Player on Ice

by S. R. Grey

  He made no mention of me, thank Christ, but it doesn’t matter. My haters haven’t forgotten his previous post. You know the one, the post that ruined my life.

  “Jesus, don’t these people have anything better to do?” I grumble as I scroll through the comment thread, where meanness flows like a dirty river.

  The Wolves need to trade Jaxon Holland.

  Yeah, he sucks.

  I hope he chokes next time he eats an edible.

  The Wolves could be playing for the Stanley Cup right now if it weren’t for Hotbox Holland.

  Hotbox Holland?

  I have to look that one up. When I discover it’s another reference to getting high, I just about scream.

  Thanks a lot for sullying my reputation, Mr. Hockeypants. Everyone in the world thinks I’m a stoner who gets high before the games. No one cares what players do on their own time, but toking up at game time is just unprofessional.

  Great, just great. I am so pissed. Maybe I can sue Mr. Hockeypants and shut his tawdry blog down for good.

  Ooh, the justice that would be served if that were to happen.

  Revenge is sweet and best served cold. Good thing I’m an iceman, in more ways than one, which sort of fits with the whole hockey connection.

  This is perfect and just what I need to feel better—planning my vengeance.

  Wow, I came back to the house to retrieve my balls, and I have fucking found them. Plus, bonus! Not only are my balls back in my possession, they’re bigger than ever.

  I knew backing off from Cara was the right move.

  Dropping my phone onto the bed, I remove my shirt and puff out my chest. My shorts hang low on my waist as I stand in front of the mirror on the back of the door.

  Shit, I’m pretty strong and ripped, but all fired up like this I look formidable.

  Good. I’m a man. I need to remember that.

  “And this man needs a beer,” I announce, feeling all über-male.

  Tromping down the steps like a charging boar, I grunt to Cara, “Hey.”

  She’s on the sofa, rushing to darken her tablet for some unknown reason.

  “Trying to hide your porn?” I snicker.

  “You wish,” she banters back.

  Yeah, honey, I kind of do.

  When I reach the base of the staircase, I straight-up ask, “What’s so secretive, anyway?”

  “None of your business,” she snaps.

  Her dismissive, bitchy tone irks me, so I growl, “Thought you were into sharing, Miss”—my voice goes up an octave to mimic her—“I-hate-pickles-and-just-love-indie- music.”

  Her eyes jump to me. There’s hurt in her hazels. “What’s gotten into you, Jaxon?”

  I resist the urge to pound my chest, à la Tarzan, as I smugly retort, “Testosterone, baby. Pure male testosterone.”

  “Hmm, and here I thought steroids were illegal.”

  “Ha-ha, smartass.”

  Snarky Cara is back and in full swing. Good. Jaxon with his balls intact likes it when we’re sparring.

  Folding my arms over my chest, a move I know makes me look even stronger but is a little less obnoxious than the Tarzan chest-beating thing, I inform her, “For the record, I don’t need steroids. I have plenty of testosterone to spare, sweetheart.”

  “Well then, maybe you should go back upstairs and ‘spare’ a little. We all know how good you are at that.”

  I laugh. The cojones on this girl, I love it!

  Raising a brow, I ask, “Are you referring to when you caught me jacking off? That’s your best insult?”

  “Hmm, maybe it is. And maybe it does bother you a little.”

  “Not a chance. Like I care,” I scoff. “In fact, you’re welcome to watch me any time I touch myself. You just let me know and we’ll make it happen.”

  Shit, for a second there she looks…intrigued?

  Fuck…

  My dick twinges.

  But she schools her features to neutral and bites out, “You’re disgusting.”

  “Oh, really?” I smirk knowingly. “You sure didn’t look disgusted three seconds ago. I think you were actually contemplating taking me up on my very generous offer.”

  That sends her into fuming territory.

  Jumping up, she tosses her tablet onto the sofa and stomps over to me.

  “You know what, Jaxon Holland? You can just go fuck yourself.”

  I meet her toe-to-toe, staring intently into her fiery green-brown eyes. “Is that an invitation, Cara Milne? You still want to watch, or would you like to help this time?”

  “That is never going to happen,” she murmurs as she looks away.

  Cupping her chin, making her meet my gaze, I utter a soft, “Are you sure about that?”

  Licking her lips, she stares at my mouth.

  Damn, I think she wants me to kiss her, like seriously.

  Oh, what the hell, my testosterone-driven self says inside my head.

  I lean in tentatively, in case I’m reading this wrong and she starts smacking the crap out of me.

  But when no hits come—just her soft, warm breaths comingling with mine—I keep going.

  Before our lips meet, though, I give her one last chance to back out.

  “Tell me to stop, Cara,” I murmur.

  “No,” she sighs.

  I pull back an inch. “Wait, is that ‘no, stop’…or ‘no, don’t stop’?”

  “Damn it, Jaxon.” She grabs my shoulders and yanks me to her.

  Whoa, Cara has surprising strength for such a tiny thing.

  She yanks me again, and there’s no more doubt. She really wants this to happen.

  So I quit resisting and just fucking kiss the girl.

  And what a kiss it is.

  Our lips are engaged in a stormy crash, like the waves on the beach. She cants one way and I the other, and our tongues tangle in a battle for dominance, like everything is with us.

  She bites me at one point, and I yank back her hair.

  “Bad girl,” I tell her.

  “So punish me, Jaxon.”

  Fuck.

  My mouth returns to hers with a vengeance as I back her toward the sofa. All the while my hands are plying at her soft ass through the thin material of her dress. But, fuck, I want to feel her skin. So I reach down and hike up the damn material.

  I can’t wait to get this thing off of her.

  When I discover she’s wearing a thong, I groan and palm her bare ass.

  Her hands fist in my hair, yanking and pulling.

  Ow, fuck, but so damn hot.

  I lay her back on the sofa, settling in between her legs. We continue kissing like that for awhile, but then we add in some pumping and grinding.

  As I thrust against her soaking-wet panties—fuck—she shifts so that the bulge in my shorts rubs over her clit again and again—double fuck.

  I lift my weight up off her so I can undo the rest of those pearly buttons on her dress. Her chest heaves as she watches me. Fuck, we’re both breathing so hard. It’s like we’re wild animals preparing to rut. It’s definitely primal and raw between us, and I like it.

  But just as I’m peeling back the top of her dress, exposing her pebbled nipples, the tablet pops out from beneath us and clatters to the floor.

  And then it flashes on.

  I look down, muttering, “What the fuck?”

  I see now what she was trying to hide. And let me tell you, it’s an instant mood killer.

  “You’re a Mr. Hockeypants fan?” I sit up like I’ve just been doused with a bucket of ice water. It feels like I have.

  “I can’t believe you read that garbage,” I go on. “You said over and over that you don’t even like hockey.”

  “I, uh, I didn’t say I hated it.”

  She sits up next to me, messily buttoning her dress.

  I sense she’s stalling, so I press, “Well, do you or don’t you follow that fuckhead’s blog?”

  God, her face is so flushed. She’s beyond flustered.

  Is it b
ecause she’s embarrassed over reading Mr. Hockeypants, or is it a leftover response from being aroused?

  Shit, I can’t tell.

  But I can tell you one thing—I want some damn answers.

  Choosing My Words Carefully

  Jaxon asks again if I’m a fan of Mr. Hockeypants.

  What do I say? This is like my worst nightmare come true.

  I should’ve written the post in my bedroom, or at least turned off the tablet instead of hitting Sleep.

  Now I have to explain myself, and no matter which way I go, I’m fucked. If I tell Jaxon I’m Mr. Hockeypants, it’s over between us, as friends or as anything else.

  And after making out with him on the sofa just now, which was totally hot, I’d really like to explore that “anything else” option.

  But I also hate to blatantly lie to him.

  I know what I’ll do—I’ll explain fully. I’ll just need to choose my words wisely.

  “Uh, I don’t follow that blog,” I state.

  Totally true since I don’t follow it, I write the damn thing.

  Jaxon frowns. “Okay, so why’d it pop up like that? It had to have been the last thing you were looking at before I came downstairs.”

  “It was, yes.” I nod.

  See, more truth. I’m two for two here.

  “And…” He waves his hand around to move me along. “Why were you reading a hockey blog when you don’t like hockey? And why would you try to hide it from me?”

  Oh, shit. Both are good questions, but I think I’m okay. Jaxon just gave me an idea.

  Taking a deep breath, and making sure my boobs remain secured since I did such a half-assed job re-buttoning my dress, I begin to spin a tale that’s sure to bite me in the ass down the road.

  “Well, first,” I begin, “I’ve been checking out hockey boards and various blogs lately because… Well, because you play hockey.”

  That scores me a point. Jaxon’s smiling big and wide as he asks, “Is that right?”

  “Yes.” I nod, feeling pleased this is going so well. “I hid what I was looking at because I noticed Mr. Hockeypants has written some, uh, less than flattering things about you recently.”

  “That’s an understatement,” he grumbles.

  I clear my throat. “Anyway, I didn’t want you to see that and have your feelings hurt all over again.”

  “Have my feelings hurt all over again?” He laughs. “Don’t worry, Cara. I’m a big boy. I can take the heat. Still, that doesn’t mean the prick who wrote that crap doesn’t deserve a beatdown.”

  Eek!

  I squeak out, “He seems a little harsh at times, but I’m sure that’s just his shtick.”

  “His shtick, eh?” Jaxon scoffs. “Well, he can take his shtick and shove it up his ass. Or better yet, I’ll shove it there for him. Dude fucked up my whole world. Why do you think I came down to the island in the first place?”

  “Um…”

  Can I just slink away in shame now?

  Jaxon jumps up and starts pacing. “I’ll tell you why, Cara. I came here to hide. I had fans sending me stuffed squirrels and fucking fake bongs! I had people heckling me whenever I went out, and fans screaming rude things in my face.”

  God, I didn’t know it was so bad. I wish I’d never written that stupid post about him. That’s it. As soon as I’m alone, I’ll delete it. Sure, the post will always be out there in cyberspace somewhere, but at least no one visiting the blog will happen upon it.

  “I didn’t know,” I whisper, lowering my face to my hands. “I am so sorry, Jaxon.”

  He sits next to me, draping his arm over my shoulders. “S’okay, Cara. It’s not like it’s your fault.”

  But it is, I almost confess. It so fucking is!

  I can’t say that, though. I’m afraid to come clean. I mean, damn, he wants to beatdown Mr. Hockeypants and shove stuff up his ass. Yikes.

  I realize then that no matter how badly I want Jaxon Holland, I was right all along—he and I can never be.

  It’s Over Before It Ever Even Began

  Cara starts crying, like full-on sobbing.

  What the actual fuck?

  I thought I was feeling bad about Mr. Hockeypants. Seems the dude has the power to upset anyone who reads his wicked words, even someone who barely understands hockey.

  I try to comfort her.

  “Hey, hey, it’s all right. Everything will be okay.” With my arm still draped around her, I pull her closer to me.

  Hmm, we’re such a nice fit. It’s going to be so good when we finally fuck.

  Suddenly, though, something dawns on me—maybe she’s crying because of what we were doing before the tablet dropped to the floor. Does she regret making out with me, kind of like buyer’s remorse?

  Or maybe she just doesn’t want me anymore after reading Mr. Hockeypants’s blog.

  His damn trash talk, so many outright lies. How could she know for certain I’m not some secret stoner who tokes up before big games, or that I’m not solely responsible for our shortened playoff run?

  It takes a whole team to win, though. Maybe I should explain that to her since she’s not fully up on hockey.

  So I do just that—I pour out my thoughts, including that I’m not the man Mr. Hockeypants portrays me to be.

  “I’m not that awful, I swear,” I insist.

  “I know that,” she cries.

  Then why’s she still so upset?

  I suddenly remember the one thing Mr. Hockeypants wrote that was true. That has to be what’s weighing on her, especially after what we were just doing.

  “Uh, Cara,” I say quietly. “Are you crying because of what Mr. Hockeypants said about me going to strip clubs?”

  She doesn’t reply, so I continue, “It’s true that I have gone to a few in the past. Er, well, okay maybe more than a few. But I swear that I haven’t been to one in over a month. And I could go too, even here on the island. Well, not on the island itself, but I could take a boat over to the mainland and find a club.”

  She scrunches her face in disgust. “Ugh, Jaxon, are you for real right now?”

  I hasten to add, “I’m not saying I would do that. I’m just making a point. I could go to those places if they were still important to me.”

  She blinks up at me. “You’re saying they’re not?”

  I shake my head emphatically. “No, not anymore.”

  Maybe I’m maturing, or maybe Cara really has a hold on me, seeing as the next words out of my mouth are, “I can honestly swear to you, Cara, that if we ever did become more than friends, I would never step foot in any strip club ever—”

  Whoa, suddenly she starts crying harder than ever.

  Fuck, I can’t do anything right.

  I give up and just hold her. She clings to me like this might be the last time we’re ever this close physically.

  But that can’t be right. With the way we were all over each other just minutes ago, there’s no way we’re not continuing where we left off.

  And fuck Noel, I’m going for it.

  While we’re at it, fuck me too.

  I was pussying out when we were out on the beach earlier this evening, but no more. I’m ready to man up. Maybe this will end up being nothing more than an island fling, who knows? And maybe Noel and his sister will hate me forever. But I’ll take that chance, as long as Cara’s okay with it. Because this could also be the start of something more than a fling, and I’m finally ready. I’m not going to run. I like Cara, I like her a lot. And we have off-the-charts chemistry. So I’m done wimping out. It’s time to admit I could see myself dating her. I could even see myself in a relationship with her.

  And that, my friends, is stunning.

  Does this mean I’m evolving?

  Who knows?

  All I do know is that I want to try.

  But I better check with Cara first, to make sure we’re on the same page.

  “Cara, I need to ask you something,” I say in my most serious tone.

  Peering u
p at me, tears still welling in her eyes for some unknown reason, she nods for me to go on. “Okay.”

  I let go of her so I can lean back against the cushions. This is serious stuff here.

  “So, about what happened earlier with us, I need to ask you—”

  She holds up her hand and starts shaking her head. “Just forget it ever happened, Jaxon. Okay?”

  “Huh?” I’m boggled.

  “I’m sorry,” she goes on. “I lost control. And that was stupid of me. In any case, I promise it’ll never happen again.”

  “Wait, what? Where’s this coming from?”

  I Just Effed Myself

  Poor Jaxon, he looks so confused. And why wouldn’t he be? He has no idea we can never be because I’m his biggest nemesis on the planet.

  It just would never work.

  Oh, the troubles we bring onto ourselves.

  I should never have kissed him.

  “Cara, seriously, I need you to talk to me. Tell me what the hell is going on. Did I do something wrong?”

  “No,” I choke out as I scoot over to the far end of the sofa.

  I need the distance to stay strong. If I remain seated next to a half-naked Jaxon, the lure of his potent male pheromones could lead to weakness on my part. Guess he does have testosterone to spare. Must be why I keep having the urge to grab his face and kiss the crap out of him, even when I know I can’t.

  Jaxon seeing the blog has woken me up. I was being irrational before, forgetting about reality.

  God, this so totally sucks. I just want to run upstairs and lock myself in my bedroom.

  But Jaxon asked for an explanation, and I should give him one. He deserves at least that.

  It can’t be the truth, though. Imagine me saying, “Oh, hey, bet you didn’t know you were just rolling around and sucking face with Mr. Hockeypants. He doesn’t have a dick, but he’s pretty good at fucking you, right?”

  Yeah, I doubt that would go over well.

  So on to plan B.

  I clear my throat and get started.

  “Um, I think we just got caught up in the moment, Jaxon. But we shouldn’t go there. I mean, think about it. Before we started kissing, we were ready to kill one another.”