Resistance on Ice - SR GREY

by Grey, S. R.

  Better fix this shit before I’m busted.

  I rush to make up a cover story, winging it as I go along. “Yeah, there actually is someone I was hoping might stop by, someone I may have mentioned the party to.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Benny jumps in. “Who’d you invite?”

  Think fast, Solvenson. “Just some really hot flight attendant I met on the flight yesterday. I mentioned to her that she should stop by if she has nothing to do. That was after she made a point to tell me she’d be in town for a few day on a layover. She seemed like a wild one, but alas….” I muster my best faux disappointed sigh. “…I guess she had something better to do.”

  “Who had something better to do?” Aubrey, barging in on our bro powwow, wants to know.

  “Nobody,” I mutter.

  She heard more than she’s letting on, I know it. Sure enough, ten seconds later, she snarks, “Do you mean to tell me there’s actually a woman out there who resisted the world-renowned Solvenson charm?”

  Sarcastic little wench.

  Hmm, I wonder if Lainey has been singing my praises. Positive words about me would definitely irk Aubrey.

  “I guess even I can’t win them all over,” I snap right back at her.

  “Win them all over?” Aubrey scoffs. “I thought your MO was simply to fuck them all over.”

  “Or just straight-up fuck them,” Benny, the traitor, chimes in.

  “Dude.”

  I give him a look, and he says, “Sorry, man.”

  Clearly, the bro code needs some fine-tuning; the summer break has left it lacking.

  Aubrey, meanwhile, is suddenly busy murmuring something to Brent. I try to ignore her, but I do perk up when I overhear her say, “That was Lainey who was calling when I went inside before. She’s running a few minutes late, but she should be here any minute.”

  “Cool,” Brent says. “Did she say how her first night of training went?”

  Training? She must’ve gotten a job. But what kind of marketing position requires training at night?

  “Yeah,” Aubrey replies, “she said it was a little tricky since she’s never waitressed before. But I guess her tips were good, so she’s sticking with it.”

  “That’s great,” Brent replies.

  Hmm, so Lainey has a new job at a restaurant. That is great. I know her well enough that I’m sure she hasn’t been happy sitting around Brent and Aubrey’s place day in and day out, with nothing really to do. She’s personable enough that I imagine she’ll rake in some good money waitressing.

  Benny asks where she’s working, which I’m interested to find out too, but before Aubrey or Brent can reply, another player from our team comes over, interrupting our Lainey discussion.

  “Hey, Nolan, how’s it going?” Dylan Culderway, one of our best offensive-minded defensemen, shakes my hand, and then bestows quick hellos to everyone else.

  Along with Brent and Benny, I count Dylan as one of my best friends. He’s from Buffalo, which though in the States, isn’t all that far from where I grew up in Ontario. Our proximity in birthplaces was the initial glue that bonded us together, but our friendship has evolved since.

  “Things are good,” I reply. “How’s your summer been?”

  “It’s been great. Nice to have some time off after that Cup run, yeah?”

  “You’re not kidding.”

  He runs his hand over his closely cropped dark hair, making the sleeve of his black tee ride up and expose the start of a huge dragon tattoo that extends from his massive bicep, up over his shoulder, and across his back.

  “Still, it’s good to be back,” he goes on. “I’m more than ready to hit the ice and start the new season. The break’s been long enough.”

  “I hear ya,” I concur. “I’m done with sitting around idle too.”

  Dylan and I are a lot alike, in more ways than just this one. We’re serious dudes, quiet loners in some ways. Sure, we get along great with the guys, and we can party with the best of them, but no one can ever really understand us. Dylan’s introspective, like me. And he doesn’t share a lot, also like me. I sometimes wonder if he was done dirty by a woman—again, like me—or if he just naturally possesses a warrior’s heart. In any case, he’s not only a force to be reckoned with on the ice, he’s a fighter outside the arena too.

  One of the reasons we didn’t see much of each other these past couple of months is that Dylan was traveling a lot, again like me. But whereas my trips were for fun, his were wrought with purpose. Something he doesn’t talk much about, but everyone knows, is that his mother was a victim of domestic abuse. She unfortunately didn’t get out in time and met an untimely end at the hands of her abuser. The guy was Dylan’s stepfather. Awful, right? Poor kid was just a child at the time too. He witnessed a lot of the abuse, too much for a kid, and he was there that terrible, final night.

  After his murderous stepfather was locked up for life, Dylan was sent to live with his grandmother. He decided to make his life about hockey, something he was already excelling at and happened to love. As time went on Dylan found another cause, one even closer to his heart—championing domestic violence victims. When he’s not on the ice, he devotes a ton of time to that cause. It’s how he spent his summer, traveling the globe, raising funds, and fighting for the rights of domestic violence victims.

  He’s a good dude, and we talk a little more now. Not about anything serious, just hockey shop talk. Aubrey, Brent, and Benny join in on the conversation too, but at some point it ends up just me, Benny, and Dylan standing around, shooting the breeze.

  Brent and Aubrey were having trouble keeping their hands off each other and, thankfully, excused themselves to head indoors. After witnessing their shameless flirting, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why—they want to hook up.

  I swear, those two are so fucking crazy in love that it’s nuts.

  A feeling of wistfulness washes over me, and I can’t help but think of Lainey. I’m only half listening to the guys, mostly because I’m busy keeping an eye out for her. Aubrey said she was on her way home, so where the hell is she?

  I check my phone. It’s well after midnight.

  I need to formulate a plan to extricate myself from the conversation so I can head to the front of the house and possibly catch her before she pulls into Brent’s multicar garage.

  That would afford us a few minutes alone to talk.

  Turning to Dylan and Benny, I open my mouth to make an excuse for why I have to go, but before even one word is uttered, Benny lets out a low whistle, effectively shutting me up.

  “Dude, check out Aubrey’s sister,” he says quietly. “I sure wouldn’t mind tapping that just once.”

  Dylan nods in agreement, and I feel like punching them both. Of course, I don’t.

  When I turn around to see what’s eliciting this kind of reaction from my teammates, I blurt out, “Jesus.”

  Lainey’s decked out in a hot-as-fuck short black skirt and a flouncy white blouse. There’s a black corset laced up over the top, creating a major push-up bra effect. Thigh-high boots, with pointy toes that look like they could seriously maim someone, complete the sexy ensemble.

  “What the hell?”

  I can’t help it, and I don’t care who sees, but my hungry gaze travels up her long legs, over her tiny waist, and across her luscious tits that are spilling out over the ruffled material of the frilly top.

  Before anyone can stop me, and still not caring who sees what, I stride over to her.

  “Oh, hey, Nolan,” she says, all nonchalant-like, when I reach her.

  She has to know an outfit like this drives me crazy. That’s why she looks so smug. Oh well, she’s right. Not only do I want to rip the sexy clothes off her, but the wicked things I’d do to her afterward would have her screaming out my name.

  All that is forgotten, though, when I suddenly realize something,. And it starts bothering the crap out of me—Lainey doesn’t seem the least bit surprised to see me.

  “Did you pla
n this?” I gesture to her bar wench ensemble. “Because, really, what the fuck are you wearing?”

  “Are you serious?” She glares at me, incredulous. “You think I wore this outfit because I knew you’d be here?”

  “Yes.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You wish, Nolan.”

  “Who knows with you,” I snap, defensive since I can’t fucking think straight. “I wouldn’t put it past you to wear something like this”—I wave my hand around in front of her, at the outfit muddling my mind—“purely to torture me.”

  Hands on her hips, she shakes her head. “Not that it’s any of your business, you smug ass, but this happens to be my work uniform.”

  “What’s your new job? Working the fucking corner?”

  “Fuck you, Nolan.”

  I laugh. This is how we are. This back-and-forth snarking is like foreplay for us.

  “Ooh, feisty.” I rub my hands together, ready to go at it with her. “Hit me with some more, Lainey. I love it when you talk dirty.”

  “Ugh. I hate you, I swear!”

  She growls at me then, but it’s more cute than fierce. Lainey’s a feisty kitten, not a tiger.

  Even though we’re well out of earshot of everyone, I check around to make sure no one is paying us any heed, or perhaps wondering why we’re engaging in such a lively exchange, seeing as we’re supposed to barely know one another.

  Luckily, no one is paying any attention to us.

  I relax, content in the knowledge that, really, the only two people who’d suspect something—or would care if there was something going on—are Aubrey and Brent. And they’re still mercifully MIA, probably banging the shit out of each other this very second.

  Good for them if they are. Lainey and I have time to hash this out.

  Clearing my throat, I dial it back a notch, saying to her softly, “Look, I don’t want to fight with you. It’s just that you drive me nuts sometimes with the things you do.”

  She rolls her eyes. “How can you even say that so casually, Nolan? We haven’t seen each other in months.”

  “And you have to admit that it totally sucks,” I reply, laying it on the line.

  Step one is admitting I missed her.

  When she dips her head, hiding her pleased grin, I say, “Is that a smile I see, Miss Shelburne?”

  “No,” she retorts, but damn if she’s not smiling ear-to-ear.

  “You little liar, you’re definitely smiling.” I start laughing, seeing as I’m feeling pretty damn happy myself all of the sudden. “Don’t deny it.”

  “Even if I am,” she replies, “I still hate you.”

  “Ah, but the heat in your eyes tells a different story, my dear.”

  “Shut up. And quit giving me that look.”

  I feign innocence. “What look?”

  “The look that says you think we’re okay.”

  “We’re not?”

  “No!” She huffs, and gets right to reading me the riot act. “For your information, buster, you’re not forgiven for dismissing me so rudely the last time we saw each other. You remember, Nolan,” she growls.

  Uh-oh, angry kitten is back.

  “You surely haven’t forgotten that night in Minneapolis, have you? What happened on the team bus?”

  “Of course I haven’t forgotten.” I sigh. “And I feel really bad for how things went down. That’s not how I planned to end things.”

  She raises a brow. “But you did plan to end things?”

  I rake my fingers through my hair. “Fuck. I don’t know anymore,” I admit.

  Step two is letting her know I don’t have all the answers.

  “I guess we should talk a little more about this,” she says softly.

  There’s something akin to capitulation in her eyes, and I think, good, she wants me back.

  But then again, this could also be a trap.

  Shit, my trust issues are raising their ugly heads. Smacking those issues back down, before they compel me to say something stupid, I wave a hand at the sliding glass doors at the back of the house.

  “If we want to talk, we should probably go inside.”

  She agrees immediately.

  This is too easy. I wonder if she’s up to something.

  Dismissing my concern, we head into the house. I step inside first so I can check and make sure the coast is clear. We both know who we need to avoid.

  “There’s no sign of Aubrey or Brent,” I whisper, holding my hand out for her to take it and step into the darkened kitchen with me.

  “Come on,” I continue when she steps in, albeit without my helping hand. “Let’s go find a quiet place where we can talk.”

  “I know where we can go,” she says.

  I let her lead me then down a long hall on the first floor. I know from having been in this house so many times that she’s taking me to a guest bedroom. It must be where she’s staying while she’s here.

  Okay, so far, so good. Me alone in a bedroom with Lainey works for me. It’s bound to lead to one thing and one thing only—hot sex.

  And that my friends is step three in my plan—fuck her till she begs to pick up where we left off.

  Lainey steps into the guest bedroom—her room—and beckons for me to join her.

  Fuck, she looks hot. And now I have her alone.

  I walk in, all set to make my move.

  But, wait, what the fuck?

  Lainey spins to face me, not looking happy at all.

  What the fucking-hell-fuck? What happened to our truce?

  I realize it’s over and an all-out war when she casually tries to kick me in the fucking balls.

  You Deserve More than a Kick in the Balls, Nolan

  “Are you fucking crazy?” Nolan is pissed as hell as he covers his junk. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  I miss, and kick at him again.

  He smoothly moves out of the way of the onslaught of my pointy-toed boot. It’s kind of like he’s avoiding a check, but one that could do irreparable harm.

  “Strippers, Nolan?” I grind out, giving him the reason for this assault. “Really?”

  “Oh, you heard Marty Quick’s show,” he states calmly, much too calmly.

  That makes me more infuriated than ever. How dare he remain so cool and collected when I’m fuming!

  I try to kick him again, but now that’s he’s onto me, he catches my ankle with ease.

  “Quit trying to take out my junk, Lainey,” he warns.

  Ooh, he’s as angry as I am. Finally.

  “You deserve more than a kick in the balls, Nolan,” I hiss. “Now let go of my ankle.”

  He smirks, but makes no move to let go, leaving me standing there tottering on one foot, while trying to grab onto the edge of a nearby dresser. I’d don’t want to fall on my ass. That’d kind of blow any ass-kicking persona I have going here.

  “Let go of me,” I squeal as my arms pinwheel. So much for the ass-kicking ’tude.

  “Are you sorry?” Nolan wants to know.

  “Hmm, am I sorry?” I whip my head around to glare at him. “Quit being a dick.”

  He suppresses a laugh and, as I hop on one foot to stay balanced, I hiss, “This is not funny, Nolan.”

  He finally takes pity on me and loosens his hold enough that I can find purchase on the edge of the dresser.

  “I’m waiting for that apology,” he says softly once I’m steadied.

  I peer back at him, having to twist at a weird angle since he still has hold of my ankle.

  Well, I’m still defiant, pal.

  “I’m only sorry I didn’t make contact,” I purr sweetly.

  He raises a brow. “Do you really mean that? Possibly rendering me childless for the rest of my life was really your intent?”

  “Oh, stop being so dramatic. I do feel a little bad. My only intent was to make a point—literally—not harm you for life.”

  Shaking my foot and unsteadying me again, he exclaims, “Look at these things! You could kill someone with a p
ointy toe like that. Puncture a nad, for sure. Maybe even blow out a blood vessel—”

  “God, stop! I get it, okay? I was wrong and I’m sorry.”

  Apparently, my giving in is not enough for Nolan. Instead of releasing me, he twists my foot this way and that, throwing me off-balance again.

  “Nolan, don’t,” I beg, which is probably what he wants. “I’m going to fall.” He probably wants that too.

  But there’s another concern now, at least for me. With my upper body splayed across the dresser, and him holding my ankle higher than before, my damn skirt is pushed up so high that he has to have a perfect view of my crotch.

  Shit, I hope he can’t see how wet my panties are becoming.

  Okay, I’m hopeless, I know. But sparring with Nolan, not to mention how the position he’s holding me in is reminiscent of ways he’s held me in the past—mostly while we were gloriously naked—is turning me on.

  But, alas, it’s not the view that alerts him to my current ready-to-be-sexed-up state. No. It’s the moan-y gasp I release when I pant out a desperate, “Nolan, please.”

  He smirks. Oh, now he knows for sure. And if there is any doubt, it’s erased when he glances at my panties. “Oh, Lainey, you are one bad girl.”

  “Shut up.”

  Looking smug, he releases me.

  I maneuver to a seated position atop the dresser and murmur, “I hope you enjoyed the show.”

  “I did, Lainey, I enjoyed it very much.”

  When he then wedges his hard body between my legs, there goes my last scrap of willpower to resist him. I let out a wanton groan because, as established, I’m hopeless. I rest my back against the wall, and since I have no shame and I freaking want him like crazy, I line up my center with his junk. Yep, the same junk I was trying to kick minutes ago.

  What the hell was I thinking, anyway? Wanting to harm him like that…

  But wait, what the hell am I thinking now?

  “What are we doing, Nolan?” I ask softly.

  With one brow raised and pressing into me, he says, “Isn’t it clear?”

  “Um, I don’t think—”