Hot on Ice: A Hockey Romance Anthology

by Avery Flynn

  “Hey,” she said back, sort of sharpish because she felt foolish at how ridiculously relieved she was to hear his voice.

  “Sorry I didn’t call sooner. It was my day with the Cup and I had a thing.”

  Of course. She’d read that last night and it completely flew from her brain.

  “How’d it go?”

  “Good. I took it to my old junior club so there were a lot of kids with their parents. My nephews as well. They went wild for it.”

  She laughed. “I bet. They must be your biggest fans.”

  “I don’t know about that. They like the merch, for sure.”

  “So your family lives in Chicago?” She knew this already, but now it struck her strange he was staying in a hotel.

  “Yeah, I’m staying with them now. It’s . . . been a while since I’ve seen my brother. Been a while since I’ve been home.”

  So much meaning laden in that word. Home. Her heart checked, remembering what she’d learned about his past. That sorrow still hung over him like a heavy cloak. “Away games don’t count,” she said in sympathy.

  “No, they don’t.”

  She lay back on the bed, adjusting the phone to her ear. “He must be proud of you. Your brother.”

  Long pause. “He is. Well, I guess he is. It’s just not how we imagined it would turn out.”

  “I read about Paul. I’m so sorry, Ford.”

  “Thanks, sweetheart. It was a long time ago, but thanks all the same.” He waited a beat. Then another. She let him get there on his own schedule. “Things with my brother have been a bit strained.”

  “Since the accident?”

  “Yep.”

  Ten years. This poor family, how they must have suffered. “Are your parents still around?”

  “No. My dad died of cancer about six years ago, and my mom didn’t last much longer after that. Paulie’s death really took it out of her. He wasn’t supposed to go like that.”

  No one is. In those words, she heard the guilt he carried with him. She longed to throw her arms around him, console him with her body. But there could be no more of that. Giving him her number was purely so he could use her metaphorical shoulder, not her actual breasts, for comfort.

  Ford’s messy hair brushing against her breasts . . . Focus, Addison.

  “Tell me about your brother, the one who lives in Chicago.”

  “Jax? He’s so talented.” He paused. “Well, he was. A wall of badass, nothing got by him. But quicker than someone his size should have been. He wasn’t the same after the accident.” Because of me, he may as well have said. All those regrets and if onlys.

  “You were so young, Ford. Just a kid.”

  “Old enough. I was responsible for them. For getting them home safe. For making sure Paulie got to Toronto. Fuck—” He broke off, his memories overtaking his speech and sending it into a stall.

  She sat up, her heart aching at his pain. What she would do to try to ease it if they were in the same room. “Baby, I’m here.”

  He huffed a laugh. It sounded rusty. “I didn’t call to get all maudlin, y’know.”

  “No? Why did you call?”

  “I could say I wanted to know what you were wearing but I think we’ve moved past that, don’t you?”

  She chuckled. “Probably.” It felt like they’d leapfrogged all the steps and landed right in the comfort zone. How had that happened? “So, if you’re not interested in this itty-bitty-little towel that’s barely hanging on”—at his groan, she giggled evilly—“and you don’t want to confide all your problems, then what’s on your mind, Callaghan?”

  “I’d like to see you again.”

  Ah. That’s what she’d been hoping and dreading in equal measure.

  “You know we can’t. You know it’s a terrible idea.”

  “So you say.”

  She thought about that, probably for too long because he spoke again.

  “My family’s throwing a party for me tonight at Jimmy’s Tap in Bridgeport. Any chance you could stop by?”

  A public event with people taking photos and uploading them to social media? Was he out of his Cup-winning mind?

  “You know what I just said about this being a terrible idea. That goes double for public meetups in bars. Besides, that’s not what’s going on here, is it? This was never supposed to be anything more than—”

  “Screwing in secret?”

  “Right.” That shouldn’t have hurt her heart the way it did. She had “met” him three days ago and she sure as hell wasn’t interested in anything more. Likely, her feminine pride was wounded because he had reduced it to its basest elements.

  Pick a lane, Williams.

  “I should go or my hair will dry into a bird’s nest. So . . . good luck, Callaghan.”

  She heard his long intake of breath, a build to something more. But all he said was “Take care, sweetheart,” and ended the call, leaving her chilled—and not from the damp towel wrapping her body either.

  9

  Jimmy’s Tap in Bridgeport was the kind of place a classy woman like Addison Williams wouldn’t be seen dead in, so it was probably good she had turned down Ford’s offer. It did, however, have all the elements of a great South Side dive bar: draft Pabst, decent Italian beef next door, and TVs switched to the White Sox game. Even in hockey and football season, Jimmy preferred to play reruns of the Sox winning the series in ’05. (Cubbies? What Cubbies.)

  No one dared to fuck with the remote.

  At least that was the SOP in years gone by. Walking in, Jax had told Ford that Jimmy made an exception for the Rajuns going all the way because he was that proud of a local boy making good.

  Another change since the last time Ford had was here was the addition of a patio. And as Ford was 99.9% certain that Jimmy didn’t offer much in the way of party catering, he assumed Marcy must have put the whole hood on sandwich-making duty. He was equally sure that this much potato salad would never again be gathered in one spot. Must have cost a few Bennies. He’d slip her some cash later.

  “Pretty fancy patio, Jimmy,” Ford said when the grizzled old-timer put his head outside. The guy was squinting like he worried his skin might burn from exposure to the elements. Ford couldn’t recall ever seeing him in natural sunlight.

  “Da kids seem to like it. Next dey’ll be wantin’ service at da fuckin’ tables.”

  Now that was the Jimmy Ford knew and loved.

  “Ya did good, Callaghan,” Jimmy continued out of the side of his mouth, a mighty fine impression of Burgess Meredith in Rocky, “even if it was with da wrong team. Rebels shoulda picked you up when dey had a chance.”

  Three years ago, they’d tried to acquire him. Now, they couldn’t afford him, not with the way he’d played during the series. He was a winner, a god among men, and any woman would be happy to have him.

  Any woman but Addison.

  Coming in tonight, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t think of her, but the woman had a foothold in his brain, which was so not good for his mental well-being. She wasn’t interested and why the hell would she be? Apart from the obvious complication with her ex, a jock was probably the last guy she’d want warming her bed. Guys like that accountant at Harper’s dinner party were more her speed, even if he had been a condescending asshole with his “my wife won’t need to work” bullshit.

  He redirected his focus back to the party. Everyone and his aunt had detached from their sofas to celebrate with him, and it was a blast to see guys he’d gone to school with, girls he’d felt up behind the gym, and even his tenth grade math teacher, Mr. O’Brien, who now assured him he’d always known Ford “would go far.” The same teacher who would flick a ruler at his ear because Ford liked to nap on his desk in the early afternoon. When you’re up at 4:30 a.m. daily for hockey practice, sleep is more important than algebra.

  The setting July sun cast a burnished glow over the Cup, now taking pride of place in the corner of the patio. Standing sentry, Edwin gave the evil eye to anyone who tried to lift i
t, but Ford was happy to let everyone touch it. The neighborhood was as responsible for taking him all the way as his parents, his brothers, and every coach who’d told him to haul ass down the other end of the rink and be quick about it. Let them enjoy this moment.

  Jax took a seat beside Ford. They hadn’t discussed the fight last night, but then, along with the non-hugging thing, there was also the non-talking thing. At least, not about anything important.

  Ford opened with, “Thanks for putting this together.”

  “Thank Marcy,” Jax gruffed out. Seeming to realize that this made him sound like more of an asshole than usual, he added, “Everyone’s proud of you, Fordie.”

  Surprised as all hell, Ford turned to him, but his brother’s focus was elsewhere. Jax’s mouth had dropped open and he was staring at some spot over Ford’s shoulder.

  “Fuck me if that isn’t Harper Chase.”

  Ford’s head whipped around to take in the Chicago Rebels VP and would-be owner striding through the crowd toward their table. Panic scrambled his blood. Had something happened to Addy? Why the hell else would Harper be here?

  He stood, which is when he realized that Harper was not alone. Two steps behind her, Addy appeared like a dying man’s mirage in a sleeveless green blouse that matched her eyes and that did nothing to hide her assets. She didn’t just walk; she owned every step, and as she drew closer, she caught his eye and . . . holy shit, winked.

  “Ford!” Harper said like she was greeting an old friend. She leaned up on her tiptoes because even in heels she barely came up to his pecs, and aimed a kiss that landed somewhere near the underside of his chin. “Sorry I’m late. When you said it was hard to find, you weren’t kidding.”

  Okay.

  “No worries, glad you could make it," he said, playing along. That’s right, no flies on him. He turned to his brother who was watching with avid interest. “Harper, this is my brother, Jackson Callaghan.”

  “Pleasure, Mr. Callaghan.” Harper shook Jax’s hand as he stood. “And this is Addison. I hope you don’t mind I brought a gal pal. Safety in numbers as I venture into the wilds of the South Side.”

  Ford nodded at Addy, knowing he should shake her hand but also knowing that if he touched her, he’d likely cleave her to his body and never let go. This had to be her idea and, for some reason, Harper was playing fairy godmother. Why?

  Bypassing him, Addy reached over and offered her hand to Jax, who took it then raised an unsubtle eyebrow of “do you know who the hell that is?” at Ford.

  No one spoke for a good ten seconds.

  Jax frowned, then swung his head back in Harper’s direction. “Come to see what a Cup celebration looks like, Ms. Chase? Might be the closest you get.”

  Ford shot him a glare, but Harper had probably heard a lot worse, given how badly the Rebels had performed this past season. Last in pretty much every league metric. If they were a British soccer team they would have been relegated ten times over.

  Harper’s gaze strayed to the Cup, unmistakable envy in it. “No one gave the Rajuns much of a shot this year and now look at them. It’s amazing what can be overcome if you want it enough.” She dropped those last words on Ford, the implication as clear as Addy’s glittering eyes.

  If he wanted this woman, he was going to have to fight.

  Torn between questioning why Harper Chase was on his side in this and pondering his next move, he almost missed Harper’s breathy gush of, “So what are the chances of getting a martini?”

  Jax looked amused. “Martinis would be about as likely as the Rebels winning the Cup next year, but I’m happy to escort you to our finest keg, Ms. Chase.” He stood and led the way.

  “Now be good while I’m gone, children.” She cocked an eyebrow—yeah, real smart-ass, this one—and followed Jax into the crowd, leaving Ford alone with Addy. Or as alone as you could get in the middle of a South Side bar patio during a Cup celebration in your honor.

  Ford allowed himself the luxury of taking inventory of this heart-stoppingly beautiful woman. She wore jeans that hugged every delicious curve like they were afraid to let go. Through the blouse, he could make out the swell of her breasts, the ones he’d had in his mouth less than twenty-four hours ago. Hours spent in a hell of craving, if he was being honest.

  “You’re staring,” she murmured.

  “You’re stunning.”

  A fiery blush hit her cheeks. Who knew a woman lauded right, left, and center for her looks would be embarrassed by a compliment? He liked that he could make her bloom like that.

  “Would you like to sit?” he asked politely, praying she’d say yes, because sitting was the only thing that would stop him from embarrassing himself. His jeans were not loose enough for this. Mercifully, she took his seat while he moved over to the one vacated by Jax.

  “You probably have questions,” she said.

  “Only one.”

  Her teeth snagged on her lower lip. So not helping his boner.

  He leaned in, inhaling what he could of her scent. Memorizing it for later. “Tell me, Bright Eyes. Are you a Cubs or a White Sox fan?”

  She laughed, then covered her mouth with a guilty look at the crowd now latching on to her presence. “I’m a Yankees fan.”

  He closed his eyes. “Knew there was a reason this could never work.” When he opened them again, he met a knowing gaze and a smile that slayed him.

  Her smile faded. “I don’t want to make trouble for you. I just couldn’t leave our conversation the way it ended.”

  So this was goodbye. He had no idea which was worse: not seeing her again as he’d expected when he hung up the phone two hours ago or having her beside him in a state of frustrating untouchability.

  Judging by the level of interest raised by her arrival, Ford had no doubt plenty of snaps were already clogging up Instagram and Twitter. The cover story should hold up: Michael Babineaux’s ex-wife was here with Harper Chase, an acquaintance of Ford’s. Two degrees of perfectly innocent separation.

  Though they both knew it was nothing of the kind.

  That’s when something struck him like a slap shot to the head: Ford didn’t care. Or rather, he cared about something else more. Someone else. Addy. She was a contradiction in so many ways. Externally she was beautiful—stunning—strong, self-sufficient, and driven to succeed. But he’d heard her voice on the balcony and also at Harper’s home. The vulnerability in it, masking a heart and soul that needed someone to back her. Cherish her. He wanted to be that someone.

  He wanted to see her again and to hell with what people thought.

  But it mattered to her, and that was the barrier he had to hurdle. “You could have called. Texted. You didn’t have to come in person.”

  She hitched an eyebrow. “I was raised to do things properly. Not to take the coward’s way out.”

  “And this afternoon, you were feeling cowardly? Or maybe just afraid?”

  She smiled at the distinction he’d made. “All my life I’ve been told I didn’t have it in me to succeed. I was too big, too curvy, too fat. I wasn’t smart enough to do anything other than modeling, or I was too smart to get far in this business. I could be three times as rich if I lost thirty pounds, five times if I lost fifty.” She waved a hand, her annoyance at the haters clear. “What I’m trying to say is that I’ve worked my famous ass off to get where I am. I know you’ve worked hard, too.” She glanced around, her assessing gaze landing on Jax who was chewing Harper’s ear off. Probably telling her how to fix the Rebels’ defense.

  “I have,” he said cautiously, because he could hear the but in there, one he didn’t want to deal with.

  “We’re attracted to each other. Off-the-charts attracted,” she said, her voice low and husky and intoxicating. “I’m adult enough to admit that. But I’m also adult enough to know that this can’t go anywhere, Ford. In fact, it’s already gone too far. We’ve had our fun and anything more wouldn’t be fun. It would be weighed down with worry and regret and drama. It would be hard, and I’m
finished with hard when it comes to men.”

  He rolled his lips in and tried to react like an adult to the “hard” comment.

  “Oh, shut it,” she said good-naturedly, then more seriously, “neither am I looking for a relationship and if I was—”

  “It wouldn’t be with a bruiser like me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Less of the self-pity, Callaghan. It wouldn’t be with a man whose career would be destroyed by an association with me. This is impossible.”

  Impossible was just an opinion. Damn, every word out of her mouth only made him want her more, which was so fucking perverse considering the BS coming out of that gorgeous mouth.

  A couple people eyed them with interest. It was already starting, and he checked in with his brain to see if that was okay. The noodle shot back with: No complaints here. Addy just needed a chance to get used to the idea.

  “Don’t shut us down just yet. Think on it for a little while. If you still feel the same way in a day or two, then I’ll respect your wishes. But don’t dismiss the possibilities without giving your brain a chance to engage.”

  “So if I’m thinking of you while you’re not around, there’s something more to this than just lust?”

  “A couple of days out of my orbit and you’ll be begging me to hit that gorgeous ass and then make you a sandwich.” He broke out his widest, panty-dropping grin. “And Addy, let me tell you, my post-coital sandwiches are legendary.”

  “This was a mistake.”

  Addison sipped her beer and eyed Harper as if this was all her fault. Harper, knowing Addison well, took it in the spirit intended.

  “You wanted to see him again and—oh, right. That’s it.” She swirled her beer around a plastic cup, evident distaste in the motion. Harper was not a beer girl, which was sort of strange for a woman who lived and breathed hockey. “So you could assure yourself there’s nothing worth pursuing when even I could have told you that Killer Callaghan’s ass is most definitely worth pursuing. The guy’s as hot as puck.”

  Hockey humor. Hilarious.

  “He sounded so disappointed when I said I wouldn’t stop by.” Which is when she had proposed that Harper show up at the party to wish him well, being a fellow hockey professional, and hey boys, look who I brought. A lingerie supermodel. You’re welcome!