Icing: A Seattle Sockeyes Puck Brothers Novel (The Scoring Series Book 4)

by Jami Davenport

  Ice clapped me on the shoulder, a rare brotherly gesture from him. I met his gaze. Usually, Ice’s eyes were as cold and unreadable as his nickname implied, but this time they were full of warmth and dancing with amusement. “You’re a good guy, Steele, and the team appreciates you. I’m betting your talent and your value as a team player will pay off well for you this year.”

  “Thanks.” I wondered if he knew something I didn’t. Even my agent wasn’t sure where I stood with the team, though we both assumed I was on solid ground. I’d like to know how much that ground was worth.

  Ice gave me a quick nod and strolled down the corridor and out the door leading to the parking garage. I watched him go and headed back home. I hadn’t achieved my goal of getting rid of Ziggy, so I’d have to go to Plan B. Whatever the fuck that was.

  Later that evening, I walked down the sidewalk a few blocks from my condo and hesitated at the door of the Blue Dog Bar. Unable to help myself, I peered inside.

  Cin was serving drinks to a table of rowdy patrons. I’d know that body anywhere, especially that ass of hers. I debated on whether or not to grace her with my unwanted presence two nights in a row. She hadn’t cooked for us tonight because she had to work. I was starving, and bar food sounded good.

  I pushed open the door and sauntered inside as if I dropped in every night, which might well happen. My being here was becoming a habit.

  Cin walked toward the bar with an empty tray and did a double take, surprised to see me. She stopped in front of me, wearing her sassy smile. I loved that smile. “Keep this up, and I’ll be considering you one of my regulars.”

  “Never happen,” I lied. I parked my ass on the same barstool I’d occupied last night. Damn, I had my own barstool. Next thing I knew, I’d have a stocking hung on the wall at Christmastime and a beer mug with my name on it. I shuddered at the thought. I’d never been one to hang out in bars or drink excessively, but I guess there was always room for improvement in that department. I was a beer connoisseur, and the Blue Dog did have a few good brews on tap.

  She didn’t ask me what I wanted. Instead, she poured an IPA and set it in front of me.

  “What if I wanted something else tonight?”

  One dark brow shot upward. “Do you?”

  “Uh, no,” I admitted.

  “Didn’t think so. You’re totally predictable and stuck in a rut.”

  Okay, I was offended. I was not stuck in a rut. I liked things my way, but that had nothing to do with ruts. “I am not.”

  She laughed, a surprisingly pleasant sound that warmed my heart even as it annoyed me. “But you are. Very much so. Ask any of your teammates. Do you suit up for every game in the exact same order?”

  “That’s not being stuck in a rut. That’s a hockey thing.”

  “I’ve heard hockey players are superstitious.”

  “I am not superstitious. I have a routine.”

  “Sure you do.” Her blue eyes lit up with mirth and her lush lips curled into a smile, which was a very sexy look on her.

  “I’m not superstitious. I don’t believe in that crap,” I countered because she would expect such a response, but I was distracted by those damn lips and not putting my all into it.

  “What do you believe in?”

  I blinked a few times, trying to get a bearing on the conversation and pry my dirty mind from the thoughts swirling in my head. “I believe that you can irritate the hell out of me faster than any woman I’ve ever met.”

  “Well, thank you. I work hard at getting under your skin.”

  I rolled my eyes and grabbed a menu from behind the bar. She scowled at me, and I grinned innocently at her. She didn’t like her space infringed on any more than I did.

  “I’ll take a burger and fries.”

  “A side salad would be healthier.”

  “What the fuck are you? My mother?”

  “Far from it.” Her amused laughter rang throughout the bar as she wrote down my order and placed it on the carousel in the opening to the kitchen.

  I turned when I heard someone slide onto the stool next to mine. The entire counter area was available. Why pick the one next to someone already sitting there? I liked my space. I scowled, hoping to drive the interloper away. Then groaned.

  The interloper was Ziggy, a very troubled and sober Ziggy.

  “Hi, Zig, the usual?”

  I shot Ziggy a quick look. So, he was a regular? Somehow that irritated me, as if I’d been left out of the loop.

  Ziggy nodded. “Yeah, and I’m starved.”

  “Got you covered.” Cin served him a beer and placed another order. She didn’t bother to ask what he wanted. She already knew. Now I was really steaming, which was nuts.

  “You been coming here often?” I asked as she left to take care of newcomers.

  “Yeah, I started coming here last year,” Ziggy answered, not in his usual booming voice filled with laughter but a much more subdued tone.

  “I had no idea you knew Cin before we were roommates.”

  “Oh, yeah, I’ve known her.”

  He must’ve read my expression because he shook his head. “I told you. Not like that. She’s shot me down every time.”

  “Good,” I blurted without thinking. I relaxed a little, even as I pondered why it mattered.

  Ziggy narrowed his gaze and studied me with a shrewdness I didn’t know he possessed. “Uh-huh.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You figure it out.” Ziggy signaled for another beer from Cin as she returned behind the bar.

  “I’m not overserving you. Just remember.”

  “I know, Mom. I know.”

  Cin winked at him and handed him a full glass. He grinned back at her. I shifted uncomfortably on my seat, feeling left out of this private exchange and more than a little out of sorts. I didn’t like the FOMO feeling their interaction gave me. They had a bond, and I was jealous of it, which was fucked up, in my estimation, and totally illogical. Why did I care? Better bonded that way than screwing each other’s brains out every night with me having to listen to them.

  Just the thought of those two naked together turned my stomach.

  “You okay?” Cin asked. With a start, I realized they were both staring at me.

  “Yeah, dude, you’re really pale.”

  “Uh, I’m fine.” My glower warned them not to go there and stopped further discussion of my well-being. I’d never admit imagining those two sleeping together had been the source of my distress.

  Cin hesitated, as if wanting to pry more extensively into my health, but I was saved by the bell. She set our orders in front of us, and I dug in. I hadn’t realized how starved I was. I might need a second burger before the night was over. I burned a lot of calories during an average day, even more once the season started.

  Ziggy and I were quiet other than the sounds of chewing and smacking lips. When we finished, Ziggy ordered another beer, and I ordered water. I leveled him with a disapproving glare. The guy drank too much. At least he wasn’t drinking hard liquor. I’d been around him enough to know that he got into trouble when shots were poured.

  “Three beers?”

  “Yeah, I’m pacing myself,” he said proudly as if that were something to be proud of. He read the disgust on my face and frowned. “You have a problem with my drinking?”

  “None of my business,” I muttered, even though Coach and Ice had made it my business. It was one thing to share a condo with him, another to attempt to curb his vices.

  “Good.” Ziggy was unusually grouchy for a guy who was perpetually joking and never took anything seriously but hockey. We sat in silence. I was brooding over the hand I’d been dealt, and Ziggy appeared to be pouting. I didn’t give a shit. I wasn’t his big brother. Hell, he was older than me.

  “You met with Coach,” Ziggy stated. I didn’t know if he was accusing me or merely stating a fact.

  “Yeah. How did you know?” I shot an annoyed glare in his direction.

  �
��One of the rookies I party with saw you go in there and told me.”

  “Oh.” I took a long pull on my beer and ordered another. I’d been drinking more lately. Wonderful, my new roommates had driven me to drink.

  “You want me gone.”

  I froze, realizing he’d given me an opening to express my unhappiness over the situation I’d been forced into. Only I didn’t take it for some reason. “Doesn’t matter. You’re staying.”

  He stared straight ahead, his jaw tight and his mouth set in a grim line. “I’ll leave if you want me gone. I understand.”

  I’d never seen Ziggy so serious, so down, so real. It threw me off my game and made it harder to play the injured party here. “You’re staying.”

  “Not because it’s your idea.”

  “What the fuck does it matter? The results are the same.”

  Ziggy wrapped his hands around the beer mug and stared at it as if it held the answers to the meaning of life. He didn’t take a drink, much to my surprise. “I don’t want to piss you off. I’ll try to do better.”

  “You will?”

  He glared at me, not liking my tone, and I didn’t blame him. I was being an ass, and we both knew it.

  “I like shit done my way. I value my privacy. I don’t like wild parties every day of the week in my condo.” I flinched at the grouchy self-righteous demands, but Ziggy didn’t argue.

  “Okay, wild parties only on Saturday nights.” He cocked his head at me and grinned, looking much more like the Ziggy I knew and avoided for the most part.

  “No parties any night of the week.”

  To his credit, Ziggy sobered quickly. “Okay.”

  “Good.” I wished he’d leave me to lust after Cin unobserved. I turned my attention to the baseball game on the TV over the bar, ignoring him. Any other guy would’ve taken the hint and dismissed himself from my company. I wasn’t known as the touchy-feely guy on the team. I liked my alone time and everyone knew it.

  “I need to stay on the team. I have people depending on me. I’ll do whatever I need to do.”

  Ziggy had people?

  I turned to him to ask questions, suddenly curious about this guy I thought I knew, but he slid off the barstool, tossed some bills on the counter, and headed for the door with shoulders slumped in defeat, a posture I’d never seen from him before.

  I watched him go and wondered who the guy was buried underneath his party-boy exterior. I prided myself on being perceptive and knowing things about people.

  Perhaps I’d completely misjudged him.

  Chapter Six

  Cleavage

  ~~Hyacinth~~

  The bar was quiet tonight. Some nights were like that. I wiped down a recently vacated table while I kept my eye on the guys at the bar. They’d finished their dinner and were talking in earnest.

  Ziggy stood abruptly and threw some bills on the table. He didn’t leave like he was mad, more like he was beaten down.

  Curious and concerned, I wandered back behind the bar to find out what had happened. Steele wasn’t exactly the most tactful person, and Ziggy was way more sensitive than he let on.

  “What was that all about?” My tone was full of censure because I was protective of Ziggy. By the way he left with his head down and shoulders drooping, Steele must’ve said something hurtful to him.

  Steele shrugged, his face his usual unreadable mask. “No idea.”

  “No idea? You must have some idea.” I bristled at the indifference I heard in his voice. “Doesn’t anyone matter to you but Steele Bailey?”

  “Of course people matter to me.” He glared defensively at me. At least I’d gotten a rise out him.

  “He’s hurting. You might want to cut him some slack and be a friend, rather than a critic.”

  “Hurting?” The idea of Ziggy showing real emotion other than partying like a rock star seemed beyond his comprehension. Steele’s obtuseness irritated me. Was he really that clueless about others?

  “Yes, hurting.”

  “How?”

  “I’m really not sure what’s going on with him, but if I knew, I’m not going to break any confidences.”

  “Then how do you know he’s hurting?”

  “Because he drowns his sorrows and problems in alcohol instead of coping with them.”

  Steele frowned at me, and I saw him working through what I’d said. I tamped down my annoyance and followed my own advice. I cut Steele some slack.

  “How do you know this shit?” He might be a nitpicky tight-ass, but deep down he was a good guy and a loyal friend. He would do the right thing if I steered him in the right direction.

  “I just know things. I’m perceptive.”

  “So am I, and I didn’t pick up on any of what you’re saying.” I got the distinct impression he was offended.

  “Then you’re not as perceptive as you thought you were.”

  “You don’t really know me.”

  I shrugged. The idea of Steele being perceptive and having the ability to know things was a foreign concept to me. He didn’t seem the type who would be in touch with himself enough to “know” things.

  Then again, such assumptions made me a hypocrite. I was treating Steele exactly how I accused him of treating Ziggy.

  “I am perceptive. Ask Axel or Kaden or Easton.” For some reason, my accusation really bothered him.

  “Then why don’t you try understanding Ziggy a little better?”

  Steele scowled. He didn’t like me calling him out. Not one bit. Even irritated as I was, I noticed once again how fucking sexy and badass his scowl was. It hardened the features of his chiseled face and gave him that untouchable vibe that compelled most women to touch him. But then, I wasn’t most women.

  I left him to ponder what I’d revealed and hustled to take the drink order of a couple who’d walked in a minute ago. Steele seemed disturbed by our conversation about his lack of perception. I must’ve stomped on a truth he’d held about himself.

  I filled the couple’s drink order, cleaned, and bussed a few tables. Steele was still sitting there watching the Skookums baseball game. I noticed he’d finished his beer.

  “Would you like another?” I half expected him to ask for the check and get away from me.

  He glanced down at the empty glass and back at me. “Yeah, why not?”

  “Oh, taking a risk tonight?”

  “I’m not driving,” he pointed out.

  After pouring a cold one, I pushed it across the counter, then I bent over the sink to cut up a lime. When I glanced up, he was staring at me, and the expression on his face was positively feral. And hot as fuck.

  He was getting a good view of my cleavage. Not that I didn’t always show cleavage and thigh because, well, tips, but this particular tank was a little lower than most and bending over really made the girls strain to be set free. Steele had definitely noticed.

  I met his gaze. Passion flared in his eyes, turning them from their usual cool gray to the hot gray coals of a good campfire. My lady parts responded in kind, begging for a little satisfaction.

  I’d been avoiding this man at the condo we shared, even though I was hyperaware of him sleeping in the room down the hall. I couldn’t avoid him now, so I opted for my usual snark and sass.

  “Are you wondering if my nipples are pierced or not?” I cocked one hip and rested a hand on my waist in a pose meant to entice and torture. I hit my mark. His gaze dropped back to my cleavage as if he couldn’t help it, which I’m guessing he couldn’t. He was a guy in his early twenties. If I had to guess, sex and hockey were pretty much all he thought about, even though I’d expected more of him. If I were being honest, I was slightly disappointed he’d fallen into the mold of most men. I wanted Steele to be different.

  He cocked his head and smirked, not bothered by my remark meant to embarrass him. “What do you think?” His voice was low and husky, like sandpaper sliding across rough wood. One lock of dark hair fell over his forehead, daring to escape from the perfection that was Steele.


  Nope, he wasn’t different than any other man, except that I wanted him more than any guy I’d ever met. I flexed my fingers and resisted the urge to brush that lone lock back into place.

  “I think…” I stopped then decided WTF, I might as well jump in with both feet. “I think I’d like to know if your cock is as big as your bulge indicates.”

  Startled, he glanced down quickly at his crotch and back to me. Then he laughed. I couldn’t see his crotch, but I’d figuratively caught him with his pants down.

  “That would be bulging ego,” I clarified.

  “Right.” He snorted but sobered quickly. He looked away, as if gathering mental strength. “You know we can’t do this.”

  “Do I?” The devil in me toyed with him and was rewarded with another scowl. He was such a grump, a very hot AF grump.

  “It’d be awkward, sharing the same condo. I’m not a relationship kind of guy.” He didn’t sound any more convinced than I was, but I decided to go along.

  “I’m not a relationship kind of girl.”

  “This is complicated.” His gaze slipped to my cleavage again. He didn’t appear to have the willpower to stop sneaking peeks.

  “There’s nothing complicated about it. I want you. You want me. Easy.”

  “I think we’d be better if we kept our hands off each other.” This time his convictions appeared stronger based on the stubborn set of his square jaw.

  Damn this guy’s strong sense of right and wrong. Didn’t he ever just screw for the fun of it?

  “Have it your way.” He’d never know it, but my pride was wounded. Did he think I wasn’t good enough for him or what? Well, I didn’t need him either. He’d just be another fuck. Nothing special. Nothing memorable.

  I was fine without him.

  Chapter Seven

  Smart Mouth

  ~~ Steele~~

  I didn’t see Cin for the next few days. She was constantly at work or gone to one of her many volunteer activities, and I stayed away from the bar. My going to the bar couldn’t become a habit. It was too dangerous.