Naughty Or Ice

by Sylvia Pierce

  Admittedly, Eva was pretty excited herself. She hadn’t been to a game in years, but now, as Walker led them through the crowd toward their suite, all the old feelings were coming back. She smiled, wondering what her father would think about the new uniforms—they were red and black when he’d died, not blue and silver like they were now. The arena had changed, too—the old one had been torn down, rebuilt—huge and modern and clean, with a vast sea of dark blue seats that rose like waves in the ocean. But other than that, the important stuff was all the same: the gleam of the pre-game ice, unmarred by a single blade. The singsong calls of the hotdog and popcorn vendors that walked the aisles. The energy of the crowd as they filled in the seats, everyone eager to root for the home team.

  The place had a heartbeat all its own, and Eva felt it—that pulse, that hum, an undercurrent that buzzed through everything, not so different from the buzz she used to feel at her own skating events.

  She missed her father with a deep ache, but it made her smile anyway. He would’ve loved Walker.

  “Here’s our stop,” Walker said, leading them inside a luxury suite that looked down over center ice.

  It was similar to the one she and Walker had stumbled into in their practice arena yesterday, only much larger, and packed full of people. The thick carpet beneath her feet was the same color, and the moment she’d stepped on it, her cheeks flamed.

  Are those mistletoe… You have no idea how bad I want you… Fucking hell, Eva…

  She took a deep breath, distracting herself by checking out the other guests—mostly men in suits, a few younger kids in hockey jerseys, a handful of nicely dressed women that Eva guessed were wives or other family members of the team. Doug McKellen was there, too, but before Eva could catch his eye, he was drawn into a conversation with a couple of men Eva recognized from her first day on the ice with Walker—she thought one was the general manager.

  “You good?” Walker slid his hand behind her, resting it on her lower back. It was warm and solid and familiar, a touch she wanted to keep all to herself.

  Eva met his eyes and smiled, her soft sigh inaudible in the crowded room. As much as she hated the idea of sharing Walker with a room full of strangers, it was probably best that they weren’t left alone tonight.

  Dangerous things happened when they were left alone.

  “Mama, did you ever get to go to a hockey game before?” Gracie asked. She was sitting between Walker and Eva at the high-backed barstools right up front, best seats in the house. Walker’s arm was draped over the back of Gracie’s stool, and every few minutes his fingers brushed Eva’s shoulder, sending a shock of warmth down her arm.

  “Your grandpa used to take me all the time when I was your age,” Eva replied, ignoring the familiar guilt that crawled up her spine whenever she thought about hockey games and Gracie—specifically, Gracie’s father.

  A couple of years ago, she’d told Gracie the basics about him, but she’d left out most of the details—his career, how he and Eva had met, what he’d actually said when he’d found out about his daughter.

  She wondered now if bringing Gracie tonight had been a mistake. If letting Walker into her life—into both of their lives—would end up hurting her in some deep, devastating way that Eva wouldn’t be able to fix.

  But despite Eva’s dark thoughts, Gracie only smiled, her amber eyes bright and content. “Well, I’m glad that Walker can take us now instead, because grandpa’s dead, you know.”

  Walker’s eyes went wide, but Eva was already laughing so hard, several of the other guests had turned to look at her.

  “You know something, honeybee?” Eva ran a hand over Gracie’s red curls. “I like your style.”

  “What’s my style?” she asked, but before Eva could answer, the lights flashed overhead, and the booming voice of the announcer echoed through the stadium.

  “Game time,” Walker said, and Gracie cheered, clapping for the team as they skated out onto the rink.

  “Are those your friends down there?” Gracie asked. Walker had explained to her on the drive over about his injury—that he couldn’t play tonight, but wanted Eva and Gracie to be here to help him root for the team and support his friends.

  “Sure are,” Walker said. “Roscoe and Henny are starters—numbers thirty-eight and nineteen, left and right wings. See?” He pointed down at center ice, and Gracie nodded. “The guy in the middle—seventeen? Lance Fahey—the guys call him Sir Lancelot. He’s our starting center.”

  Eva’s throat tightened. Walker’s tone was light and jovial, but Eva could sense the strain in his voice, could see the slight bend in his otherwise straight shoulders when he talked about the starting center. Though Walker had never mentioned him by name, Eva knew that Fahey was the young kid currently playing Walker’s position. That he—if Eva didn’t do her job right—might even replace Walker permanently.

  Her heart ached for Walker; she wanted him to succeed so, so badly. He didn’t belong in this suite with all these fancy people, most of them not even paying attention to the game. He belonged out there on the ice, playing the game he loved. He belonged with his teammates, speeding down to the goal zone in a cold fury, slapping that puck home.

  Eva couldn’t imagine what it would do to him if he never got that chance.

  No. We’re not going to let that happen…

  “Does Sir Lancelot have a sword?” Gracie wanted to know.

  “Excellent question.” Walker laughed. “I’ll ask him. Okay, they’re about to drop the puck. Don’t blink—otherwise you might miss it.”

  Gracie propped her elbows on the bar and leaned forward, completely captivated.

  Down on the ice, the starters for both teams lined up with their sticks for the face-off, all muscle and attitude and fierce, terrifying determination. Eva leaned forward, too, unable to resist the pull of their raw, competitive energy.

  The puck hit the center line in a blur, sticks clashing as the men fought for control.

  The crowd cheered as Roscoe took it down the ice. He tapped it over to Fahey, who passed it to Henny, then it was back in Fahey’s control as the three of them charged into Colorado Wolves territory, a single, menacing unit. The puck slid to Henny, then back over to Roscoe, who tapped it seamlessly into the net.

  First goal of the game, less than a minute in. Everyone in the stands was on their feet, whooping and hollering.

  “Yes! That’s how it’s done!” Walker gave Gracie a high-five, and she pumped her fist, imitating him perfectly.

  Eva tried to focus on the game, but seeing her daughter so happy, so unburdened, Eva couldn’t stop watching her. Couldn’t stop sneaking glances at Walker, the same questions echoing through her head.

  What if this is real? What if it doesn’t have to end?

  No, it had to end. Eva was certain of that. If not because of her pending relocation, then for the simple fact that she couldn’t allow herself to fall for him. To get complacent. To put herself in a position where he could hurt her. Where he could hurt either of them.

  Eva turned back to the game. Roscoe and Henny were dominating the ice, ducking and dodging, the puck a black blur as they sped toward the goal line. Henny took the shot, shooting the puck right over the goalie’s shoulder, and in it went. The crowd roared, the energy surging through the stadium in excited waves.

  Gracie had a million questions, every second of the game, and Walker never once faltered in his answers, never once dismissed her. The two of them had a natural bond, one Eva had never seen Gracie share with anyone other than herself and Marybeth—not with any of Gracie’s teachers, or neighbors, or babysitters, or even her own friends. And Walker… his whole face lit up when either Gracie or Eva smiled his way.

  The questions fluttered through her mind again.

  What if this is real? What if it doesn’t have to end?

  Eva sighed. No. It was just a fairytale. It wasn’t real. It never could be.

  At the end of the first period, Gracie hopped off her stool to use the p
rivate bathroom in the suite. Walker slid onto Gracie’s spot and leaned in close, his lips brushing Eva’s neck. “You okay?”

  Eva nodded, but her insides were a jumbled mess, all crossed wires and dizzy butterflies at his touch. His proximity. His mint-and-wood-smoke scent. She didn’t have words to describe what she was feeling, exactly, but that didn’t make it any less all-consuming and dangerous. Any less real, no matter what the logical side of her mind kept insisting.

  The way he’d made her feel on their bench that day had changed her, inside and out, whether she wanted to admit it or not. The way she’d felt in his arms again last night… The way she’d dreamed of him almost every night since they’d met, waking herself up with her hands between her thighs, her body trembling as if he’d been in her bed… The lurch in her stomach when he looked at her like that—like he was doing right now—that was all real.

  Maybe she could’ve walked away after that first time. Could’ve chalked it up to sexual attraction, loneliness, the aching need for physical contact she’d denied herself for so long. She could’ve wrapped that up with a nice little bow, thanked him for giving her that exquisite release, and moved on with her life.

  But she hadn’t. And every time she saw him, a little piece of that ice wall around her heart started to melt.

  “Are you having fun?” Walker asked.

  “Yes. This… this is amazing.”

  He tapped his lips, considering. “Are the seats okay?”

  “Obviously.”

  He leaned in close again, knees brushing her thigh, his voice low and sexy. “Is it your date? Because something’s got your mind working overtime. I can smell the smoke.”

  Eva held his gaze, the truth balanced on her tongue like a caught snowflake.

  Yes, it’s my date, Walker. It’s the way you look at me. It’s the way you make me feel when I’m with you. It’s the fact that I hardly know you, yet it feels like we’ve been friends for an age. I can’t stop wanting you, replaying your every kiss, your every touch, your every whisper against my skin. If I spend any more time with you, I’m going to fall, and it’s going to hurt.

  But instead, all she said was, “Yes, it’s totally my date. Maybe you could kick his ass for me.”

  “Maybe you could kick his ass. Or just spank him.” Walker arched a dark brow, the playful spark in his steel-gray eyes drawing Eva closer. She rested her hand on his thigh, leaning forward, her lips grazing the rough, stubbled edge of his jaw—

  “I’m hungry.” Gracie popped up between them, bouncing on her toes again, and Eva pulled back, finally remembering where she was.

  Walker nodded toward a spread of appetizers set up at the back. “Did you see anything good on the table over there?”

  Gracie shook her head, her nose crinkling. “Just fancy things and vegetables.”

  “Gross,” Walker said. “No hotdogs, then?”

  “Only the little ones with toothpicks.”

  Walker rose from the chair. “I think it’s time for a hotdog run. Sound good for everyone?”

  Eva nodded. It did sound good, actually. She loved stadium dogs, fully loaded, the messier the better. She couldn’t even remember the last time she ate one, but her mouth was already watering.

  “Can I come, too?” Gracie asked, grabbing Walker’s hand.

  Walker looked at Eva and smiled. The two of them could do puppy-dog eyes better than Bilbo Baggins, and they were totally teaming up on her now. How could she say no?

  “Sure,” she said, laughing. “But hold Walker’s hand, and don’t wander off.”

  Left alone at the bar, Eva was lost in the storm of her own thoughts. Why did Walker have to be so damn charming? Why did Gracie have to like him so much? Why did Eva have to like him so much?

  Her eyes were drifting lazily over the players down on the ice, her brain barely registering the plays, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up to find Doug McKellen grinning at her warmly.

  “So our boy finally brought you to a game,” he said, chuckling. “Mind if I sit? I’ve been trying to get over here to say hello for an hour.”

  Eva gestured to the stool next to her. “I saw you when we arrived, but you looked like you were in a meeting.”

  “Busted.” He smiled, the skin around his kind eyes crinkling. “When you love your job, it’s hard to leave it at home.”

  Eva nodded. She could relate—in more ways than one. It was part of the reason she’d been so intrigued by his offer. The chance to continue skating, coaching—and making a full-time salary? It was almost too good to be true.

  “Where is forty-six, anyway?” he asked, looking around.

  “Hotdog run.”

  “Don’t blame him. I can’t even identify half the stuff they have on that buffet.”

  “My daughter felt the same way.”

  McKellen nodded, but his eyes were serious now. Lowering his voice, he said, “I understand you’re making some nice progress with him, Miss Bradshaw.”

  Eva nodded, relaying some of Walker’s recent drill times. “He’s already getting stronger, really pushing himself during our sessions. I think you’ll be pleased with the end results.”

  “We met with Walker today,” McKellen said. “Whatever you’re doing? Keep it up. It’s not just his times that have improved. Gallagher says he hasn’t seen him in such good spirits in a long time.”

  “Really? That’s great to hear,” Eva said.

  Walker hadn’t said much about the time he spent with his coach and trainers on days when he and Eva weren’t working together, but she knew that he still attended some of the team practices and staff meetings, keeping the coach updated on his progress. She was glad for the compliment.

  “Gallagher and the managers are really impressed.” McKellen chuckled again, but this time it felt tight, almost forced. With a wink, he said, “If I don’t watch my back, they’re liable to steal you away from me.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, puzzled, but McKellen’s face had changed again, back to light and jovial.

  “Have you given any more thought to my offer?” he asked.

  “Lots,” she admitted.

  “I was thinking we should fly you out to Minnesota early in the new year,” he said, “give us a chance to show you around the facility, introduce you to the staff. They’re eager to meet you, and of course they can answer any questions you might have.”

  “Oh, I… sure. That would be great.” Eva’s head was spinning again. Fly her out there? She hadn’t even accepted yet.

  “Aw, hell. Where are my manners?” He rose from the stool, shaking his head, his smile back in place. “When I saw you sitting over here, I promised myself I would just say hi, not give you the hard sell.”

  “That’s okay. I appreciate your enthusiasm.”

  “It’s not every day you get the chance to recruit a world champion figure skater, Miss Bradshaw.” McKellen nodded toward the ice, where a fight had just broken out against the boards. “These teams are getting stronger, tougher, harder to beat every year. But they’re not necessarily getting better at skating. With you on board, I think we can put together some real innovative programs.”

  Something fluttered in Eva’s chest. It was hard not to get caught up in McKellen’s plans, to imagine what it would be like to build something from the ground up like that.

  “I’m definitely considering it,” she said again. “It sounds like an amazing opportunity.”

  Walker and Gracie were back, carrying a tray of hotdogs and sodas. A new Tempest ball cap sat on Gracie’s head, the wide brim hiding her eyes.

  “Well, I’ll leave you guys to it.” McKellen smiled, clapping Walker on the shoulder. To Eva, he said, “Miss Bradshaw, you’ve got my number.”

  Walker set down the food and helped Gracie onto the stool. “What was that all about?” he asked Eva. “Wait, let me guess: you told him you wanted to give back all the money he paid you because spending time on the ice with me is its own reward.”

&nbs
p; “Are you kidding? I told him you’re such a pain in the butt, I’m tripling my rates.”

  The hotdogs were just as disgustingly awesome as Eva remembered, and she wolfed down two of them in the time it took Walker’s boys to score another goal.

  But despite her efforts to focus on the game, to laugh and relax and forget about job offers and money and broken hearts, Eva’s worries kept creeping right in, storm clouds gathering over an otherwise perfect outing.

  The initial excitement from her conversation with McKellen had faded, leaving her rattled and tense. It was a cold reminder of just how much was at stake here—of just how dangerous her flirty little game with Walker really was. Not just for Eva and her job prospects. Not even for her heart.

  But for Walker.

  This was his future. His career. His life. She couldn’t let him risk it for her no more than she could risk her own future for him.

  The realization came over her like an icy wind, cold and severe, leaving her chilled and sad in a way she didn’t fully understand. No matter how charming he was, no matter how hot, how funny, how sexy, how kind… no. None of it mattered. Eva had to stop the mental tug-of-war, stop her own mixed signals and crazy desires. They had their fun, but playtime was over. She had to get their relationship back on the right track—the professional track—before the thin ice beneath their feet shattered.

  Chapter Twenty

  Walker slammed into the boards, his shoulder taking the brunt of the impact before he dropped to the ice. Pain shot through his arm, so hot and bright it made his vision blur.

  Motherfucker.

  It was his third wipeout in an hour, each one tearing into his ego as ferociously as it did his body.

  Walker wanted to be grateful it was the shoulder and not the knee, but that gratitude was fleeting. His knee was stiff and swollen; favoring it is what had thrown off his balance today, sent him sliding into the boards. He’d been tossing and turning all week, the pain in his knee so bad it woke him up at night.