: Listen here, mister. *points finger* You can’t use that anymore. Donkey pervert is off the table for negotiations.

Silas: I’ve barely used it.

Ollie: Well, this is your last time. No more.

Silas: Fine, but I think I’m getting the short end of the stick.

Ollie: The sooner you realize the world revolves around me, the better.

Silas: This is a partnership, not a dictatorship.

Ollie: Cute that you think that. Send me the deets and what I should wear. Slutty or non slutty. I have both covered.

Silas: It will be cold. Non slutty.

Ollie: Oh Silas, you truly have no idea about women, do you? Doesn’t have to be warm to be slutty. Let me ask you this. Will Sarah be there?

Silas: Yes.

Ollie: Slutty it is!





Silas: I’m here.

Ollie: Tucking my tits in. Give me a second.

Tucking her tits in? What the hell does that even mean? Do I want to know?

Probably not.

I lean my head against the headrest and let out a large sigh.

I’m fucking exhausted. Practice was brutal this week. Not sure if Coach was trying to prove something or if he’s not pleased about our performance, but I’m wiped out.

My legs are sore. My back is on fire. And after a heavy round of lifting, I feel like my upper body can barely move.

The last thing I want to do is skate around some more, but I know everyone will expect me to show up and bring Ollie. Pacey told me how excited Winnie is to meet her, which just adds to the pressure of it all.

And then there’s Ollie and what might come out of her mouth. I decided to have a friendly chat on our way to the arena about what we say and don’t say.

From the corner of my eye, I catch Ollie walking toward me, so I open the door for her from inside the car. It pops open, and she fully comes into view . . .

Jesus fuck, is she hot.

“What do you think?” she asks as she twirls in place, showing off her perfect ass and toned legs.

“Uh . . . good,” I say as my eyes float down to the low-cut crop top sweater she’s wearing. It shows off an abundance of cleavage while also offering a view of her toned stomach. Her leggings sparkle in the sunlight, and she paired them with fluffy white leg warmers that match her sweater or what little sweater she has. And then there’s her long, bouncy, and voluminous chestnut hair with the ends curled and curtain bangs framing her gorgeous face. Her green eyes stand out against the dark of her mascara, and her glossed, shiny lips pull my attention for a second longer than I care to admit.

“Just good?” she asks, then lifts her breasts. “I have cleavage in a crop top sweater. Do you know the kind of bra I had to wear to make this happen?”

“Something made of magic?” I ask as I stare at her round tits.

“Exactly, so I would appreciate a little more appreciation.”

Mouth dry, my eyes move from her stomach, back up to her tits—tits I wouldn’t mind fucking exploring—and up to her face, where I catch a smirk. “You look fucking hot,” I say.

“That’s much better,” she replies as she slips into my car and sets her mini backpack on her lap before buckling up. “So you approve of the outfit, then?”

“Yes,” I say, putting the car in drive and taking off.

“Then why do you seem all frowny?”

“Tired as fuck,” I say. “Sore. Hungry. Just irritable.”

“Oh, fun for me, especially since you’re supposed to teach me how to skate today.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t be grumpy when we get there.”

“Ah, so the grumpiness is just for me to experience.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Not like I need to impress you or anything. I already have a signed napkin stating you’re mine.”

“Something you should be grateful for.”

“Trust me, in that sweater, I’m very fucking grateful.”

I catch her smile and then turn to look out the window, clearly satisfied with that answer.

“So do we need to have a conversation about what’s appropriate to say in front of people?”

“No,” she groans. “I have it under control.”