Scoring Off The Ice: Ice Kings, #2

by Stacey Lynn

  “Talking to you helps me feel better.”

  A rush of warmth like a tidal wave slams against me, covers me down to the tips of my toes. “Th… thank you. That’s very sweet.”

  He smiles. It’s timid but it changes and turns more serious, almost contemplative as his gaze slides down the length of my body. “Be back.”

  As soon as he’s gone, I take a few minutes tidying up the living room. The blankets are folded and draped over one armrest. I gather a few diapers that have been rolled and taped close but didn’t quite make it into the garbage can that’s overflowing, so I dig in the cupboards in the kitchen and under the sink until I find where he keeps the extra and I change out the trash, taking the full bag to the hallway and set it outside his door. I can throw it in the dumpster receptacle at the end of the hall when I leave later.

  He has a fully stocked pantry with a huge variety of healthy food. I don’t understand what half of them are or what they would be used for in recipes. I do manage to find enough basic items I can use to whip together a meal for him.

  My attempts at baking create cookies Mikah could probably use as hockey pucks and more than one small oven fire. I’m only slightly better at cooking, but there are a few things I can make that won’t risk his physical health. Fortunately, amidst the dried seaweed, veggie chips, and quinoa, he has all the ingredients to make a homemade sauce.

  I pull out the cans I need and smile when I catch the shelf to my right. It’s stocked as if Angelo is going to begin eating baby food tomorrow, and I let loose a giggle. Hannah and Byron must have been balls to the walls buying Mikah everything from the store the other night. Angelo is nowhere near old enough for jarred baby food or the puff stars.

  But Mikah is definitely prepared considering the half-dozen cans of formula and more bottles that are still in their packaging. There are even additional packages of just the bottle nipples in larger sizes as he grows.

  I leave the walk-in pantry and check on Angelo. He’s still sleeping in the swing and the buzz click click of it is the only sound in the room which for some reason, is rather peaceful.

  Who would have thought I’d be cooking a homemade meal for a man I barely know while watching his son? Not me, that’s for sure, and yet as I move around his kitchen, grabbing items and pots and pans and digging ground beef out of his freezer, I like it.

  My mom worked long hours three days a week when I was really little, she sometimes wasn’t home until I was already in bed. My father worked just as long hours and was often on call to help with emergency plumbing issues. It made it difficult to spend a lot of family time together, simple things like eating dinner as a family. Talking about our days. Them asking me about school. Instead, questions were usually asked in the car while they worked and hurried to get me to all the places I needed to go like dance and soccer practices, middle school dances, high school football games. Despite the rush and the usually running late, I always knew I was deeply loved.

  Something that’s been bothering me about what Hannah said the other night. We’re the only family he has here. Does that mean he has family elsewhere? Or that he doesn’t have any. My heart pinches every time those words come to my mind.

  I didn’t have a lot. But I have a home. A good family. A landing place when things in life knock me sideways. I can’t imagine how I’d handle something like this without them.

  I have the ground beef browning in a frying pan when Angelo lets loose a quiet cry. His mouth is doing that sucking motion again which is utterly adorable. I can’t help but stop what I’m doing in the kitchen to get a closer peek at him. His tiny feet are covered in socks and he’s wearing a short sleeve, long-legged outfit striped in black and blue. In white across his chest are the words “Let’s Go!”

  I have to cover my mouth to keep from laughing. My internet search turned up enough to show me that with Mikah’s last name of Lutzgo, whenever he skates onto the ice or scores a goal, the entire crowd cheers the words covering Angelo’s chest.

  And he’s dressed his son in it. Tiny tears form in my eyes, but I quickly blink them away. Yes. Mikah is going to be a great dad. I can imagine his nerves as he dressed Angelo in the outfit, the pride in his eyes when he saw his son wearing his fan-given nickname, and I almost melt into a puddle on his rug.

  Angelo cries again and I grab a nearby pacifier before gently brushing it over his lips. According to the note, he ate an hour ago so he shouldn’t be hungry. He takes the pacifier and settles back down easily, so I brush my hand over his forehead before stepping back.

  This little guy. He’s going to have my heart in no time. I need to be careful.

  Now that he’s happy, I head back to the kitchen. I finish the beef and drain it and I’m adding in cans of tomatoes and tomato paste when Mikah returns.

  “It smells delicious out here,” he says. His voice startles me, and I fumble with the can opener, dropping it onto the counter.

  The noise bounces off the walls and my head whips in Angelo’s direction. His arms are in the air, lowering slowly, so I know the noise startled him as well but he’s still sleeping.

  It takes me a moment to turn and face Mikah and when I do, I realize my first mistake.

  I always forget how attractive he is when I’m not in the same room with him. I really need to begin preparing myself for his arrival.

  He’s thrown on another simple blue T-shirt, this one with a small logo of the Ice Kings on his chest and goodness graciousness, he might be trying to kill me. He’s thrown on loose gray sweatpants. Cuffed at the ankles. Slung low on his hips, loose at his thighs, they’re my kryptonite. It’s difficult to force my gaze away from what I know is not so secretly currently hiding beneath them.

  Let’s just say the man has everything going for him.

  “Sorry,” I mutter and turn back to the tomato sauce. I scoop out another can of tomatoes and stir. “You startled me.”

  “You’re cooking? I didn’t expect that. And you didn’t have to clean.”

  I give him a soft smile, at least one that I hope is soft and friendly and not showing everything I’m currently thinking. Like how much I wish he would have returned wearing nothing.

  Now that’s a beautiful sight.

  “It’s only spaghetti, and I just picked up a few things. I thought you could use a good meal. Figure you haven’t had much time to sit and eat this weekend.”

  “Heaven,” he groans and heads toward the fridge where he pulls out a bottled water. “Would you like one?”

  I take it and chug almost the entire bottle. My throat is still parched. Now he’s standing close, inhaling the scent of the spaghetti sauce. His blond hair is longer on top and he has a thin layer of scruff at his jaw. His eyes are blue like the brightest summer’s day. So bright I might have to wear sunglasses if I were to ever look at him directly for more than a moment.

  And man. He’s so sexy. My heart jumps and leaps, does a few cartwheels and a back handspring.

  “Thank you,” he says, turning his head toward me.

  I shrug. “It’s no big deal.” Inside my blood is boiling as much as the sauce. I’m not entirely sure Mikah is good for my physical health. Heart palpitations. Sweaty palms. Erratic thoughts. I might be having a stroke.

  “It is to me. This weekend has been… painful.”

  I set the wooden spoon onto the counter and turn to him. “I imagine becoming a father like this isn’t easy, but he’s fed. You’re keeping an eye on him. He’s sleeping. He’ll adjust.”

  “You keep saying that like you’re so sure of yourself.”

  His uncertainty makes my heart ache. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Chapter Nine

  Mikah

  * * *

  She looks at me with such wide-eyed innocence it’s difficult not to lean forward and kiss her. Which is not like me. I’ve spent so many years focused solely on hockey and not much else that the reaction I have to this girl I don’t really know rattles me.

  But I like the sight of
her in my kitchen. Her leggings she threw on show off the curve of her hips and plump ass and the tank top does even better things to the top half of her body.

  Still, she’s so beautiful, and the confidence she has in me makes me never want to disappoint her.

  “It’s nice to hear someone so sure of themselves when I have spent days feeling not the same.”

  I don’t like admitting to failing, especially to someone I don’t know. Byron told me to be careful with her. Which I understand, but I’m ignoring his advice. He and Hannah get much more attention than I do, and he’s had his name on gossip sites more than once claiming inappropriate behavior but it’s all trash. I’ve never seen a man who loves his wife and kids more than he does.

  So when he said on Friday he was going to go over and have a few words with Paisley, I stepped in and stopped him. He’d scare the girl away. When Hannah returned, she was full of uncontrollable laughter, saying I had nothing to worry about. When she repeated to us her conversation, she had tears in her eyes when she explained how confused Paisley had looked at the mention of our team name.

  Not a fan of sports or hockey.

  What would life be like without it? It’s a concept I don’t understand, but there’s something appealing to that too.

  Yes, I am ignoring Byron’s grumpy advice.

  “How is he sleeping?” She sets down the wooden spoon and rests her backside against my counter.

  Shame, because I really like looking at that part of her. Fortunately for me, the front side is even more impressive. Large breasts I imagine spilling from my hands. Trim waist. Beautiful, plump and pink lips. I’m so transfixed on this beautiful creature it takes me a minute to answer. Let me just pull my tongue back into my mouth so I don’t drool all over my floor first.

  What’d she ask about? Sleeping. Us? Ha. No. She’s talking about the baby. Right. “Four hours at a stretch at night.”

  “Well that’s good. Really.”

  “It doesn’t feel good. He makes these noises and I’m waking up every time.”

  She laughs quietly and her smile grows. “He’ll grow and that will get longer and you’ll get used to the noises. Is he in your room?”

  “For now. Hannah and Byron ordered a bunch of furniture that will be delivered this week sometime. I have a tiny…” My brows pucker as I try to think of the word.

  “Bassinet?”

  “Yes, that small bed. He’s in that.”

  I don’t know what else to say. I don’t want to tell her the shower she gave me time to take was my first one in days. I feel like a new man in clean clothes. I’m not used to talking about Angelo, or how much I like him and want him and how angry I am at Angela. I definitely do not want to talk about how utterly scared I am to leave him. What do I do with training? With traveling during the season?

  Tomorrow, I have to call the nanny service Hannah gave me so I can start to get things figured out.

  My eyes slide to Angelo, sleeping peacefully. The scent of the spaghetti sauce Paisley is cooking is incredible. For the first time in days, a tightness in my chest releases.

  I like this. Her in my home, us both smiling at Angelo as he sleeps.

  Before my mind can run away with stupidity, I change the subject.

  “So, you know what I do. What do you do for work?”

  This is a nice building. I can only afford it because of my last contract I re-negotiated and the growing interest in hockey in Charlotte. It helps we’ve made the playoffs the last three years in a row, and two years ago won the Stanley Cup Championship.

  “I’m in graduate school getting my Master’s in Education.” As she speaks, she’s turned, stirring the sauce and she opens a cupboard which is filled with spices. It must be woman’s intuition that tells her where all of my things are because she’s as comfortable as cooking in here as I am.

  “Graduate school?”

  My look must not hide my surprise because she laughs again. She does it so easily. All the time. Sometimes when I laugh, I surprise myself with the sound.

  She gives the sauce another quick stir before running her finger along the spoon and tasting it. I get stuck on watching her lick the taste off her finger. A low hum falls from her pink lips that shoots straight to my dick. I clear my throat and get her attention, realizing I’m only half-listening as she starts talking. I can’t wipe away the vision of her lips wrapped around something else.

  Damn. I’ve never been a guy to think with my dick as my teammates say it, but I definitely understand what it means now.

  “My uncle owns my condo. He’s on a three-year arrangement out of the country for his work so when he heard I was accepted into the grad school at NCU, he asked if I wanted to live in it while he’s gone. That way he didn’t have to worry about selling it or renting.”

  “You must be close with your family.”

  “Yeah. I don’t have a lot and my parents live a couple hours away, but we’re close.”

  She says nothing else and I have so many more questions. It’s not like me to care so much or want to know so much but I’m intrigued by her. And it has more to do with her showing up at my door with a baby in her arms.

  “My family is in Denmark.” She hasn’t asked, but I want her to know about me too. She hasn’t even said anything about the team. Or what position I play. And I’m not sure if I like her disinterest or if it’s killing me. There’s a stigma that comes with being a professional athlete. There’s the idea that all the guys only think of how often we can get our sticks wet off the ice as often as possible. In a much larger truth, the guys who play on my team and most are good guys. There’s always an asshole or three on every team, but most of the guys I know want the wife and family. They go to church. They volunteer because they want to give back, not because they’re forced to for their image. They are faithful. And good.

  Paisley might not have much knowledge of sports, but I can’t imagine she doesn’t have some idea of what she thinks a player is.

  “Are you close with them?” she asks and it’s almost hesitant. Her bottle of water is gone and I almost offer her another one when she helps herself.

  “No.” I don’t mind admitting it either. My father and I haven’t spoken since the last playoff game in the spring when we lost. I missed three shots on goal and it wasn’t my best game. He made sure to call to let me know he watched it and to repeat what I already knew. “My father is not a nice man, at least not to me. He pushed too hard and nothing was ever good enough. I send them money because if I don’t, he will call and remind me that I wouldn’t have so much if it wasn’t for him.”

  Her lips part and her skin pales. She’s tan but that vanishes as she licks her bottom lip. “That’s, well, that’s horrible.”

  “He made me the player I was, and then I became better than he ever was. I think, although he likes that I’m good enough to play in the pros here, he also hates I’m better than him. That he didn’t get the chance.”

  Her fingers strum on the counter. I can almost see the fight in her eyes. Does she ask me about hockey or not?

  “That’s too bad. Parents should always support their children.” She says it quietly, and I can tell it truly bothers her.

  I open my mouth to reassure her I’m used to it. I’ve had three years of growing up without him around. To me, my father is nothing more than a yearly bill I pay.

  Before I can, Angelo lets out a loud squawk that tells me he’s had it with sleeping and swinging.

  We both move to him, like we’re instinctively prepared to get him first, but I beat Paisley. She steps back, chuckling, and I smile at her as I bend down to undo the straps across his small chest.

  “Go ahead,” she says, waving her hand at Angelo and stepping back. “I should let you handle him, right?”

  I take him out slowly and pick up the pacifier he spit out. He takes it again and I grab one of the blankets she threw over the couch so I can wrap him as I hold him.

  “You’re getting good at that.” Her sm
ile is soft and she hasn’t moved far, like she wants to get her hands on him, and I like that.

  She likes him.

  “He likes to be held. A lot.”

  “Babies do.” She laughs and she picks up the carrier I’ve completely forgotten about. It’s the entire reason why I went to get her earlier. “Should we figure out how to do this?”

  “Yes.” As soon as I say it though, Angelo’s face turns purple and his whole body tenses. I look down at him, grimacing. I’ve learned quickly what this means. “Maybe in a minute.”

  I wait until he’s done filling his diaper and I’m rewarded with the stench of him and a smile that is so wide he drops his pacifier from his mouth.

  Man, this kid can take a dump that’ll clear the room.

  “Men,” she says, “you’re all the same, thinking pooping is funny.”

  I must be smiling at him again. In addition to lack of sleep, my cheeks hurt. I think I’ve smiled more this weekend than I’ve smiled in years. “What’s not funny about it?”

  She’s laughing and reaching for him like she can’t wait to get her hands on him. “I can change him.”

  “I will let you. Happily.” She takes him from me and goes to the corner of the living room where I have stacked everything.

  Hannah and Byron went wild on Friday night. As soon as I explained what was going on, Hannah had my laptop in her lap, Target pulled up on the screen. She clicked so fast on my keyboard I was certain smoke would come from it. She didn’t stop until she snapped her fingers at me and demanded my credit card. I was in such a fog I handed it over without question.

  She is a woman who knows exactly what she wants and what she’s doing with babies. Who am I to question?

  Two hours later, whatever she ordered was ready for pickup and Byron went to get it, leaving me with Hannah while she so gently and quietly and easily explained and taught me how to do simple things like how to change and feed Angelo.

  The rocking him I picked up from Paisley although my hips don’t sway as nicely as hers do. And it’s amazing she does it even on the short walk to where I have his things stacked.