HOT ICE: Complete Sporting Romance Series

by Lily Harlem

  The players circled each other and took their starting positions. The Vipers in blood-red and the Bruins in black and gold.

  “That’s the captain, isn’t it?” I said, spotting a Viper player with Lewis written on the back of his jersey.

  “Hey, you do know something.”

  I shrugged. “He walked out with another player, just before you did that day.”

  “Lucky he’s got a hot lady for himself otherwise he’d have snapped you up quicker than you can say puck.”

  “Don’t be daft.”

  “I am not.” He winked, turned to his father and began to chat in Russian.

  I didn’t mind not understanding what was being said. I was happy to watch the hockey. The camera was panning around the audience. There was a medley of adults, kids, male and female. Banners were being waved including a large one held flattened on the Plexi by a pretty girl with long dark hair that said, “I love you Brick. I’m 18 now. Call me!”

  I remembered Brick’s swagger as he’d strolled past Harmony and me. There was no doubt about it, he had a certain something and a damn cute ass. No wonder he had an army of girls wishing their teenage years away so they could dream of catching him.

  The game started and I sat forward in the chair, munched on another nacho.

  The puck whizzed around so fast it was hard to see where it was. Within seconds the Bruins scored—a fast slap shot down the wing and then a neat wrist flick into the goal.

  “Ah, chto eto pustaya trata,” Vadmir said, tutting and then shaking his head.

  Ruslan blew out a breath and looked distressed.

  “Your goaltender missed that one by miles,” I said.

  “He doesn’t usually. Speed is the best in the business,” Vadmir said. “I wonder where his head is?”

  The teams faced off. The puck flying neatly into Viper possession. I made an effort to read the names on the backs of the jerseys so I could keep up. Lewis had the puck, he tapped it to Starr who sneaked it through the legs of a Bruin to Taylor.

  “Go, go, go.” Vadmir stood, giving me a great view of his cute ass. “Do it, Phoenix.”

  I craned my neck to see around Vadmir.

  Phoenix was tapping the puck left to right and heading straight for the goal. He’d left all of the Bruin defense behind. I didn’t think he was ever going to fire, he got so close to the goaltender but then he did, one neat, short slide and the back of the net was whacked outward by the puck.

  “Yes.” Vadmir punched the air. “That’s more like it. Go Vipers. Get it on.”

  The opposition goaltender lay on the floor, his skates banging the ice like a child having a tantrum.

  The Vipers piled against the boards, jumping on the scorer, slapping his back and high-fiving each other.

  “What a goal by Phoenix. Talk about talent,” the commentator shouted. “Time and time again he delivers. You have to see it to believe it.”

  Ruslan chattered in Russian. I didn’t know what he was saying but his excitement was infectious and I grinned and nodded, sharing my attention between the screen and him.

  Vadmir replied to his father then sat back down. He leaned across and tapped my knee. “Good, yes?”

  “Yes, very good.”

  The game started up again. I could feel the excitement rolling off the two men in the room.

  The Vipers struggled to gain the puck. The Bruins were now running rings around them. Brick crashed into one and sent him sprawling, without any apparent attempt at getting the puck but the ref did nothing.

  The home crowd erupted. Clearly irritated by Brick’s action.

  But the Bruins still had control. Playing with the Vipers—tormenting and teasing and getting ever closer to scoring another point.

  “Come on,” Vadmir said. “Get to it, Raven. Support Reed.” He turned to Ruslan and spoke again.

  Ruslan replied then leaned forward, teeth gritted. “Vne igry!”

  “Dah, off side.” Vadmir slugged the last of his beer then banged the bottle on the table.

  I wondered if he felt guilty about not playing with his team. For being halfway around the world when they needed him there, doing his stuff.

  Suddenly a ruck broke out. Two players battling for the puck had hit the boards at the same time, the puck was then stolen and sent to the opposite end of the arena.

  “And Kenzie has taken offense to that,” the commentator shouted. “Here we go.”

  I saw that it was Brick who’d got himself tangled in the fight. The sticks were down and they were squaring up.

  “Ah, fuck,” Vadmir said, “not again.”

  “What? What again?”

  “Brick, he can’t stay out of trouble.”

  In a tangle of arms and legs Kenzie and Brick dragged at each other and tried to land punches. It was almost comical watching them fight on the ice. Their legs were slipping in all directions as they struggled to keep their balance.

  The crowd was going wild. As if this was their favorite part of the game.

  Two linesmen in black and white striped tops joined the fracas, trying to separate the players and narrowly missing being hit themselves.

  Brick was down on his knees. He took a couple of hits to the head.

  “Vstavat',” Ruslan shouted.

  “Get up,” Vadmir yelled.

  I held my breath and wondered how they were allowed to get away with this violence.

  Brick found his feet again, socked his opponent in the guts and then got one around his head in return.

  Ruslan started jabbering. I had no idea what he was saying but I knew he wouldn’t have been able to talk that fast when we’d first arrived. So if nothing else that was a good sign.

  “And Kenzie is trying to get another right hook in,” the commentator jabbered. “And here we go, Phoenix is in on the action!”

  He was right, but it wasn’t just Phoenix, it was two other Bruin players and Raven and Lewis. Another linesman jumped in but was floored immediately.

  Still the crowd went wild. Clapping, cheering, banging on the Plexi.

  “I had no idea they fought like this,” I said. “Do you do that?” I pointed at the screen and looked at Vadmir.

  His attention was on the action. “What?”

  “Do you fight like that?”

  “Er, no…never.”

  Somehow I didn’t think that was quite the truth. They were all at it. There was barely one member of either team not pulling, pushing, shoving or aiming a punch at another player.

  “Shall I get some more beer?” I asked, standing and picking up Vadmir’s empty bottle.

  “Yeah, great.”

  I left the room, leaving the on-screen chaos behind.

  “Hey, Samantha, how is it in there?” Dayra called from the living area.

  “Okay, your father seems much better.” I peered in. She was sitting with her feet up watching TV. Fresh home from work she still wore a green shop apron.

  “Yes, he is better today. Is he enjoying the game?” she asked.

  “I think so, though there seems to be as much fighting as playing hockey.”

  “Ah, it is always like that. I think that is one of the reasons they enjoy it. You should see some of the bruises Vadmir used to come home with. He split his eye and his lip more times than I could count. Always fighting, always landing in the out-of-time box.”

  “Ah, okay.” I nodded. It was just as I’d thought, Vadmir was no stranger to fighting or time-out. “Catch you later.”

  I grabbed some more of the beers Vadmir and I had picked up earlier and wandered back into the bedroom.

  The fight had ended and play had resumed.

  “Brick and Kenzie are on the bench,” Vadmir said. “Four minutes.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “Yeah, we need Brick. But we are used to him coming on and off the ice. It’s a habit of his, fighting.”

  I remembered seeing Brick with his cute smile and golden curls. Clearly he wasn’t as angelic as his image projected. Muc
h the same as Vadmir wasn’t quite the pacifist he would have me believe he was.

  “Here you go.” I set down more beer.

  Ruslan smiled his thanks but waved his beer away.

  “One is enough for him these days,” Vadmir said. “And probably sensible with his medication.”

  “I agree.” I sat next to Vadmir again and he touched the base of his bottle with mine, winked and then turned back to the screen.

  He was clearly enjoying himself and as the puck dodged around the rink, a few near hits for both teams, he and his father chattered enthusiastically, creating their own commentary over and above what was on the television.

  I relaxed back and watched the game. I didn’t understand the complexities but as Vadmir had said, you just have to get the puck in the net.

  It was clear the Vipers were a great team and I could see why Vadmir adored them so much. It was also obvious they were struggling to keep the scoreboard even. The Bruins were great at their job.

  The game came to an end. With even scores after overtime I couldn’t see who would be declared winner.

  “What happens now?” I asked.

  “Penalty shoot out,” Vadmir said.

  “Are the Vipers good at that?”

  “The best.”

  “And here is our must-watch player,” the commentator shouted. “Let’s hope Phoenix gets the Vipers off to a good start. He’s on fire at the moment. Totally unstoppable.”

  The Bruin goaltender ducked from left to right. The camera panned back and I could see the Viper player, Phoenix, racing toward the puck that sat waiting in the center circle.

  Excitement churned within me. I wanted the Vipers to score, get that point.

  “And here we go, he’s got it, he’s going, he’s… it’s innnnnn.”

  “Yes,” Vadmir shouted, punching the air. “Great start.”

  Ruslan clapped enthusiastically and grinned.

  “And now for Bruins’ hot-shot Kenzie, he’s got something to prove,” the commentator said. “He missed last week’s crucial point so will that give him the guts he needs to pull this one out of the bag?”

  I knotted my fingers and watched as the Viper goaltender hovered with his knees just about on the ice, he was jerking this way and that, trying to guess the way the Bruin player would shoot.

  “Yes, it’s another point!” the commentator shouted as Kenzie scored.

  “Fuck,” Vadmir said, banging his beer on the table.

  “Now who is it?” I asked.

  “Raven, he’s a defenseman but great at these shots.”

  “Okay.”

  A big, dark player circled the opposite end of the rink. His teammates half hung over the boards shouting and thumping the air. The excitement was tangible.

  “And here he goes, it’s always a treat to watch,” the commentator yelled. “And he’s scored.”

  “Yes,” I yelled.

  Ruslan yelped in delight and then coughed.

  Vadmir patted his father on the back.

  “And Starr has got another trick to add to his repertoire,” the commentator shouted, “he’s lightning fast. Lefebre didn’t even see that heading his way. Who the hell would want Raven Starr coming at them in a shootout? Not me, that’s for sure.”

  Vadmir poured his father some water and then, once satisfied he was okay, sat back down.

  The next Bruin player took to the rink. He whizzed around, his jersey flattening against his body with the speed he was going. He appeared to try and copy Raven, one fast dash to the goal and a wrist flick.

  “And he’s missed, it’s headed back to center rink. He’s going to be bummed about that,” the commentator said.

  “Serves him right, cocky ass,” Vadmir muttered.

  “Who is that?” I asked, sensing history.

  “Bailey, he’s a dirty player.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why, what’s happened?”

  Vadmir looked at me. “I had to take his skates out and teach him a lesson last season.”

  “You mean you got in a fight?” I raised my eyebrows, wondering if he’d admit it.

  He frowned. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Did you win?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know, that’s why I asked.”

  “Of course I won.” He huffed as if the possibility of not winning a fight was ludicrous.

  “Oh…good.”

  He shrugged. “I got concussion and ended up in ER but he was worse.”

  I studied his face and wondered not just how his nose had stayed so neat and straight with all this fighting but also how I’d managed to get myself involved with such a fist-happy caveman. I sighed, oh, well, he had other attributes and as long as the fists were only free and easy on the ice I could live with it.

  Ruslan spoke excitedly and pointed at the screen.

  “Here we go,” Vadmir said. “Lewis is taking the last shot. If he gets this the game is ours.”

  I leaned forward, crossed my fingers and held my breath.

  Lewis was racing up to the puck. Two refs were shadowing him. The Bruin goaltender was dangerously far from his goal.

  “Ohhh…” I said, knowing it would all happen super-fast.

  Lewis knocked the puck from left to right.

  “And Lewis is holding it, holding it…” the commentary gabbled. “holding it, and he’s turned and oh, my goodness, through the legs. I have never seen anything like it and the Vipers have won.”

  Vadmir leaped into the air, his feet coming off the ground and then shaking the oxygen tank when he landed on the floor with a thump. “Dah! Fuck yes!”

  Ruslan clapped enthusiastically and grinned. He didn’t take his eyes off Vadmir, clearly enjoying his son’s celebration and having him at his side.

  Vadmir turned, planted a kiss on his father’s head and then swung ’round to me and smacked my lips with a big kiss, too.

  “Thank God,” he said. “They needed those points.”

  “It’s great.” I grinned.

  “Yes.” He pulled in a deep breath and when he let it out it was as if a weight had left him. “It is. It is all great.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Are you ready?” Vadmir asked me after breakfast the next morning.

  “Yes, just my hair to do.”

  He studied my head and looked bemused. “What is there to do with it?”

  “I haven’t finished curling it.”

  “Haven’t you?”

  “No.”

  I could tell by his expression that the concept of curling hair was lost on him.

  “I won’t be long, twenty minutes or so.”

  He glanced at his watch. “Really?”

  “Yes, it takes a bit longer than yours.”

  He scrubbed his hand over his crew cut. “I guess.”

  I grabbed my coffee from the table. “I’ll be quick.”

  “Yep.”

  We were going to the local rink where he’d learned to skate. Apparently he always called in when home; saw his old coaches, friends and the new talent coming up the ranks. For a small place, so he’d told me, Sokol was blessed with great players.

  Deciding not to overly fuss with my hair, we were soon heading across the river toward the rink on the west side of town.

  “You smell nice,” he said, turning down the heater now that the car was warm.

  “Thanks.”

  He glanced at me. “Like flowers.”

  “It’s Clarins, you bought it for me.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I did?”

  “Yes, the receptionist at the hotel brought me a bag of Clarins toiletries, this was in it.”

  “I like that I bought it for you, even if I didn’t know.” He shook his head. “You really hadn’t intended on staying that night when you came from the airport, had you?”

  “I don’t know what I thought.” I shrugged. “I guess just a few hours with you or something.”

&n
bsp; “Just enough time to fuck each other stupid.”

  “Yes, except we fucked each other unconscious and I missed my flight.” I gestured out of the window. It was beginning to snow again. “I should be in Miami now, lying by a pool with a mojito.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I’ll take you,” he said, resting his hand on my knee.

  “Where?”

  “Miami, when we get back to Orlando. We’ll go for a weekend, you can drink as many mojitos as you want and lounge by the pool to your head’s content.”

  “My what?” I smiled. He’d done it again.

  “Content, ’til your head is content.”

  I laughed. “You mean heart’s content.”

  He frowned and replaced his hand on the steering wheel. “If you say so.”

  I leaned across and kissed his cheek. “That sounds wonderful. I’d love to go to Miami with you.”

  “You would?” He sounded surprised and turned to me again.

  “Yeah, I bet you look great in swim trunks.”

  He grinned. “And I bet you look amazing in a bikini. In fact, we might not get out of the hotel room come to think of it.”

  “Yes, that does seem to be a problem we have.”

  Sokol ice rink appeared run down and small after seeing the Vipers’ magnificent home in Orlando the week before. It had clearly had very little money spent on it for decades, but the enthusiasm and smiles of the people inside made up for that.

  “Vadmir,” an excited voice called as we wandered in.

  “Ivan,” Vadmir said, striding up to a middle-aged guy with a short goatee beard.

  I stepped to one side and watched as they did the usual three kisses and then began to chatter in Russian. I realized just how much I loved hearing Vadmir speak in his natural language. It was sexy and husky and suited him so well. I probably shouldn’t be so harsh on him for getting a few English words mixed up when I could barely remember one word of his language.

  “Sammy,” Vadmir said, holding his hand out to me. “Meet Ivan, he was my coach through my teenage years.”

  “Ivan,” I said, with a smile and moving out of the shadows of the wall.

  Ivan greeted me enthusiastically with much cheek kissing and approving looks to Vadmir. He gestured to his hair and I guessed he was commenting on mine.