Ice Hot

by Tracy Goodwin

“I needed it, too.” His words are strong. Steady. No promises. Just infinite possibilities.

  My head settles in the crook of his neck, and we lie together under the weighty bedding. His palm still cups my breast, even under his robe, which makes me grin. I don’t need promises. Not anymore, in spite of the many questions that remain unanswered.

  Questions pertaining to our fate once I return to Manhattan. Will that mark the end of us, or will it be the beginning of something—the continuation of something real? Manhattan and this part of Long Island are a short drive away, depending upon traffic, but we each have our own lives. How will we fit into one another’s lives? Especially when outside forces collide. If the press ever gets a hold of our…whatever this is…we’ll need Kevlar to protect ourselves from the fallout.

  Chris kisses my head. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”

  Another promise. One I never expected, one I wouldn’t allow myself to hope for, yet one that I cherish. I rest my hand over his heart, feeling it beat steadily beneath my palm. That’s what I concentrate on. That heartbeat, in sync with mine. No matter what the future holds, I have this. I concentrate on the now. Tomorrow will come soon enough.

  As I close my eyes, Chris’s cell begins pinging nonstop. “I’m sorry. It must be an emergency—oh, shit.”

  He offers me the screen, and sure enough there is a close-up picture of us making out in the parking lot outside his rink. The caption reads: Christian Chase and his mystery woman seem hot and heavy. Who knew he was dating Serena Ellis, whose father sold the stadium land to the Nighthawks? What else is there to uncover?

  So much for us figuring out what we have together. Now we’ve both been thrust into tabloid hell. Will we survive? Enquiring minds want to know.

  Chapter 9

  Christian

  “Chris!” Ian shakes my hand in the hallway of the executive offices. Like our brand, the Nighthawks operational offices are sleek yet rugged, with dark furniture and black-and-white framed photos of the stadium hanging on the walls. Pictures of the groundbreaking ceremony, all stages of construction, and the completed stadium in its glass-and-concrete glory tell the story of the Nighthawks, of where we’ve been in such a short time. There are also pictures of the cup. Those show where we’re going.

  Everything has been strategically placed in the Nighthawks offices to exude power and a winning mentality. Just like our owner, Marcus Noble, requested.

  An entrepreneur, Marcus started his first business when he was thirteen. Landscaping. He hated it, but loved the five hundred grand he made when he sold the business at the age of eighteen. He remains one of the world’s most eligible bachelors. Marcus is also cunning, bold, and always makes a statement, whether it be with his office décor, choice of stadium design, or his expensive suits and platinum cuff links in the shape of our team logo.

  Our logo…a red hawk with a burgundy shield, hockey sticks, pucks, stars, and the name of our team emblazoned as if in motion. It was created to remind fans and opposing teams alike that we’re fast and skating toward the cup. That logo—our brand—is everywhere. On the walls in framed posters, on staff coffee mugs, even in accent colors on the rugs. Bright red, burgundy, and several shades of gray mingle with black and white. The grays match the chrome accents in the office furnishings and lighting. Modern, sleek, and bold. That’s the definition of the New York Nighthawks.

  “They’re all joining us.” Ian rubs his neck awkwardly. “Marcus, Hunter, Jay, and Simon. This is gonna be a bloodbath.”

  I knew the director of Player Personnel, Hunter Greyson, would attend. He’s the boss when it comes to the playing and coaching staff. Along with Jay Peters, director of Hockey Operations. They’re inseparable. Especially when it comes to hockey metrics and analytics. Together, they lead coaches, managers, and scouts. Their mindset is focused. They analyze each player, each acquisition, based upon numbers as well as skill. They developed their own matrix. NHL hockey can be a powder keg. Having so much testosterone in one place makes alphas act emotionally, and the metrics cut through the bullshit.

  I stiffen my spine, standing straighter, my posture strong and exuding a confidence I no longer feel. I expected Marcus Noble, our team owner, to be present. His bringing his pit bull CEO, Simon John, raises my suspicions and makes me hesitant. This meeting can’t be just about Gallagher’s behavior.

  “Something tells me this has less to do with Mike, and more to do about my relationship blowing up every gossip site and clickbait on the Web.” My stomach drops. Shit, this is bad.

  “Is that what makes this such a big fucking deal?” Guy Bishop asks from behind. Our head coach. Our no-nonsense, cut-through-the-bullshit head coach.

  “I’m afraid so.” I shake his hand. He’s got a firm grip and his dark eyes hold mine.

  “Let’s make it through intact.” He squeezes my hand. “Okay?”

  We head to the conference room, a large room adorned with upscale leather executive chairs and a large mahogany table. It seats two dozen, and there is a big flat-screen TV on one wall. ESPN is currently reporting about my social life.

  Marcus mutes the TV. Footage of me on the ice, a pretty shot of Serena from her company’s website, and a picture of us kissing flash across the screen. Then they show an impressive exterior shot of the stadium. Oval, with lots of glass windows, the roof is comprised of concrete that juts over the sides like wings. We are the Nighthawks, after all. We will soar, and our stadium reflects that.

  I don’t utter a word. No one does. Until a picture with the name Harrison Ellis, President and CEO of Ellis Corporation underneath appears.

  “That, right there, is the money shot.” Marcus presses pause on the remote, pointing it at me like a weapon. “Did you know Serena Ellis when we made the deal to acquire the land for the stadium?”

  “No.” I look him straight in the eyes. “I had no idea until after we were dating. We met recently, in fact.”

  “Is it serious?” Simon grills me. CEO and SOB even on his good days. No pleasantries this morning. So, it’s a normal day. This tells me they suspect the truth and are deliberately making me uncomfortable. Interrogating me to teach me a lesson. To humble me, as if I’m not humbled already.

  “Yes, it’s serious.” I’ve thought about this question ever since our relationship was publicly outed, knowing I’d have to answer it sooner rather than later. The release of the picture pushed up the timetable but didn’t change my mind. I knew my relationship with Serena was serious the moment she walked through my door last night. The rest of it—the sex, the intimate conversation, the foreplay, the afterglow—cemented what I already knew. “It’s new, but it’s definitely serious.”

  “How new?” Simon is relentless.

  I exhale a deep breath, gritting my teeth so I don’t tell him to fuck off, which would be the worst professional decision ever.

  “Makes no difference,” Marcus chimes in. “They weren’t together during the purchase of the land. That’s what matters.”

  He slaps his right-hand man on the shoulder and smiles at me. His suit is worth thousands. Shiny platinum cuff links in the shape of hawks peek from underneath his sleeves. Only the best for Marcus Noble. Hell, his watch alone could pay for my childhood home ten times over. Wealthy doesn’t begin to describe him. He’s also got impeccable instincts. It’s how he amassed his billions. “You handle stress well, Chris. That’s what we hired you to do on the ice. You’ll weather this scrutiny of your personal life with the same skill while our PR team will squelch the rumors about the team, so we’re good.”

  “Are we?” Hunter asks. As personnel director, he’s spoken with Guy about the Mike situation. Time to pivot to the six-foot-three elephant not in the room. “Gallagher doesn’t play well with others. He’s showing disrespect to the coaching staff and his teammates. I called him in yesterday. He’s arrogant, got a chip on his shoulder, rejects leadersh
ip, and is trouble.”

  Hunter scratches his smooth chin and leaves a red mark from his nail. “The metrics predicted he could be a problem, but his skills outweighed the risk.”

  Guy scoffs. “He punched Chris yesterday.”

  Hunter gasps, as does Jay. They respond as one. Kind of weird, though they’ve worked together for a long time with another team, so I guess it happens. God knows Nick can finish my sentences by now.

  “This isn’t some brawl between players, though. Gallagher was aiming for Ian, all but admitted it. I don’t give a shit about metrics—he can’t get away with attacking my coaching staff, or anyone else. This is the start of something. I’ve known his type and it only gets worse. You need to replace him before training camp begins.” Guy taps his knuckles on the table. “He’s gonna bring down the team. Looking at his file, he’s had a history of problems. I guess we were hoping that it was a mismatch with his previous team; maybe we hoped he’d grown up. If so, we were wrong.”

  A long silence follows. The powers that be trust their staff. That same staff who handpicked the A-listers. They’ll either take Guy’s recommendations or override him.

  “We’ll handle it,” Marcus says. “Keep him in check until then. Nice seeing you gentlemen.”

  Marcus heads toward the door.

  “I think Gallagher is behind that photo of Chris being leaked,” Guy calls out.

  Halting mid-step, Marcus turns. “Do you have proof?”

  “No, just gut. Mine, and I suspect Chris’s.”

  “Chris?” Marcus asks in a clipped tone.

  “He was my first guess. My only guess.” Yeah, Mike’s a vindictive asshole. He’s capable of it. To hurt me. And the team.

  Marcus turns to Simon. “Get Legal involved. No one will sabotage this team. In the meantime, keep him under control, Guy. Private conditioning, away from the others.”

  Guy nods, and Marcus and Simon leave, followed by Jay and Hunter. I stand with my arms crossed. In this opulent conference room with imposing glass and chrome, Guy is the only one with the balls to sit. Hell, not even our owner sat. Ian shifts from one foot to the other, staring at his feet.

  “That went well.” My sarcasm hangs heavy.

  Guy laughs. “Could’ve gone worse.”

  I rub my cheek, the punch still fresh in the form of swollen flesh and bruising beneath my beard. “Something tells me it will. We thought Mike was a son of a bitch before. Just wait until he realizes that he’s on his way out. Whether the Nighthawks trade him or send him to a farm team, we all know he’s not going quietly.”

  Ian does a doubletake as Guy stands, his leather chair swiveling in a circle. “He’s gonna come after us with everything he’s got, so, we prepare for war.”

  True enough, we’re his targets, and I’m first on Mike’s hit list. I’ve been on his radar since I led the Infernos to our first cup. That’s to be expected, but it should’ve changed when we joined the same team with one common goal. Obviously, it didn’t. Jealousy festers, and Mike’s not the kind of guy to let it go. Yeah, he’s no Elsa. He’s more like…what’s that animal I see advertised everywhere? A moose? An ass? Gallagher is definitely an ass, and if he leaked the photo of me and Serena…no, not if. He did leak the photo. What he’ll do next remains a mystery.

  We take the elevator down and go our separate ways in the lobby as my cell vibrates. It’s a text from Serena, asking how I’m doing.

  I’d be better if I was with you. What’s your address?

  I press send and await her response. A drive to Manhattan isn’t long, especially at this time of day. Besides, I want to see her. There’s this pull, this tug in my chest, at the mere suggestion. It’s more than a want; it’s a necessity. Seeing Serena is the only thing that will make my shit day better. Nick can take care of Puck. He’s got keys to my house.

  I’m in a relationship, a brand-new, shiny relationship, with Serena. The kind where the sex is hot, her laughter is infectious, and she makes me hard by just texting her address as I wonder how we’ll spend our day.

  It’s time I enter her world. God help me, I’m not the socialite-dating type of guy. This can go one of two ways. I just hope it doesn’t go to shit.

  My phone vibrates.

  My father is furious about the news. My parents have demanded my presence at 4pm sharp. I’m sorry. I’ll call you later.

  Well, it went to shit in record time. I can only imagine how hard Serena’s parents will press her. She didn’t sign up for this, and I’m certain she’s getting the short end of the stick.

  I dial her, and she picks up immediately. “I’m sorry, Chris.”

  “Don’t be. I’m still heading to your place.” I unlock my car with the fob. “Don’t leave without me.”

  There’s a long pause. “Wait. You want to meet my parents?” Her words drip with a sarcasm that makes me laugh. “It’s not funny. No sane man would want to meet my parents.”

  “Hey, I never implied that I’m sane. Besides, I do want to meet your parents.” Damn, the words are actually coming out of my mouth and, even more epic: I mean every one of them. “Did you think I’d let you battle them alone? Without a Thanksgiving turkey to toss across the room?”

  My flippant remark is meant to deflect the fact that this is important to me. So important that I start my car, connect the Bluetooth, and head to my house for a change of clothes before Serena can object.

  “So, you’re my turkey.” She pauses, then expels a long, drawn-out sigh. “You do know what happens to turkeys at Thanksgiving, right? There are no pardons in the Ellis penthouse.”

  Again, I laugh. This belly laugh that comes from deep within my core. I can’t help it with Serena, even with meeting her parents looming like a fucking ax over me. “I’m tougher than I look.”

  “You’d better be. I just texted Becca’s driver to meet you at your house in fifteen. You’ll never find parking and he’s available. Her parents are still abroad.”

  Abroad…oh, the vocabulary of the elite.

  “Are you sure about this, Chris?” Serena’s concern is evident in her shaky tone, revealing her nerves. “You don’t have to do this. Really. When I say that no one wants to meet my parents, I mean it. I’d choose not to, and I’m related to them.”

  “You’re worth it.” A lump forms in my throat. Not from what I’ve admitted, but from the intense emotion behind my confession. As clichéd as it sounds, I’d walk through fire for this woman. I’m about to. Right into the Ellis family shit show starring the snobby parents who disapprove of their two great, grown kids.

  Yeah, I’m doing this. I’m going to support Serena no matter what. Because she deserves it. I have a feeling that I’m going to piss off her parents big time. Then again, they’ll probably expect it from a jock like me. Who am I to disappoint?

  Chapter 10

  Christian

  Serena greets me with a kiss at her front door. She tastes like spearmint toothpaste, like she just brushed her teeth. I savor her, and I hold her a little longer than I should.

  I don’t know jack about women’s fashion, but I do know she is looking hot as hell with this halter dress that hugs her breasts, and teases them, but shows no actual cleavage. The thing is reminiscent of the Marilyn Monroe subway vent dress: vintage, sexy in a leave it to your imagination way. The one difference is that she’s added a collar around her neck. The color makes her eyes pop, which is a feat since Serena’s eyes are always bright and mesmerizing.

  “I’ve missed you.” She smiles. “So much so that I still need to put on my lipstick. So, give me one more kiss.”

  Leaning into her, I nudge her nose with mine, then kiss her. Slowly, deliberately. Caressing her neck as my fingers twitch. It’s involuntary, just like the surge of remorse that rips through my gut as I tear my lips from hers. “We’re going to be late.”

  �
��Right.” Serena stands in my embrace with this look of wonder on her face. She doesn’t move. “Is it clingy of me to admit that I want this moment to last?”

  I shake my head. I want the same thing. Too much for my own good. I’m entering uncharted territory. The kind where I can be seen for the poseur I really am. Where I can be hurt. Where I’m vulnerable. Where this woman is in control, not me. I don’t like not possessing control. It unnerves me.

  “I’m going to be blunt. I don’t care what my parents think of you.” She blurts it out and my muscles tense. Her statement is a blow to my already fragile ego. I’m about to meet her wealthier-than-fuck parents who will dislike everything about me. Why did I ever think this was a good idea?

  Serena places her palms against my beard, running her fingernails through it, reminding me why. Because I want to be there to support her.

  “All that matters is that I think you’re amazing. I’m an excellent judge of character. They don’t approve of me, either. Remember?” Her dimples deepen as she tips her head to the side, awaiting my response. She knows me, my reactions, already.

  “I do. Where can I change clothes?” Becca’s car arrived so fast, I had no time to change.

  Serena grabs my garment bag with care. “My bedroom is upstairs.”

  Following her up a carpeted staircase, I catch a glimpse of the first floor. Travertine kitchen, antique fixtures, with high ceilings. It’s an open floor plan with cottage-chic furnishings in the living room and fabrics the color of a Tiffany’s box with throw pillows in different shades of blue, sage, and white. It’s artsy, fun, and vintage, which matches Serena’s personality to a tee.

  Her bedroom is the first to the right. Bright, with great sunlight illuminating the room through a wide bank of windows. I expected it to be bold, but the room is classic. The vintage cream furniture makes it shabby chic, though her walls are light beige damask. The fluffy comforter and bedding are a mix of cream and beige. Guess I do know a little about design. I recognize damask, after all.