Hot on Ice: A Hockey Romance Anthology

by Avery Flynn

  “Their mascot’s a badger. I wanna be something more fierce. Like the Cajun Rage’s angry crawfish.”

  “I’ve heard of choosing a school for partying, or for pretty girls, but never by the mascot.” He lifted the heavy history textbooks the kid actually read for fun from the nightstand. Grabbed the tablet beneath and opened the browser. “I think UC Santa Cruz has a banana slug. Is that gross enough for you?”

  Jasper dissolved into giggles. There. He’d done his job for the day. Made the kid laugh and forget—if only for a second—that they were planning for a future he wouldn’t get to have.

  And Kurt didn’t want to think about what kind of a future he’d have without Jasper in it.

  1

  Present Day

  Kurt wanted to stick his head in a swimming pool and just start swallowing. It’d maybe make a dent in his thirst. He’d done his usual session on the ice for two hours, then put in a solid hour in the weight room. The weight room with the broken air conditioning. In August. In New Orleans. But what kind of a pussy would he be to skip a workout on account of a little extra sweat?

  Still, he’d ripped his shirt off halfway through the doorway to catch the breeze. Because of course the AC worked in the hallway. Where basically nobody needed it. Or maybe he was just in a shitty mood.

  That happened a lot. Nah, to be fair, it was pretty much a constant state ever since Jasper’s death. He tried to hide it around his teammates now. They didn’t need him pulling them down. Not on a regular day, and sure as hell not during the playoffs and now that they’d won the whole damn thing and had the massive Cup sitting in their front office.

  But on the inside? Kurt felt like a snarly dragon, curled up but waiting to spew fire at the next person who walked by.

  “Uh, Kurt? You got a minute?”

  Aw, hell. Talk about a way to get smoke puffing from his inner dragon. And man, he needed to stop obsessively reading Jasper’s comic books. No professional hockey player should have an inner dragon, for fuck’s sake.

  Kurt looked at the guy with the too-big glasses and shapeless sport coat hanging off his too-skinny frame. Central Casting would hire Edwin Motz in a heartbeat to play a tech geek in a movie. And he used to be. The socially awkward, stat-spilling Keeper of the Cup had made a metric shit-ton of money in Internet start-ups before getting bored and retiring at basically Kurt’s thirty-two years.

  He waved his shirt in the air. Got a perverse pleasure in watching the guy wrinkle his nose as the stink from it wafted by. “I’m half naked here, Ed. Can it wait?”

  “It’s, um, about your day with the Cup.”

  No kidding. Ed sent emails pretty much every hour trying to pin down when and where his precious Cup would be going with each player. “Didn’t we settle that? I told you I’m throwing a party at Mardi Gras World. Don’t worry, it’s not going on a plane. Or down the side of a mountain. No need to up the insurance rider.”

  “I was hoping for more specifics. An itinerary, to be precise.”

  “There isn’t one. There’s an unformed plan for a big-ass party. I have people calling me all the time about it. DJs and caterers and tarot-card readers. I can’t keep any of them straight. It’s a giant pain in my ass.”

  “Sorry. But I will need details for the Cup.”

  Ed treated this thing better than rich women did their stupid, yappy purse dogs. “Because the Cup needs to pencil in a massage? The thing’s mine for the day. Every person on the team’s got the same deal. Twenty-four hours straight of doing whatever I want with it, wherever I want. That’s all you need to know.”

  “But—”

  Jesus H., Ed was working on his last nerve with a buzz saw. “You want an itinerary? Take a single sheet of paper. Write in really big letters Kurt Lundquist’s Party. There. Done.” He turned, fast, to get away from the annoying Ed. The annoying Ed who was only doing his job and didn’t deserve to get his head taken off by Kurt.

  Fuck.

  And then Kurt finished his half spin right into a person. Well, breasts. He definitely noticed the breasts right off the bat. Along with the faint scent of something fresh, like grapefruits and flowers mixed together, from the cloud of dark hair that tumbled across his skin.

  Instinctively, he grabbed at her shoulders to keep her upright. That pressed the soft curves against him even more. Bare, silky arms slid beneath his palms. Then their eyes connected. When he realized who belonged to the maple-sugar eyes, Kurt felt an almost discernible click of recognition. “Lisette?”

  “Hi,” she said a little breathlessly. Her voice was low and sexy, like what you’d hear across the sheets at four a.m. after a couple of rounds of balls-to-the-wall sex. Lisette’s voice alone had brought him to half wood more than once. And that was without factoring in her pouty red lips that fucking begged to be tasted. Or the breasts he was pretty damn sure would fit perfectly in his hands.

  Kurt figured it was time to let go of her before she noticed his ever-harder interest against her hip. As his hands skidded off her elbows, he said, “Christ, I’m getting you all sweaty.”

  “Not yet. Maybe after dinner and a couple of hurricanes, though…” She laughed. But combined with the sideways shake of her head, the line came off as a little self-deprecating. Weird. With her looks, Kurt had no doubt she could crook her finger and have any man snap to attention.

  God knew he sure had every damn time Lisette simply walked into a room.

  Not that it’d ever mattered.

  With a nod, he said, “It’s good to see you.”

  “It’s good to see you, too.” Raising her hand, she almost touched his chest, then just hovered close enough that the heat coming off her palm steamed against his skin. “Quite a bit more of you than I’ve seen before. Not that I’m complaining.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” Not a damn bit, actually. Not with the way her eyes were sealed to his chest tighter than lips sucking on a crawfish head. Still, Kurt yanked his tee on over his head. Technically, they were in a workplace. Yeah, it was the hallway between the gym and the locker room where he had every right to stumble around in little more than sweat. But as a visitor to the Cajun Rage facility, Lisette deserved a certain amount of respect. “I just finished a workout.”

  “But it’s the off-season, isn’t it? I thought now that you had the Cup in hand, you’d be spending your days binge-watching TV, eating ice cream sandwiches.”

  Almost a year later, she still remembered his soft spot—aka addiction—to ice cream sandwiches. It felt weirdly good to know he’d drilled his way into her memories. “We don’t get to keep the Cup. It’s gotta be earned every year. Sure, I take a couple of weeks to veg, but never entirely stop training. And as soon as I got back, I hit it hard.”

  Mostly because that was the life he knew, the life he’d chosen. A little because he couldn’t decide what he’d rather do. Some because he hoped if he trained hard enough, wore himself out, he’d finally sleep the night through. Something Kurt hadn’t managed in ten months and four days.

  “Where did you go?”

  Kurt’s attention broke out of his pathetic navel-gazing and back to the hot brunette. “For what?”

  “On vacation. You know, the whole iconic Kurt Lundquist, you’ve just won the Cup—what are you going to do now?”

  “Uh, Moab.”

  Her tiny, adorable nose crinkled. Which was even more adorable. “In Utah? In the summer?”

  “Yeah.” Kurt hadn’t been ready to be comfortable. He couldn’t reconcile getting drunk in Cancun banging beach bunnies with finally having the time to grieve the loss of his brother. So he’d pushed himself to the physical extreme. “I hiked around the desert. Checked out the canyons.”

  “Isn’t that how the guy in that movie ended up getting stuck and cutting off his own hand?”

  Kurt shook both of his out, then grabbed hers and squeezed. “Still attached.”

  “Good.”

  Then they just looked at each other. Like they were in some stupid chick flick. Kurt kn
ew why he was doing it. He wanted to drink her in. The last time he saw Lisette, well, he figured it’d be the last time. And they hadn’t even said goodbye. They’d been too busy saying a final goodbye to Jasper, over his gravesite.

  Seeing her now, with a smile on her beautiful face, was a present he’d never expected. Would he take advantage of it? Hell, yeah. He’d stare as long and as hard as he could get away with. Which was saying a lot, since back on the playground, Kurt had been the champion at staring contests for all of elementary school.

  But why was she staring right back at him? They’d never flirted before. There were so many don’t touch and she’s forbidden alarms going off in his head that Kurt couldn’t completely tell if she really was flirting now. If it’d been anyone but Lisette, he’d have said she definitely was. And he’d have locked in a date and restocked his condom supply as fast as possible.

  Her tongue flicked out to lick those full lips. “I guess I should say congratulations.”

  “For what?”

  Lisette tilted her head to the side. The motion sent the tips of her hair cascading over one breast. Her silky white top just made it all that much easier to notice the way the dark ends curled around the nicely sized mound, exactly like Kurt wanted to with his hand. “For winning the championship, silly.”

  “Nah. I didn’t do it by myself.” He shook off the praise automatically as he finally released her hands. It was his stock answer, provided by their PR department and well-practiced at this point. “There are nineteen other guys on the team who skated their butts off alongside me.”

  “I know.” Color rose in her cheeks, like they’d been brushed with cotton candy. “I watched.”

  “The playoffs? You did?” Talk about a surprise. At this time last year, Lisette hadn’t known the difference between the center line and the goal line. Made it crystal clear a time or too that she hadn’t cared, either. Which was fine. Hockey wasn’t everyone’s thing. But it meant her revelation caught Kurt off guard.

  “Mmm hmm. I felt invested, you know? Like I had to watch. For Jasper.”

  “I get it.” Kurt had known from day one of Lisette taking care of his brother that she had a heart as big as Lake Pontchartrain. And he’d known by the end of her assignment that going the extra mile wasn’t extra in her mind—it was expected. “That was nice of you.”

  “At least, that’s why I started watching.” She stood on tiptoe to brush her lips against the edge of his ear. Her warm breath curled in a moment before her words did. “Then I just got hooked.”

  “On the bloody teeth flying into the air?” Kurt teased. Because Lisette didn’t strike him as a standard puck bunny. Someone who just got into the game to get under the players’ jerseys. “Or all the body slams into the plexiglass?”

  She stayed on tiptoe, so her eyes were even with his. “On you, Kurt. I liked watching you.”

  Kurt hadn’t seriously dated anyone in two years. Hadn’t fucked anyone in at least six months. So yeah, he was a little bit off his game. But that? That was flirting. No doubt about it. And he damn well still had game. His hands shot out to clamp at her waist, holding her in place. “Is that so?”

  “It is.”

  Another big silence filled up all the empty space in the hallway. Sure, he could still hear the clang of weights from behind, the slam of lockers to the left and the stupid music overhead. Management let everyone—players to trainers to accountants—each pick music for a day. From today’s twanging guitars, it was transplanted Tennessean Randy from Payroll’s turn.

  But all that background shit didn’t compare to the sound of Lisette looking at him. The almost utter silence. Just the rasp of her silk shirt fluttering up and down against her bra. The soft intake of breath, the slow exhale. The grinding thud as Kurt swallowed hard.

  The lack of words focused him completely on the unreadable pools of her eyes beneath the thick sweep of her lashes. The dark, mysterious depths sucked him in like quicksand—only Kurt didn’t want to get free. He wanted to drown in them.

  His hands weren’t still anymore. Without conscious thought, he curved his palms down, around her round hips. Hips that would be perfect to hang on to when Lisette sat astride him while he lifted her up and down onto him in a steady rhythm. He could picture it as clearly as he could picture the moment when he first lifted the heavy Cup overhead to the cheers that filled the entire arena.

  “Kurt?” She reached up to tease her fingertips along the edge of his stubbled jaw.

  “Yeah?” He should kiss her. Lisette gave every sign of wanting to be kissed. So what if the fluorescent lights hummed overhead? And the hallway smelled of IcyHot and sweat, overlaid by the stupid pine air freshener that did nothing? It didn’t have to be a romantic setting for their first kiss. It’d just be a moment. The right moment. All that mattered was how much they wanted each other. Their kiss would be so hot it’d burn away everything else.

  After a slow blink, she asked, “Are you doing okay? I mean, it’s almost been a year since Jasper…are you dealing? Sleeping the night through?”

  There it was. The reason he’d never tried to get anywhere with Lisette, and probably shouldn’t ever. His fatally ill brother had always been between them, literally and figuratively. Kurt would never have done anything to distract her from caring for Jasper. His well-being, his comfort, had been all that mattered.

  And now that Jasper was gone, his ghost hung between them.

  Great. His little brother was still cockblocking him. Sure, he’d given Jasper a fair number of wedgies and noogies. Pushed his broccoli onto Jasper’s plate more times than he could count. But this was way beyond an appropriate level of payback.

  It was almost enough to make him smile at the irony. Which was weird, because no thought of Jasper had conjured up a smile in almost a year.

  Kurt let his hands fall to his sides. Took a couple of steps back. Away from the temptation to do something really fucking stupid—like keep touching her. “I’m getting through. And sleep’s overrated. There’s some damn fine classic sports to be watched at three a.m. Plus, I’m totally into this series on training to be a Navy SEAL. Their workouts are insane.”

  Her gaze flicked to his biceps. And then, unless he was crazy, it kept going in a full-body once-over. Talk about mixed signals. Because from the way she brought up Jasper’s name, Lisette’s leftover concern for him was obviously the only thing keeping this conversation going.

  “I’ll bet you could qualify to be a SEAL. I mean, I know you’re more used to skating across water than being in it, but you could do it, Kurt. One hand tied behind your back.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Always good to have a backup career.” The moment the words came out of his mouth, he regretted it. Because he didn’t have a backup career. Should’ve. Didn’t. Which left him strung up by his skate laces right now.

  “So they say.” Lisette’s response came out as half-assed as his.

  It made him wonder exactly what she’d been going through herself since Jasper’s death. Had she been having a hard time? Because that was fucking unacceptable. She was so full of light and cheer and happiness. Nothing should weigh her down.

  “Miss Broussard?” A front-office guy in a tie poked his head through the doors. “We’re ready for you.”

  “Oh, Kurt, I have to go. It was nice—really nice—seeing you again.” Then she flashed a smile that was anything but half-assed. It was full of warmth and heat and went through him faster than an X-ray. Stirred his dick to half-mast just as fast.

  “Good to see you, too.”

  She hurried down the corridor at a pace that had her hips swaying hard beneath the tight black skirt. Kurt watched. Of course he watched. Hell, his eyes were glued to her ass the way he wished his hands were.

  Mason—no, he had to remind himself to call the guy by his spanking new title—Coach Courage came out of the locker room right as the tap of her high black heels disappeared beneath the noise of the training facility. Kurt pointed at her.
“Coach? Why is Lisette Broussard here?”

  “Oh, did she get lost and run into you? Fuck.” The dark-haired Canadian rubbed his forehead, like he did during dozens of daily frustrations after stepping into their former coach’s shoes. “We’ve got to put better signage up. The UPS delivery woman wandered right into the locker room last week.”

  “Pretty sure that was on purpose. Archer got a new tattoo on his thigh and blasted it all over social media. I heard there was a bounty for anyone who snapped a photo of it.”

  “Archer’s an idiot. Don’t let me catch you doing something like that, Hawk. I don’t care that it’s your nickname. I don’t want to see some fucking bird on your biceps in the next team photo.”

  Right. Like Mason could really stop his players from getting tattoos. Guess the promotion had him on a bit of a power trip. One that Kurt didn’t have the patience to deal with right now. “Coach? Lisette?”

  “She’s here for an interview.” He checked his watch. The one with two different stopwatches that he used when he put the players through brutal sprint sessions on the ice. “I’m supposed to swing by and do a quick meet and greet in about fifteen minutes.”

  Okay. Maybe instead of cockblocking from the grave, Jasper was actually trying to do some good. Kurt couldn’t figure out any other reason for Fate to hand him such an opportunity.

  He blew out a deep breath. “Whatever you do, don’t hire that woman.”

  2

  Lisette stopped herself from slamming the door at the last second. Oh, her day deserved a slammed door or twelve. But Noelle might be napping. And she couldn’t bear the thought of a door slammed in a fit of temper someday causing the tiny baby in her sister’s tummy to fail a geometry test.

  Was that massive overkill on the fetal-development worry scale? Probably. But Lisette was already head-over-heels in love with her niece- or nephew-to-be and wouldn’t risk doing anything to stunt their growth.