by Lane, Stacy
“Wouldn’t that be a little dangerous to ask. These athletes have the biggest egos I’ve ever seen.”
“They’re not all bad. You’ve just been unlucky enough to meet the ones that have the worst. My husband included.” We walk side by side down the quiet halls toward the rink. The calm atmosphere so unlike all the other times I’ve been inside this arena. “You look really cute today, Jo. I like your hair curled.”
“Er, thanks. My hair was a mess so I threw a beanie over it.” I don’t take compliments very well.
“I love your style. Very punk-chic.”
“Didn’t know I had style,” I laugh.
“You do. And it’s uniquely yours,” Chelsea replies with a warm look as she opens the heavy door.
Cool air hits us in an instant and I no longer feel awkward for leaving my hair down just to wear the beanie. It’s cold as shit the closer we get to the ice.
Children squeals and giggles echo around the empty arena. A whistle blows from one the guys playing referee in what seems to be a dads versus kids game taking up the far end of the rink. The other end, where Chelsea and I are closest to, is the free skate area.
We walk out through the tunnel I’ve seen the players come from during games, and notice three women sitting on the bench watching everyone on the ice. Seems I’ve found my clique for the day.
Chelsea takes a seat near the other ladies, and I follow right after her.
A pile of skates sit behind them on the floor.
“Are you ladies done already?” Chelsea asks them, sliding down the smooth bench. I walk sideways and then plop down.
“Hell yes,” one replies, with a heavy Russian accent. We’ve been introduced but sadly I don’t remember names well. “For once the guys are on kid duty. We’re the smart ones taking a break and relaxing for a change.”
“Hey, Jo, right?” The one beside the smart mom asks me. She’s a petite brunette that I’ve also been introduced to. The Captains wife, I think.
“Yep. Sorry, I’m terrible at remembering names.”
“Kate,” she smiles, re-introducing herself. Pointing to the one in the middle, and then the other sitting beside Chelsea, she says, “This is Hannah, and that’s Mila.”
Mila, a stunning blonde married to one of the players with a complicated name, is the mom who spoke first when we sat beside them. I remember being introduced to them at Chelsea’s party. Their long last name is one I could never spell, and would never attempt repeating out loud for fear I’d butcher it massacre style.
“My son confessed to what he and the others did to Chelsea’s sitting room, and how you tried to help.” Kate crosses one leg over the other and leans on the top of one thigh to see my face as she speaks.
“So the secret is out,” I smile in return, glancing at Chelsea. Vic had a conniption when he found out. Chelsea didn’t explain his outburst in detail, but I didn’t need to hear it to surmise how bad it must have been.
“I didn’t want them getting in trouble,” Chelsea shrugs with defense, having kept it a secret as long as she could.
“That was sweet of you, but seems they are getting payback nonetheless,” Hannah nods her head to the left where the kids are playing against the adults.
The obnoxious whistle blaring from the second we entered the rink is attached to a set of lips I’ve had the fortune of playing against as well.
Brooks blows the whistle, pointing an accusatory finger at a little boy that probably barely meets his kneecaps. “Tripping!”
We watch the game for hardly a minute before Brooks calls another penalty on a doll-face girl I remember trying to explain how she colored the ceiling as I wiped her face clean. “Taking after your daddy, I see. That’s embellishment, Kit. Tsk tsk.”
I smile, forbidding my mouth from stretching as wide as the grin trying to break through.
Brooks skates around the children like a predator, waiting for the tiniest mistake to call them out on. As he circles back I admire the form-fitting long sleeve shirt outlining the perfection of his upper body. The jeans give a great picture of what his ass is like as well. And like always, the red hat is turned backward.
The swishing sounds of cutting ice comes toward us, but I pay it no mind. Until two forms come to a stop right in front, blocking my view of Brooks.
“See you made it, Jo,” Vic bristles in greeting, though not in a welcomed way.
“Hey, Jo,” Marc adds with a charming smile. One that is a little too welcoming.
Modern-day Goldilocks right here.
“Hi, Marc.”
“You gonna skate?”
“I don’t have skates.”
Vic scoffs. “Why’d you want to come then?”
“I didn’t,” I reply with a stiff tongue.
“I’m sure there are some spare skates around here, right honey?” Chelsea smiles at her husband in a manner that says more beyond what she voiced aloud.
I don’t know what I did to the guy, or maybe it’s just his personality toward everyone, but Vic is not the most friendly person. He gives off the vibe that I’m some kind of bad influence on his wife. If he bothered to get to know me at all he would see how far from a rebel I am.
“What size are you?” Mila asks me.
“Eight. But it’s okay, I don’t mind sitting this out. It’s probably best for everyone if I don’t attempt to skate.” My breezy reply was meant to cover the undertone of my freaked out nerves. Every person here, including the smallest kid who has to be two or three years old, is skating better than I know I will.
“Nonsense.” Mila ignores me altogether and reaches behind her. “You have the best skaters in the world all under one roof. Might as well have the best teaching you.”
I smile tightly as I take the pair of white skates out of her hand.
Chelsea and I lace up and then I follow her on unsteady legs to the half door at the end of the bench.
In most cases, when I’m in a situation that will likely wind up embarrassing me, I just don’t do it. That doesn’t apply today.
“Chelsea, this is a bad idea,” I whisper at the back of her head just before she steps down onto the ice. The strain in my voice has her looking over her shoulder.
“Want to hold onto me?”
“Do you like the feel of a cold, wet ass?” I retort.
She laughs it off. “I won’t let you fall.”
Groaning, I place weight on one foot and feel how alien my balance is to the blade. “This is bad. This is bad.”
I’m a master at yoga for God’s sake. I should have more balance than this.
“Stop it,” Chelsea chides, reaching for my hand.
I latch onto her with one arm and grip the hip-height boards surrounding the rink with my other hand.
Chelsea glides along beside me for a few minutes, trying to encourage me to let go of the wall. I never do. But when we make it to the opposite side, instead of continuing on, Chelsea wants to cut across the center.
There are no walls down the center.
There will be no Jo going down the center.
I let go of her and slowly turn back the way we came, both hands holding a death grip on the boards. My hands are both chilled and sweaty at the same time. Without my clammy hands, my fingers would be frozen out here with no gloves, so the high levels of nerves are actually good for something.
Chelsea swishes out in front of me like some ice princess. “You’re doing good, Jo.”
“Get back here,” I argue, not looking up from my feet. “Give me your hand again.”
“You can have my hand,” Marc says in his pretty boy voice as he skates up to my right side.
I’m desperate, so I’ll take anyone’s help.
Removing one hand from the wall I loop it around Marc’s strong arm.
Wow. That’s a nice arm.
Braving my balance, I lift my gaze to his smooth, chiseled jaw. “Thanks.”
Pretty boy, indeed. His supermodel looks are almost distracting enough to lose balance e
ven while he’s holding me up.
“My pleasure.” Bright white teeth dazzle with the wintery backdrop. “If you want to let go completely give me both hands.”
“Um. No. I’m good like this.”
He grins, skating forward and turning to face me. Paws out, his flicks his fingers up and down. “C’mon. Let go.”
What the hell. At least if I cause him to fall down with me I might get something out of it.
Right as I get enough courage to release my left hand from the safety of the sturdy wall, I recognize the sound coming from behind as fast feet cutting across the ice.
With sure hands, I’m lifted off the ground and spun around in the arms of Brooks.
Screaming, because the idiot scared the hell out me, I shout, “What are you doing!”
I may be yelling and sound angry, but I’m holding onto his body with all fours like a spider-monkey.
The accelerated speed has my long hair whipping over my shoulders and into both of our faces, though mine is tucked nicely into his neck. Brooks’s chuckle stops me from reaching up to fix my hair so he doesn’t eat it or poke an eye out. Serves him right.
“So this is how I keep you from running away from me,” he remarks, big hands wrapping around me with a sensual touch.
A familiar, welcoming, and perfect touch that is juuuuusst right.
“Not funny, Brooks. You could have warned me you were going to do that. You about gave me a heart attack.”
“The heart attack bit would have sucked, but stealing you away from Laurant was priceless.”
I pick my head up from his shoulder. “Stealing me away?”
“Just staking my claim, babe,” he grins, and the look sends yummy yummy gum drop chills down to the center of my body.
My face pinches. “Babe?”
He’s reduced me to only repeating his words in the form of questions.
“Yeah, you’re right. Angel sounds better.”
I can’t help it. That makes me cheese like Gus Gus.
“You can drop me off at the bench,” I say as we round the corner, heading toward the starting point.
“If you’re going to hang out with hockey players, you’re going to have to learn to skate.” As Brooks passes the bench I felt the last of my composure, he loosens his grip enough to drop my feet, but I don’t.
“I don’t want to hang with hockey players. It’s other people that keep making me hang out with you crazy guys.”
“Yeah, but you secretly love it.”
You kinda do, my inner Russell Dunbar remarks.
Brooks spins, skating backward and slowing his pace. “Put your feet down. I won’t let go of you.”
“I’m not apologizing when I cause us both to fall on our asses.” Setting blades to ice, the unsteadiness returns in an instant and causes me to grip onto Brooks’s shoulders like a vice.
He guides us along the edge, putting a little more space between us every so often. Eyes back on my feet, I’m finding my balance as he skates for the both of us. Another lap around and I feel confident enough to lift my head. Brooks is smiling down at me.
“You’re doing good. When you’re ready, move your hands down to mine.”
Shaking my head like a stubborn child, I say, “I’m good. We can stay like this.”
“There are kids present. I’m trying to be a good role model, Angel, but with you this close I can’t promise I won’t try something dirty in the next few seconds.”
“Role model, my ass. You were just torturing those poor kids not too long ago.”
“You cuss more when you’re scared,” he grins.
“Trust me. It’s you that causes me to curse.”
As we’re rounding the end of the rink where Brooks swept me away, I see Chelsea out of the corner of my eye and hear Marc raise his voice from nearby.
“Jo, I would never startle you the way Brooksy has, so if you want me to rough him up for you just let me know.”
Smirking, I lift mischievous eyes on Brooks’s smoky gaze. “Thanks, but I can handle Brooksy all on my own.”
“Not if I let go you won’t,” he teases, jolting backward like he’s about to do just that.
My arms wave as I lose what balance I thought I gained. Brooks returns back to his post with a haughty laugh.
“Don’t make me go back to rubbing up all over your teammate. I’m sure he has his own dirty motives whether you’ve staked your claim or not,” I say low enough for only him hear.
Brooks’s lids fall heavy over his eyes.
We move slowly around the rink as Brooks gives me pointers on balance and where to place all of my weight. After we make another lap, the kids have finished their hockey game and are joining us in the free skate. A couple minutes later music fills the arena with a pop song that has the preteen girls squealing.
I look around, fingers latched onto Brooks’s, and witness a surreal moment. I’m in a room full of professional athletes who are just regular people like me. There’s no cameras or cheers from screaming fans. Only moms and dads having a day off for fun with their families.
Eventually, I let go of Brooks and coast for a prolonged moment before taking my first step.
After quite a few glides without falling, I lift my head with a wide smile.
Brooks grins right back.
THIRTEEN
Brooks
I had no idea Jo would be here today.
And to think I almost didn’t come.
Our schedule allotted the team a four day off period during the U.S. Thanksgiving that had our coaches spontaneously putting together a family day at the rink instead of a practice. Most of us were from other countries, but we’ve adapted to the American holiday since this was our home for half the year.
My family and I were here year-round now. Mom enjoyed having two Thanksgivings, but we got together on whichever one all of us could attend.
Not all of my teammates stayed long. I would have headed out right behind them had I not made the genius move to play referee on the game the kids begged to play with their parents. It was all fun and games. More fun for me.
The little shits who definitely don’t take after their dads’ skills finally got their break when I became aware of Jo’s presence.
Hair down and curled, she wore a mustard yellow beanie that hung loosely at the crown of her head. It matched the plaid she wore unbuttoned around her shoulders. Once again, she was in another pair of jeans that stuck to her like a second skin, and bending at the waist more than standing erect with her lack of skating skills, gave me a really nice view of her perfect ass.
She was holding onto Chelsea for dear life, oblivious to everyone watching her, which I know she would hate. But my teammates, their wives, and girlfriends, weren’t smiling with evil intent. They were laughing at whatever Jo was saying to Chelsea. And having been on the opposite side of her sassy rebuttals many, many times, I was grinning like a fool.
Until fucking Marc Laurent moved in on her. Again.
I really like the guy, he’s been my wingman in lots of situations—in public with attracting ladies and the left to my right wing as forwards on the ice—but going after Jo was a no.
So I swept her off her feet.
Any thoughts of skipping out earlier on the family day that would usually have me running in the opposite direction ceased the second she arrived.
“Any plans for tomorrow?” I ask, skating beside her as she picks up a little more speed.
“No. I would be home in Oregon right now, but my parents went on a last minute cruise.”
“Oregon,” I murmur. “Long way from home.”
“Yep. That was intentional,” she replies with a jaunt.
“Only child?”
“No, I have a brother.” Looking at me with a soft expression, she adds, “My family is nothing like yours.”
There’s more to that comment, and I’m shocked at how much I want to learn what her story is.
“So you’re going to be all alone tomorrow? D
oes Chelsea know that? I think they’re going to one of the guys’ house for dinner.”
“I don’t mind being alone. Chelsea offered, but I rather stay home.”
“I get that,” I comment. “With such a busy schedule I love the days I can just lounge around my place and do nothing but channel surf.”
She laughs. “Really?”
“Yeah. You don’t believe me?”
Jo shrugs and it causes her to wobble left. With quick reflex, I sweep an arm around her waist, holding on until she’s steady before letting go.
“Guess it’s just hard to imagine someone like you enjoying quiet time,” she says.
“Who is someone like me exactly?”
“Ladies man, overly confident, the life of the party type.”
“Wow. And here I thought you liked me.”
“I do,” she replies in a soft release of breath.
“Do you want to hold hands while we skate to this Taylor Swift song?” I joke, ruining the moment on purpose. I liked her declaration too much.
It was more than her two words of admittance. Other women have said more, though, most have shown their feelings for me with body language more than with words in most cases. But none have ever dealt a blow the way Jo’s sweet voice and disarming gaze just did.
I needed my mouth to break the moment, because my eyes were never going to betray what I felt when I looked at her.
She rolls her eyes, finding enough confidence to push her legs faster and skate away from me.
Pfft. Did she forget who she’s skating with?
Pure evil, and a little bit for the simple fact that I needed to touch her again, I take off after her and whisk her up. She weighs absolutely nothing in my arms as I toss her over my shoulder, placing that pert little ass next to my head.
“Brooks!” she screeches.
“Damn. I like when you scream my name,” I respond, grateful for the loud music to mask the youthful ears.
“This is the only time you’ll ever be hearing me scream your name if you don’t put me down right now,” she grounds out, muffled from her upside down position behind my back.