BLAZE: Enemies to Lovers College Hockey Romance

by Eddie Cleveland

  “Oh, how noble. Are you sacrificing yourself for the good of the team?” I roll my eyes.

  A giant snowflake sticks to my cheek, and Blaze softly brushes if off. I want him to stop right here and grab me. I want him to kiss me in the middle of the sidewalk in the middle of the snow falling, exactly the scene I’d expect to see in a real snow globe.

  He doesn’t do any of those things. Still, something stirs inside me. When it’s just me and him, it always feels this way, like an awakening.

  “Fuck the team. I’m saying you can save all that sexy dominatrix shit for me. I think it’s hot.” His nostrils flare, and there’s a spark in his eyes. Blaze runs his hand over his beard. The dark blurs into the tattoos on the back of his hand.

  I follow him around the corner, up a street full of bright signs promising every type of food. My stomach decides it’s hungry for all of them and growls.

  “Hungry?” He looks at me, and I wrap my arms around my stomach. Where’s the mute button for that?

  “I could eat.” I try to act like my belly didn’t just try to audition for the role of Tiger in a Katy Perry music video.

  “Do you like wings? ‘Cause I know a place that will blow your mind. They’ve got every flavor you can imagine. You can even get chocolate chicken wings.”

  “Ew.”

  “Okay, skip those. There are normal flavors too. Come on, it’s not that far. Just over there.” He points across the street from the public park.

  “Sure.” I shrug. I don’t care what we eat as long as it shuts up my stomach.

  The restaurant doesn’t look like anything special, but Blaze is excited when we get seated and starts looking over the menu. He wasn’t lying. There are more flavors of chicken wings than humanity should have ever created.

  Wings aren’t something I eat a lot, but when I do, honey garlic is my go-to. There are flavor combinations that don’t even make sense on here. Who wants to eat marshmallow wings? Not me. I do want to try something different though. Blaze has a way of doing that to me.

  The waitress comes over to the table. “Have you guys decided?”

  “Yeah, I’m going to get a basket of dill pickle wings, please.” I feel bold. Dill pickle wings? That’s borderline crazy.

  “I’ll get the peanut butter and jelly wings,” Blaze tells her.

  What the hell? That’s actual crazy.

  “And two of whatever is on tap,” he adds.

  Any other night, I’d give him a hard time about the beer. It’s not any other night though.

  Blaze’s phone dings with a text. He glances at the screen and immediately shoves it back in his pocket.

  “Anything important?”

  “Nope. More of the same.”

  “The Prissy-whipped thing?”

  “Yup.”

  He stares off. It seems like it might actually be getting to him. “You know what that makes me think of?” His lips tug up in the corner and his eyes twinkle.

  “The Prissy-whipped thing? No, what?”

  It makes me think of you in leather with a crop in your hand and boots so tall they brush against your pussy.”

  “Blaze!” I glance around, but no one is sitting in earshot of us.

  “I’m just saying, if you ever want to smack a crop across someone’s ass, you’ve got the name ready to go. Or do you want your ass spanked?”

  I’ve never imagined being spanked before. It makes me fluttery inside, but I can’t tell if it’s from nerves or excitement. I imagine him pulling me over his knees. How his tattooed hand would feel striking my ass. I didn’t expect the idea to make me clench everywhere.

  “You know, since you gave me the slip last time, we still have to discuss that whole tying-you-up thing.”

  “Shhh.” I try to stop the words at his mouth, before they have a chance to paint my cheeks red. It isn’t embarrassment flushing my skin, only the stir I feel when I picture us doing those things. There’s something about him, about his wildness. It gives me glimpses into my own primal needs.

  Needs that someone as shy in bed as me would never admit to having. Blaze has awoken a curiosity that I never realized I had about sex. There’s no thigh-high leather boots or whips in my immediate future. Still, there’s a lot of ground between my experiences and the BDSM lifestyle. For the first time in my life, I want to try some of those steps in between.

  “Even if there were parts of that idea that I liked, we can’t hook-up here.”

  His eyes burn. “No? Don’t want to get fucked in the toilet stall?”

  Blaze has scrambled my brain. A couple months ago, I wouldn’t have considered it flattering for someone to want to have sex with me in a public restroom. Now, the idea of being fucked so publicly, with that much urgency, that never used to get me… I squeeze my legs together, but it doesn’t slow the spread of this ache.

  “Not here.” I try to keep the whimper out of my voice.

  Blaze drinks his beer, looking over the glass at me. He loves watching me squirm. I wish he wasn’t so good at it.

  “I mean at the hotel.”

  “No?” He answers cooly, slightly raising an eyebrow. “So you don’t want me to eat your pussy until you explode?”

  I cross my legs and squeeze my thighs together. It’s so hard to stop seeing the way he looks. How the muscles across his shoulders and back look when he’s holding my legs open. How my entire body shudders with my orgasm when he sucks on my clit.

  The toilet stall isn’t sounding so bad, not if I’ll feel his cock inside me. Not if he releases me from this ache. Before I can make any impulsive and illegal decisions, the waitress brings us two baskets of wings.

  “All right, I’ve got the zesty dill.” She holds up my basket like she’s a human scale and Blaze’s food is heavier.

  “That’s for me.” I breathe in the crazy scent and have a moment of doubt about this flavor choice.

  “So, that leaves the peanut butter and jelly wings for you.” She sort of rocks back and forth when she hands off Blaze’s wings.

  “Thanks.” His smile seems to make her flustered.

  “The bucket at the end of the table is for the bones. You’ve got lots of hand wipes. Let me know if you need anything else.” She says it all to me, like she doesn’t trust herself to look his way anymore.

  The waitress leaves, and Blaze digs right in.

  It takes two bites to realize he’s right. These are the best wings ever. The beer was a good call too. Maybe I don’t need to hang on so tightly. Maybe it’s okay to embrace the chaos. I must be judging a book by its cover with the repulsive combination of chicken, peanut butter and jelly, because Blaze is fully inhaling his strange choice of wings.

  I’m not quite ravaging mine like that, but I’m surprised how many I’ve eaten. Our bone bucket is filling up. “So good.” I suck the dill sauce off the bone before chucking it in the can.

  “Don’t do that.” Blaze frowns.

  “What?”

  “You’re going to get me fucked up. My cock will get hard every time I eat chicken wings. Don’t suck on that, moaning about how good it is.”

  “I was not moaning,” I whisper.

  “Yeah? Well, I guess I don’t have to worry anyway. It’s really more of a chicken leg than a wing…” Blaze winks at me.

  “Don’t say that.” It's time to make my own demands.

  “Why?”

  “Because, I don’t want to think about your dick the next time I get a craving for KFC.”

  “But you do want to think about my dick, right. Like, inside you?”

  Neither of us noticed our flustered waitress until she slides the bill onto the table. She looks mortified.

  “I’ll get it.” Blaze takes out his wallet.

  “No, I’ll pay for my half.” I grab my purse.

  “I’ve got it. I always pay on a date.”

  I’ve never felt a smile start on the inside of my body before. Blaze pays for the meal, and the waitress seems happy to escape us. We get our coats on
and head back out into the snow.

  “Is this a date?” I feel weird even asking.

  Blaze slides his arm around me. “Feels like one to me. The only difference is, I’m not trying to fill you up with holiday goose babies,” he teases me.

  I laugh and the happiness stays fixed on my face when he pulls me in a bit tighter. It feels like this entire city is ours. These snow globe flurries make this all feel dreamy and magical.

  “You ever wonder what happened to Harry Douche-Nozzle?”

  “Who?”

  “The third.” He sounds like a pompous butler. “You know, your last date.”

  I haven’t thought about Damon since that night. “That’s the perfect name for him.” I laugh.

  “I’m glad I crashed your date.” Blaze gets serious for two seconds, and it makes my heart flutter. “I like that you’re my dirty little secret,” he murmurs. “Come on.” He grabs my hand, and we cross the empty city street.

  The public park is a winter wonderland. This must be a crazy place on snow days. It’s like a kid’s paradise. The sliding hill curves down around the skating rink. The outdoor lights glitter against the ice sculptures and castle.

  “It’s pretty.” I smile, soaking it in from a respectful distance.

  Blaze walks us to the edge of the ice, but I stop short. “I can’t go on there.” I shake my head.

  “Relax, we’re not breaking any rules.” Blaze sighs.

  “No, that’s not the problem. I have a dirty secret too.” He listens to me attentively. “I can’t skate.”

  “Is there a sexual reason you can’t skate?”

  “No.” I squint. “Why would there be?”

  “How is that a dirty secret?”

  “I’m not going on the ice, Blaze.”

  “What if I hold your hands? Come on.” He’s hard to resist. Especially since I don’t want to resist him.

  Blaze holds me steady on the ice as I shuffle cautiously. We take it slow, but I find my balance and pick up our speed. It’s still a far cry from real skating, but even sliding over the ice in our boots, it’s like floating. It’s freeing.

  Loud voices and laughter draw my attention to the guys walking down the sidewalk. If they weren’t being so rowdy, I wouldn’t have even noticed them.

  “Wait, is that… Rookie? Canuck?”

  Blaze immediately drops my hands and puts a bit of space between us. That should be my priority too, but I’m too angry to think about hiding this.

  “What are you guys doing down here!” I twist too much, and I paw at the air as my feet slide out from under me. The guys freeze to the spot as I slip and fall on my ass.

  20

  Pulling a Blaze

  Blaze

  “Oof!” Prissy hits the ice with all the dignity of a hockey bag being tossed on a locker room floor.

  “Are you alright?” I help her up from the ice, holding her tightly until I’m sure she’s got her balance.

  “Watch out, that ice is hella slippery.” Rookie states the obvious, trampling through the snow toward us.

  Meanwhile, Canuck rushes over and contorts himself behind an ice sculpture of a figure skater. He doesn’t need a sobriety test. The way he’s trying to imitate her leg-up, arched-back pose tells me exactly how drunk he is. He keeps wobbling all over the place until he finally throws his arms around it and smooshes his face against the carving. Fucking braincells McGee.

  Rookie doesn’t try to hide at all, he just stumbles toward us with the stability of a toddler that just learned to walk. It’s obvious the two of them are drunk.

  “Are you hurt?” I’m careful to keep my concerns quiet. I search Prissy’s face for signs of pain, but when she meets my eyes, it’s all the reassurance I need. She gives me a stiff nod, steps off the ice and walks back onto snowy ground, putting more space between us before Rookie reaches the edge of the ice.

  I guess our date is over.

  “She’s okay, right?” Rookie stands inches away from Prissy. He scrutinizes her too closely and with too much concern etched into his young face. Alcohol has a way of popping personal bubbles.

  “I’m fine.” She brushes her hands down, wiping the icy residue from her ass and thighs.

  Rookie won’t stop staring at her, and it’s getting uncomfortable. I step between them and throw my arm around his shoulders, guiding him back a couple feet.

  “You know, I thought an Ice Queen would be better on a rink. Isn’t this your natural environment?” I tease her. Prissy might melt this ice with that cute glare. I love working her up, but it’s not me she’s looking at or paying attention to. She’s zeroed in on the guys.

  “Why are you downtown? You should be at the hotel,” she scolds Rookie, and he hangs his head.

  “Is that Canuck?” Prissy squints over at the ice sculpture. With his arms locked around it and his forehead pressed against the ice, Canuck looks like he might be trying to make out with it.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking aboot.” Canuck gives himself away with his distinctly Canadian fucking way of saying that word. He loses his balance and falls in the snow, face first.

  “A-boot.” Rookie stretches out Canuck’s pronunciation and laughs. “You’re so busted, man.”

  “Fuuuuck,” Canuck moans.

  “Get your ass over here,” I call out.

  Canuck stands up and takes slow steps over to us. Like a kid who just got threatened with a phone call to their parents, his shoulders are slumped, and his face is full of remorse.

  “What are you guys doing down here? I said you could have a small celebration, at the hotel.” Prissy looks from Canuck to Rookie, but neither of them will meet her eyes. I’m surprised that the guys look so ashamed. Prissy’s frown is hard for me to take seriously. It’s a lot sexier than scary.

  “Okay, so I know this looks bad, but listen,” Canuck slurs. “It looks bad, but it’s not bad. We’re not bad guys, right? Are we the bad guys?” He flails his hands around and accidentally knocks into Rookie and almost tips over into the snowbank. I grab his jacket and pull him back.

  “I’ll order a car.” I pull out my phone.

  “We just wanted to get some food,” Rookie explains to Prissy.

  On my screen is another message from none other than Canuck himself.

  Canuck: Prissy-whipped!!!

  “Really?” I twist my screen around until Canuck manages to focus his eyes enough to read it.

  “What? I sent that before. Not now. Blame thirty-minutes-ago Canuck. That guy was making some total dick moves.” He throws himself under the bus.

  I order a car while Prissy gives them a lecture.

  “I told you not to make me regret letting the rules slide a bit. Do you see me right now? See this look on my face? You’ve made me regret it.

  “We were hungry,” Canuck whines.

  “So, you thought, ‘Hey, we’re hammered. You know what’s a great idea? Let’s go break curfew, roam around an unfamiliar city and grab some food?’” She isn’t asking a question. Her pursed lips and narrow eyes make that very clear. Even if you didn’t have vision, you would be able to feel the waves of anger rolling off her body.

  “Yes! Exactly,” Canuck answers enthusiastically. His face floods with relief that she finally gets it.

  Prissy rubs her forehead and slumps her shoulders. “Why didn’t you just order in pizza or something.”

  Canuck just keeps going, “You know that’s what we originally said. For real. But… Rookie was telling us about an awesome wing spot here.”

  “Well, Blaze told me about it.” Rookie tries to give me credit, but I’m not interested in being tied to this train wreck.

  “Sometimes you get something in your head, and it’s hard to let go. You know?” Rookie’s eyes pause on each of our faces, like he’s expecting a deep answer. He’s got the sage head nod of a stoner who smoked too much.

  “Listen, if I’m being honest, I thought we’d grab some wings and be back before you noticed,” Canuck spills.<
br />
  Prissy looks like she isn’t sure if she should be grateful for his honesty or pissed off at his confession. She sighs. “Come on. Let’s get you guys back before this needs to be a thing.”

  I can feel the relief on Rookie’s face like it’s my own. He looks like he might start kissing Prissy’s feet.

  “Soooo, that’s a hard no on the wings then?” Canuck is a man pleading for mercy. His eyebrows are up, his hands are outstretched. He looks like he might fall to his knees and cry if she says no.

  “It’s a hard no,” I answer for her.

  I know Canuck is drunk, but he should shut up and be grateful that Prissy isn’t losing her shit on them. She’s doing enough for these clowns. They’re out here, breaking the rules, and he keeps trying to push it further. It’s ungrateful and selfish and… ah, shit. Self-awareness sucks.

  I’m the worst offender. I don’t follow her rules. Every time she tries to make me, I make a spectacle out of it. My pink suit, being late at the hospital, getting booted from the strip club, are all ways I’ve made her life harder.

  No one has caused Prissy more stress than me.

  That doesn’t mean I have to keep being a problem. I’ll start by solving this one for her. Our driver pulls up to the curb in a minivan.

  “Let’s get back to the hotel, boys.” I slide the side door open.

  Rookie doesn’t fuck around. He gets in, buckles his belt and stares out his window. Canuck is taking a different approach. He wobbles like his legs are missing a few bones. I grab the back of his coat until he slides into his seat.

  “Thank you.” Prissy mouths the words, sending her message on a cloud of breath.

  She and I share the back, bench seat. On the drive back to the hotel, we gaze out our windows, silent. In the darkness and quiet, no one knows my arm is outstretched. Holding her hand. It’s our secret.

  When we get to the hotel, Canuck is a lot less sloppy getting out of the vehicle than he was getting in. I don’t know if he took a nap or if he’s sobering up. I’m just glad Rookie and I don’t need to drag him inside Weekend-at-Bernie’s style.