Ice Hot

by Tracy Goodwin

  “You were used by an asshole jock when you were sixteen, Serena. It doesn’t mean they’re all bad. Besides, Evan Asshole was a lacrosse player. Is that even considered to be an actual sport?”

  “It is to my parents.” The thought of Evan Asshole makes me want to puke. It’s a reaction I get every time I think of him. Or see him. Another reason to avoid my parents. Not only is he employed by my dad, but they spend a lot of time together after hours. My mother and father love the smarmy son of a bitch and treat him like the son they never had. Of course, they do have a son, my brother Lucas, but his being gay disappointed them. So did I, in more ways than I can count. At least they have Evan Asshole. My parents put the fun in dysfunctional in a snooty country-club way.

  Becca leans against the back of her high-end barstool upholstered in a crisp shade of white linen. “Tell me more about Christian the good jock.”

  “He’s a total turn-on. That body, that smile, and those eyes—a smoky brownish gold with green flecks that mesmerize me. That cover didn’t do him justice. He’s so much hotter in person. Christian also seems nice, which is weird. I wouldn’t expect that of him. He’s tough, and passionate, and gentle, and so much more. But what turns me on the most is that I turn him on. Talk about superficial.” I shake my head. I’m not this girl.

  “You’re not superficial. What you are is someone who deserves a guy who’s into you. Evan Asshole—when did that become his last name, by the way?” Becca pauses, but can’t seem to remember. Neither can I. At some point in time, Evan Thurman became Evan Asshole, or Asshole for short. “Never mind. Asshole influenced how you trusted for years. You’re a woman, and women are just as sexual as men. If you’re into Christian, no one should stand in your way.”

  “I told him I don’t do one-night stands, but everything he did…I had no idea it could feel like that.” Heat burns my cheeks again and I turn toward the sink, hand-washing my mug while Becca waits. She is used to me multitasking and knows that I’m working through something. “He could have gone all the way. I wanted it. So did he, based upon his erection. Yet, he respected me enough not to go further. He asked me to dinner, tomorrow. Said he’d earn my trust.”

  “Sounds like you already trust him.” Becca waits for me to answer.

  I blow a lock of hair from my eye, turning to my friend as I dry my hands with a kitchen towel. “No. But I want to trust him. Amazing, right? Then I had to go all teen crush and cyber-stalk him when I got back. Now, I’m comparing myself to every model he’s been photographed with, while my inner snark tells me to shut the fuck up because I’m a goddess no matter my size. I’ve lost my mind, haven’t I? You can tell me. I’m a big girl—I can take it.”

  Though I didn’t mean to use the word big, it slipped out. Becca and I burst out laughing. Hunched over the island, I laugh so hard that I begin to tear. “Welcome back, sanity. I’ve missed you.”

  Becca hoots. “You are back!”

  Yes, I am. “Why am I stressing so much? Christian either calls me or he doesn’t. If he doesn’t, at least I had the best orgasm of my life; if he does, who the hell knows what the future will bring? This is no instant love. I can live with him or without him. My life would probably be less complicated without him.”

  “The best orgasm? Seriously, Serena?” A male voice—my brother’s voice—drifts from the stairs across the open room. “I didn’t want to hear that.”

  “And I want to hear all about it,” Lucas’s husband, Charlie, chimes in.

  “Ew, no. That’s my sister.” Lucas runs up the stairs. “I’m gonna shower and pretend she’s still a virgin.”

  Charlie runs in the opposite direction, straight to me and Becca. “As tempting as a shower is, I’m staying right here. Tell me all about the hockey god. He didn’t seem your type.”

  “He’s not,” Becca and I blurt in unison. We start laughing again, while Charlie arches his chestnut brow, surveying us like we’ve lost our minds. My cell rings.

  “Unknown number.” Becca reaches for my phone. I try to stop her, but I’m too far away. “You’ve reached Serena Ellis’s cell. Who are you, unknown caller?”

  Her lips form in a wide “oh” as she listens to the person on the other line. “Why hello, Christian. Is Serena here? I’ll have to look. She’s in high demand, you know. Clothing lines, launch parties, wheeling and dealing—”

  “Shut up,” I mouth, all but tackling her as I pry my cell out of her hands.

  Charlie places his palm over her lips. Though he’s joking, both remain silent.

  Completely mortified, I say good morning to Christian. “Sorry about Becca. She skipped her meds this morning.” Oh, shit. Was that even funny?

  “How are you?” His rich baritone immediately puts me at ease.

  “I’m…” Becca and Charlie lean into me, and I excuse myself. “I’m going to my room. Give me a second, okay?”

  Something tells me this is not a conversation I should have in front of my brother-in-law, no matter how enthusiastic he may be about my sex life. I hustle up the stairs, then turn the lock on the door to my guest room. “Hi.” My words are breathy, not because I’m out of shape, but because Christian awakens my senses, and my body responds to him, even if it is just the sound of his voice.

  “Is this awkward? Should I not have called?” He sounds worried. As if I make him feel off-balance. Maybe I do. The possibility puts me more at ease.

  “I’m glad you called.” It’s true. I feel centered knowing he reached out to me, like myself again, not the angst-ridden tween questioning everything about herself.

  He sighs into the phone. “I’ve been thinking about last night.” He’s not the only one, though I keep that information to myself. “With you heading back to Manhattan soon, I don’t want to wait until tomorrow. Are you free for dinner tonight?”

  I run my hands through my hair and drop my cell. It thuds on the polished hardwood and slides under the bed. “Crap!” Flattening myself on the floor, I stretch for my phone, but it is out of my reach by less than an inch. “Seriously?”

  The sexiest man I know has asked me on a date, and I can’t reach my damn iPhone. Quick—it’s MacGyver time—I consider what I can use to retrieve my phone. I run to the closet and grab a hanger, tossing a dress on the bed before planting myself on the floor again. By the time I manage to grab my phone, I’m sure Christian has hung up. “Are you still there?”

  There’s a long pause, then he says with a hint of humor, “You could have said no. You didn’t have to go to all that trouble to avoid me.”

  “I’m sorry. Now you know one of my flaws—I’m a klutz.” I bury my face with my free hand. “I’m making a fool of myself, aren’t I?”

  “I like that flaw. It’s one we share, right?”

  “The Slurpee.” He’s right. “I guess we have something in common after all.”

  “I want to know what else we have in common,” he murmurs into the phone before adding, “Differences are okay, too. You never gave me an answer about dinner. Are you free?”

  “Tonight? Yes.” I can’t hide my smile. I’m certain Christian can hear it in my voice. “But, only if I get back to work. I’ve got designs to discuss with my team, must finish updating my company’s website, and have a launch to organize. A very nice and incredibly talented artist has entrusted me with his most prized work. I’ve got to do right by him and make my line based upon his art successful. A lot is riding on this. So, later then?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Don’t let me interrupt your genius at work.” His words are emphasized for dramatic effect, especially the word genius. He sounds both impressed and amused, with the most adorable hitch at the end of his remarks. I imagine him smiling, maybe stifling a laugh. The thought causes my insides to flutter a bit. After a pause, he adds, “Should I pick you up?”

  Christian. Here. With my friends without filters and my brother play
ing the role of mother hen? And not just any mother hen, but one who is an attorney and will cross-examine anyone he thinks is interested in me? “That’s okay. I’ll drive. I have your address.”

  “I’ll text you a different address. How about seven? And don’t wear a sexy dress or shorts. Jeans will work. Something casual that covers you up.”

  Something that covers me up. “You’ve got it,” I manage, trying not to sound as disappointed as I feel.

  “It’s best.” He exhales, a husky sigh that makes me melt. “I don’t know if I can control myself if you wear another sexy dress. Now, get back to work already. I want to see you at seven. Don’t waste any more time talking to me.”

  With a hearty chuckle, he hangs up, and I save his name in my contacts before clutching the phone to my chest. Sitting on the hardwood floor, leaning against the bedpost, I can’t stop smiling.

  My cell rings and Becca’s face is plastered on my screen. “Yes?” I’m certain she and Charlie are behind my bedroom door as I get up, cross the room, and turn the knob.

  “Dinner tonight?” she asks.

  “Were you spying on me?” I already know the answer. “That would explain why the floor creaked outside my door.”

  “Hell, yes, we were spying. You have a date with a hockey stud.” Charlie races down the hall. “I have to tell Lucas our baby girl is growing up.”

  I disconnect the call with Becca. “Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it.”

  “What? I’m not going to say a word. Get some work done. I’ll ask you what you’re wearing later.” Becca places her arm around my shoulder. “Doesn’t matter much since Mr. Smexy will take it off, anyway.”

  “You had to go there.” I shake my head, though the mention of becoming intimate again with Christian causes my every nerve to pulsate. I want it. Bad. I also want more than sex with him. I want intimacy. The kind that comes from knowing each other.

  While what he wants remains a mystery, at least I can Google the address he just texted me as soon as I’m downstairs. Then I’ll get back to work. Because my company matters most, and I’ll never lose sight of that. I say it aloud to Becca, reinforcing my resolve. “We’ve got a lot to do today.”

  Becca, my numbers person, agrees and begins talking budgets and logistics. Eventually Charlie comes downstairs, as Becca and I are running down the checklist for the launch. Charlie updates me on where we are regarding production, and I set an appointment in my calendar to review the pieces as soon as I return to Manhattan.

  My business is personal for me. Who best to represent it than my two best friends? I trust them, and we make a great team. We’re hard at work throughout the day. Hours pass and before I know it, it’s time to get ready.

  I accomplished everything on my list today and didn’t think of Christian at all after our call. I’m back to being me—fully committed to my company. It is my constant. Especially since guys come and go. That’s why there is no more pressure. No matter how Christian feels, I’ll survive. Hell, whatever happens, happens. I’ve still got my company and my friends. I always will.

  Today grounded me. While I’m open to Christian in my life, I won’t die without him. If and when I ever debate where he fits into my life, it will be on my terms. My self-preservation mode remains fully intact.

  I hop in my car with a clear head and no expectations. It’s safer that way. My navigation is set for the address Christian texted me. His remark about my clothes makes sense now. At first, a part of me wondered if he was being a little controlling, though now I know differently. I’m about to see a side of him that I doubt many see. None of the models on every search engine known to man were pictured where I’m going.

  Reminding myself that I have no expectations, I turn on my favorite playlist and sing, taking my mind off what’s to come. When all else fails, sing carpool karaoke at the top of my lungs.

  No expectations…Somehow, I can’t help but feel like I’m trying to convince myself of this as my navigation tells me to turn left.

  I’ve reached my destination.

  Chapter 5

  Christian

  Serena is late and parks her Volvo beside me. I’m leaning against my Rover, trying to look calmer than I feel since I had begun to question if I was being stood up. She places her car in park, turns off the ignition, and I help her with her driver’s door.

  Stepping out of the car like a rock star, she wears tight black denim, a snug black T-shirt, and sexy hot-pink stilettos that make me think dirty thoughts. This is Serena’s casual. Smoking hot.

  “I thought I said no sexy—”

  “Clothes. You mentioned clothing. Shoes are accessories. You failed to mention those.” She winks at me.

  Damn if she doesn’t keep me on my toes. “Duly noted.” I lean in and kiss her, one of our sensual, pulse-pounding, gyrating, bodies-melding-into-one kisses that send my adrenaline straight to the place it shouldn’t go. Shit, she just arrived and I’m already hard for her.

  “Why this skating rink?” she mutters, breathless, her chest heaving. Her V-neckline skims her breasts and I glimpse black lace.

  She is torturing me. It’s a relentless, methodical, lusty torture that makes me want her even more. My fingertips trace her neck, and she moans. I love her noises. Like last night, when I was licking her, teasing her, making her cum in my mouth. All of her noises made me go at her harder, deeper. I may not have orgasmed, but making her climax was the closest to a spiritual moment I’ve ever had.

  When my hands reach her chest, I right her shirt. Covering the lace over her cleavage, trying not to remember how round and supple her breasts are, trying to ignore the way her nipples rise to attention for me beneath the thin fabric of her shirt. I clear my throat. “You wanted me to earn your trust. Here’s where I start.”

  She grabs a sweater from her car, along with a small purse, and I take her hand, leading her inside. Into my rink. My world. The real me. Complete with Chinese takeout and sushi. I went to two separate restaurants and covered all bases to make this date real.

  Date…the word sinks in. I haven’t been on a real date in…I can’t remember when. No photo ops, nothing staged. Just me trying to impress a woman I have the hots for. The thought makes me queasy, vulnerable. There’s a chance Serena won’t like the real me. The guy beneath the bravado, the guy who came from nothing and still struggles to prove himself every damn day. That me. The me this rink represents.

  She scans the interior, her eyes filled with awe. “I expected no frills, concrete, and dark lighting. This is anything but.”

  To the left and right of the rink are tables and chairs, while benches and bleachers accentuate the far walls. The rink is well lit, with murals of trees and a natural outdoors theme. Heading over to the panel, I flip a switch and the lighting changes to a soft glow that reminds me of moonlight.

  “Christian, this is incredible.” Her smile, that same smile I have quickly grown to adore, lifts my mood.

  Kissing her neck from behind, I hold her tightly against me. “It’s mine. I bought it when the Nighthawks made their offer. Nothing says home to me like owning my own rink.”

  She shivers. It’s the only reason I release her. Placing the sweater over her shoulders, I lead her to my favorite section of the rink. My bench. Where I sit, usually late at night when I’m alone. It’s the vantage point from which I watch the illuminated ice and listen to the rink, the mechanical sounds that accompany the ice when crowds aren’t present. I need these noises; I need the ice. It balances me. It grounds me like nothing else in the world.

  I help her onto the bench and sit behind her, placing the blanket over her legs, the narrow toes of her bright heels peeking through. Though our takeout is set on the bench in front of us, Serena cuddles against my chest. She’s all I want, too, as I place my arms around her.

  “This is your real home, isn’t it?” Serena links he
r fingers through mine.

  As I study the wooded sections of the mural, I am reminded of my humble beginnings. “Yeah. The ice and the view. The rink was in good condition when I bought it. The only tweaks I made were adding the mural and changing the lighting. I wanted it to remind me of a local pond in Michigan, where I used to skate. It had a similar view.”

  There was nothing but trees for miles and I learned to skate with a pair of my cousin’s hand-me-down blades. The skating—the rush of adrenaline—is what I first loved about ice hockey. Hitting the puck, that part I learned later. It became a necessity, as I managed to control my rage toward my father.

  “I used to skate at night. This view reminds me of the peace I felt. Just me, dim moonlight, and the ice.” I brought flashlights, too. Couldn’t live without them.

  “Your dad let you skate on a frozen pond at night, alone?” Her curiosity doesn’t surprise me.

  I expected this question and wondered how I would answer…I even wondered if I would answer. “My dad wasn’t around much. He worked a job that he hated. Playing cards was his outlet and he became addicted. Still is.” I clear my throat.

  It got lonely for a kid with no mom and a dad who was rarely around. It was cold, too, during those winter months when he regularly forgot to pay the electric bill or pissed the gas money away on a card game. Those flashlights came in real handy. “He calls every now and then looking for a cash infusion. I usually hear from him every six months or so…sorry, didn’t mean to go there—guess I’m still a little bitter about it all. Something you don’t read about much in the tabloids, which I’m grateful for.”

  I’m reminded that I didn’t return my dad’s call. He never leaves voicemails. They’re far too personal. If I don’t answer, a missed call—or a rejected call—is all I am left with. That and wondering when he might call again. His timing always tells me how desperate he is for another cash infusion.