Caution on Ice - SR Grey

by Grey, S. R.

  “I’m whatever you need me to be, Chloe.”

  In the background, her doorbell rings. It has to be Graham. Shit, I forget to tell her I called him and asked if he could go over to her place tonight. She’s going to think the worst.

  And she does…

  “Shit, Dylan, there’s someone at my door. It’s after midnight. This can’t be good.”

  “No, wait, sweetheart, it’s okay.”

  I go on to assuage her concern by sharing that I may have taken the liberty of enlisting her brother to stay with her the next two nights.

  “That’s probably him,” I finish up with.

  “Thank God,” Chloe says on a sigh. “Let me go let the poor guy in.”

  “Check the peephole first,” I remind her. “Just in case.”

  “I will.”

  I hear Graham’s voice seconds later, along with Chloe’s. He says to tell me “hello” and “not to worry.”

  Chloe returns to the call and we start to wrap up. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” she says.

  “Okay.”

  “I love you, Dylan. And thank you for…just…everything.”

  “I love you too, sweetheart. I can’t wait to get back to you.”

  “I know. I’m on countdown too.”

  Too bad the next thirty-six hours will, no doubt, be the longest of my life.

  Graham to the Rescue

  Graham is at my place and I already feel safer. But since it’s late and we’re both exhausted, I tell him I’m going to bed.

  “Wait a second,” he calls out, and I turn back around. “I wanted to talk to you about something before you run off.”

  “What?” I ask.

  Sighing, Graham says, “You should’ve told me things had escalated, Chloe.”

  I go back over to the sofa and sit next to him.

  “I thought I had it under control,” I explain. “Nothing’s happened lately. Well, until this thing at the bar and grill. But really, I haven’t worried because Dylan’s been here with me. The only visitor to my window lately has been a rabbit named Jack.”

  Leveling me with a wtf look, Graham says, “Do I even want to ask?”

  “Uh…” I shake my head. “…probably not.”

  Dropping any further talk of Jack, he says, “Let’s get back to this incident at the bar.”

  “Okay.”

  “So some mystery dude bought you and your friend shots, and then disappeared?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t like this at all, Chloe.”

  “I know, Graham, I don’t either.”

  “Is it Sten?” he asks flatly.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I didn’t think so at first, seeing as he’s supposed to be in Phoenix.”

  “But he’s not.”

  “According to Dylan’s PI, that’s correct.”

  Graham jumps up and starts pacing. “Damn it, we need to know for sure where that crazy ex of yours is. This could all be him. And, really, when I think about it, who the hell else could it be?”

  “Yeah,” I concede, “I don’t have any enemies that I know of.”

  Finally sitting back down, Graham says, “Well, it could be someone who got their eye on you. There are a whole lot of creeps out there in this world.”

  “Yes, unfortunately, there are.” I sigh, feeling sad that his statement is so true. “I just don’t know why some creep would target me.”

  Graham has some comforting words to say, but when I mention that I don’t think I can sleep now, he says, “Why don’t we watch something on TV? Who knows, maybe there’s an old eighties movie on.”

  Nineties may be my go-to decade for music, but when it comes to classic movies, I’m a solid eighties girl.

  Still, I’m hesitant. “I don’t know, Graham. I don’t think I can concentrate.”

  “You don’t need to concentrate. But you’ll feel better if you can get your mind on something else.”

  “Okay, I can try.”

  We turn on the TV, and Graham flips through the channels. We actually do find an old eighties movie, one we both love.

  “The Breakfast Club,” we yell out in tandem.

  “Looks like it just started too,” I add excitedly.

  It’s the perfect flick to take my mind off of things because it’s one of my all-time favorites. Graham and I watch the movie, reciting lines we both know even before the actors say them.

  We spend the next couple of hours laughing and having fun. I feel better, even though I know it won’t last. Reality will come a-knocking, as it always does.

  I only hope it doesn’t shatter my life into a million pieces.

  A Hundred Dirty Things with a Sex Toy

  The St. Louis game is looking to be a rout, and not in our favor. The Blues are clobbering us, and it’s only the second period.

  We’re down 6-1 by the start of the third. And frankly, it’s an embarrassment.

  I get burned for the second time tonight in the final period when one of their star players takes off with my errant pass.

  And just like that it’s 7-1.

  Fuck.

  My head’s just not in the game. How could it be? This crap with Chloe has me worried about far bigger things than hockey.

  It feels as if a danger is closing in, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it, especially not from this far away.

  Frustrated, I suddenly high-stick an opponent. It’s an accident, but I, unfortunately, draw blood.

  I’m called for a double minor, which means four minutes in the box. That’s pretty much what’s left of the game, so I won’t see any more ice time. Not that it matters, since we’re losing big-time.

  After the game, I’m throwing shit around in my stall in the visiting team locker room like a mofo. It doesn’t matter; all of us players are doing the same. Coach Townsend doesn’t even bother yelling at us. He just shakes his head and leaves. His silence says more than him sticking around to lecture us ever would.

  But our captain, Brent Oliver, has something to say.

  “I think we all know we sucked big hairy balls tonight. No one out there played well.”

  “Hey, it’s only one game,” the always upbeat Benny Perry interjects.

  “He has a point,” I interject. “It is just one game. We should look at it as a one-off.”

  Brent thinks it over and says, “Okay, maybe. But it can’t happen again. We’re too close to playoff time. This one-off, or whatever, should be a wake-up call for us.”

  We all agree, and then Jaxon Holland, who’s always up for a good time, chimes in with this gem: “Hey, I know what we should do tonight to put this shitty game behind us.”

  Uh-oh.

  I glance over at him and notice right away that he has on his shit-eating grin.

  “Do I even want to ask what you have in mind?” I say with a raised brow.

  “You sure do, my man. There just happens to be a really famous strip club not far from our team ho—”

  “Nope, I’m out.”

  Strip clubs have never been my scene, and they certainly aren’t now that I have Chloe in my life. I’m content to simply head back to the hotel and hang out in my room. Our flight leaves ridiculously early tomorrow morning anyway.

  When the shuttle finally drops us off at the team hotel, it’s about midnight. I bid farewell to the guys abstaining from strip club antics and head up to my room.

  After I’m settled, I take out my phone and call Chloe. It rings for a while, and I remember then that she has an early shift at the coffee shop in the morning.

  I’m about to end the call, but then she picks up.

  Since she sounds really sleepy, I ask her if I woke her up.

  “No,” she says, “I’m in bed, but I was reading.”

  “Is Graham still there?” I ask, immediately feeling fearful that she’s alone.

  “Yes. He’s out in the living room watching TV.”

  Chuckling, I remark, “Man, your brother sure loves that flat screen he bought you.�
��

  “You’re not kidding. I just about had to wrestle him for the remote so I could watch your game.”

  “What?” I pretend to be appalled. “He didn’t already have it tuned in?”

  “No, there was some football documentary on.”

  “Ah, that explains things. Well, I can’t begrudge a man his chosen sport.”

  Chloe snickers. “You boys are too funny.”

  Lowering my voice, I rasp, “I’ll show you funny, woman. You just wait till I get back tomorrow.”

  “I can’t wait, Dylan.”

  “God, me too.”

  I’m set for some phone sex, but just then her brother yells in something from the other room.

  “Your walls are way too thin,” I remark when she returns her attention back to our call. “I heard everything he was saying.”

  “Yeah, he wanted to know where I keep—”

  “Your secret stash of potato chips,” I finish for her, since I heard it all anyway.

  Laughing, she says, “Speaking of food, would you want to go out to eat tomorrow night?”

  “Night? What’s wrong with four or five in the afternoon?”

  “Ugh, I kind of got talked into working a double tomorrow. I won’t be done till nine.”

  Chloe is just too nice. I can’t say anything bad about that, though. I’m glad she’s not become a guarded or negative person. Even after everything she’s been through, including the stalker shit, she remains positive.

  “Later is fine,” I say. “Do you want me to pick you up at the coffee shop after your double?”

  “That’s okay. I’m taking my car tomorrow. We can leave for dinner once I’m home. Or we could just order food in since it’ll be kind of late.”

  “Babe, I’m fine with whatever you want to do.”

  I am too, but there is one thing weighing on me. Even though I’m happy Chloe will have her car, I don’t like the idea of her walking out to the parking lot alone in the dark. Not with the stalker still out there.

  Softly, she asks, “Why are you so quiet, Dylan?”

  “I was just thinking… Can you have someone walk out with you tomorrow when you’re done?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ve been doing that lately anyway once it’s dark out.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

  We talk more, and soon we’re joking and teasing.

  “Oh, by the way,” Chloe says at one point, “I totally forgot to mention that Aubrey gave me that gift she promised.”

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. I’m supposed to open it with you.”

  “Open it with me? Why?”

  “It has to be sex-related, Dylan,” she murmurs. “You know, like a toy.”

  “Hmm, with instructions to open it together, I’d say the probability of that is high.”

  “There is one weird part, though.”

  “Do tell.”

  “Aubrey claims the neon green paper she wrapped it in is a hint.”

  “A hint, huh?” I’m stumped too. “I have no idea how neon green wrapping paper relates to sex, sweetheart.”

  “Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

  “Guess we will.”

  After we’re done talking, I lie back on the bed. I’m thoroughly intrigued as to what this sex-related gift from Aubrey could be. I could always ask Brent, but I’d rather it be a surprise for both me and Chloe.

  Maybe when she returns from her shift tomorrow night, we can skip dinner and get straight to opening this mystery gift. If it’s what we think it is, we can put it to good use.

  “Hmm, this should be fun,” I murmur as I reach down to my cock, thinking of a hundred dirty things I can do to Chloe with a sex toy.

  Full-Moon Crazy

  I head out to my car the next day to drive to the coffee shop for my double shift.

  When I hop into the Fusion, I notice the green-wrapped gift from Aubrey is still lying in the backseat. I forgot about it initially, but even after I remembered I didn’t think it’d be a good idea to bring it inside with my brother there. Graham would definitely expect me to open a gift. And no way am I opening a sex toy in front of my brother.

  Talk about awkward!

  But Graham is gone now. He left early this morning to go to his gym—a place I need to get back to soon—and then he’s heading home to his own house afterward.

  That means Dylan and I will have my place to ourselves tonight. Yes!

  I feel upbeat and optimistic when I arrive at the coffee shop, but my light mood wanes as the day wears on. We’re slammed with customers, and the two waitresses working are in the weeds in no time.

  I help out by pulling double duty as barista and server. But it’s frustrating because everyone seems pissed about something or other.

  “I’ve been waiting here ten minutes and no one’s come to my table. What kind of sucky place is this?”

  “I asked for sugar-free syrup, miss, but there’s sugar in this vanilla latte. I can tell, you know.”

  “Noooo, I wanted wheat bread for this sandwich, not white.”

  “This isn’t toasted, miss. Please take it back.”

  At my wit’s end, I slam that particular sandwich—for which I’m sure the woman stated “not toasted” when she ordered—onto a counter in the back, out of view of the customers. Hell, they’re mad enough as it is. No need for them to witness my mini-meltdown.

  “Whoa, Chloe,” says one of the waitresses, Dee, as she lets out a low whistle. “Who pissed in your Wheaties this morning?”

  “Ha ha. It’s not me, Dee, it’s everyone else. They’re all mad today, it seems.”

  “They are exceptionally ornery,” she agrees.

  I then muse, “You know what? I bet there’s going to be a full moon tonight.”

  “Hmm, we’ll see,” she says.

  Sure enough, a few hours later when Dee and I are in the back room again, taking a breather from the madness, she moves the curtain aside on the small window facing the side of the building and says, “Hey, you were right earlier. There is a big ole full moon out there. Damn.”

  Triumphant, I declare, “I knew it.”

  The full-moon craziness continues, but nothing can prepare me for when two uniformed police officers step into the shop and ask for the owner of the white Ford Fusion parked out back.

  “Um…” I raise my hand sheepishly. “That would be me.”

  It’s near nine, the end of my double shift and closing time for the store. Thankfully there are no more customers to contend with, so I’m able to take off my apron and come out from behind the counter to talk with the officers with no audience looking on.

  Save for Dee, who mouths, “Let me know if you need me,” before she scurries off to the back.

  “What’s going on?” I ask the policemen.

  One is an old grizzled veteran-type, and the other is a young rookie.

  The grizzled one says, “So the Fusion is yours, miss?”

  “Yes, it is. Is there a problem with my car?”

  The young one, sighing heavily, says, “I think you should step outside with us so we can show you what’s at issue here.”

  “Show me what’s at issue?” A sick feeling comes over me. “What the heck is going on?”

  “Just follow us, please.”

  They start out the door, and I trail along behind them. But I still have no clue what’s happening. Even when we reach the back lot where the employees park, I can’t see past them to my car.

  But then I step to the side and—

  “Oh my God, who would do such a thing?”

  The bright glow of the full moon and the small streetlamp nearby cast an eerie pall over my severely vandalized car. Both taillights are busted out, and someone has sprayed red paint all over the doors, the trunk, and the hood. But the worst part is what has been written.

  Things like, “Die Bitch Die” and “Sluts Burn in Hell.”

  What the fuck?

  “W-who w
ould do this?” I stammer as I walk around my car, only to come upon more nasty slurs.

  “That’s what we were hoping you could shed some light on,” the older officer says.

  “I have no idea who could be so sick, but there’s a camera—” I point to the back of the coffee shop, to where a camera should be. “Wait, it’s gone. What the hell is going on?”

  The officers make a note to ask the owner if the camera was taken down for repair, or if whoever vandalized my car removed it. It wasn’t placed all that high and could easily be reached if someone climbed up on one of the dumpsters.

  I start shaking and I just can’t stop.

  “I-I don’t know who did this.”

  I get that much out before I’m choked up by a sob.

  And then I say, “If I knew, I’d tell you.”

  “Miss, miss, it’s all right.” That’s the older guy trying to sound soothing, but looking really uncomfortable. “We’ll find out who did this.”

  “How will you do that?” I cry out. “The camera’s gone.”

  “There may be witnesses,” the rookie chimes in. “Someone called this in anonymously. They saw the car when they came around back to throw away their empty bags in the dumpster. Anyway, we can trace that call and see if that person saw more.”

  “They could’ve seen the perp taking off,” the older officer adds encouragingly.

  That doesn’t make me feel much better, and I utter a soft, “I’m scared.”

  “That’s to be expected,” the rookie says. “But rest assured, we’ll catch whoever did this.”

  This has to be the work of my stalker, and I know I have to tell them.

  Quietly, I state, “There’s been more than just this one incident.”

  The officers both turn to me.

  “How do you mean?” the veteran asks.

  Sighing, I fill them in on everything. Afterward, they decide to have my car impounded. Before the tow truck arrives, I’m sure to discreetly slip the “gift” from Aubrey into my purse.

  Phew, close call! Can’t have the police confiscating a toy I never got to try out.

  But things grow serious again when the rookie says, “Your vehicle will be towed to a secure facility where we can dust for prints.”