Bet on Ice (Boys of Winter Book 9)

by S. R. Grey

  Yes, let’s.

  It’s amusing that he thinks I have no idea who he is. Too bad he doesn’t know it’s my business to learn all I can about the Wolves players.

  See, I just landed a sweet job in marketing as their team’s event coordinator.

  That’s right—I’m newly employed by the very same team Landen plays for.

  So yeah, I’m aware of the players.

  I know their names, faces, and bios.

  I better.

  My first promotional event is tomorrow afternoon.

  And guess who it’s with?

  Yep, you guessed it—Landen.

  I chuckle as I walk up to my townhouse, pressing the button on the key fob to lock my car, a simple silver hybrid sedan.

  Tomorrow should be interesting, to say the least.

  Landen Zehner has no clue that when he shows up at the arena in twelve short hours to skate with a group of school kids, I’ll be the point person he’ll be working with.

  That’s why I asked him to wait to decide if he still wants to go out with me.

  It’s only fair.

  Though the Wolves have no restrictions or rules in place addressing dating amongst players and team employees—trust me, I’ve read that rulebook a dozen times—a lot of guys still don’t like to mix business with pleasure.

  I need to find out where Landen stands on that issue before we move forward.

  As I walk into my empty, quiet home, flipping on the lights, I note how fresh and new it still smells, like latex paint, recently installed carpeting, and newly bought furniture.

  It should smell this way, as I’ve only owned the townhouse since September. And even though it’s pretty far out from the city, it came with a hefty mortgage.

  That is why I better do a stellar job with the Wolves.

  I need this job.

  As I place my purse on the sofa in the living room, I look up at the darkness visible through the skylights and think about how I hope Landen doesn’t care about the whole mixing business and pleasure thing.

  Damn it, I really do want to go out with the guy.

  I guess it’s because I’m über attracted to him.

  But he sure doesn’t need to know that.

  No way.

  I’ll continue to play it cool, like I did at the card game.

  Yeah, let him wonder what I’m thinking.

  Hockey boys are far too cocky, Landen included. I’ve read about his wild days. Though, to his credit, word is that he’s settled down a lot since then.

  Like me, he even bought a house recently.

  As I glance around, I think about how his place is probably much bigger and fancier.

  Me, I was just excited to have two whole bedrooms and a bath and a half to call my own.

  Woohoo!

  Despite his recent settling down in some ways, I think Landen has a lot of wildness left in him. He’s a madman on the ice, taking chances with the puck and standing up to players much bigger than himself all the time.

  And then there’s the fact I saw something in his pretty sage green eyes tonight, something untamed.

  I groan.

  Why do I like that in my men?

  I guess I’m into wild.

  No, there’s no use pretending.

  I freaking love wild and untamed!

  Landen could use a little domesticating, though…from me.

  Good thing I’m the kind of girl who can get it done.

  And if Landen falls for me in the process?

  Well then, so be it.

  I wouldn’t be sad.

  No way.

  I’d be elated.

  Kicking off my heels, I hike up my red dress, plop down on the sofa, and make a little wager with myself.

  “I bet I can make Landen fall for me.”

  I don’t mean in some trivial, lustful way, either.

  I want him head over heels.

  I think about what I’d gain if that were to happen.

  That’s an easy one—I’d win him.

  And, no doubt about it, Landen Zehner would be quite the prize.

  Holy Shit!

  I wake up the morning after the blackjack game to the sound of lawn equipment whirring out on my property.

  “Ah, hell,” I mutter. “I forgot the landscapers were coming today.”

  I recently bought a newly constructed home that’s kind of off the beaten path.

  I like that.

  I’m not a suburbs guy, so it’s great to have a lot of land.

  Unfortunately, though, thanks to the desert climate and constant beating sun, the lush green lawn and many shrubs and flowers I had put in need frequent watering and tending.

  As if to remind me of that, a weed whacker just down from my bedroom window starts buzzing incessantly.

  Annnd there goes all hope of going back to sleep.

  So much for getting in a little extra rest after being out so late last night.

  Sighing, I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress and sit up.

  Running my hand down my stubbled face, I yawn and stretch and mutter, “Fuck, I’m tired.”

  I know a long hot shower will revive me, so I stand and head to the en suite bathroom.

  I sleep in the nude, so there’s no need to ditch any pajamas.

  When I feel a familiar tug in my groin and glance down, I see that I’m sporting some pretty impressive morning wood.

  Chuckling, I think, I should take care of that.

  Yeah, no, I definitely will.

  I know just who to fantasize about too—the beautiful, hot, and sexy woman I met last night, Cricket.

  “I hope she decides to go out with me,” I murmur as I step into the shower and turn on the water.

  As jets blast me from multiple angles, I think about how weird it is that Cricket wants to wait to see if I would still like to go out with her.

  Why wait till today?

  It’s all so strange.

  “Whatever.”

  I have too many other things on my mind right now, first of which is getting to work on my raging hard-on.

  Closing my eyes, I reach down and hit Play on this morning’s fantasy, starring Cricket…

  Shit, she’s wearing that hot-as-sin red dress, and my hands are on her soft thighs, hiking the material up, up, up.

  Yeah, we didn’t part ways in the back room. We came here to my house afterward. And now we’re in my bedroom, mere inches from the king-sized bed where I plan to do a lot of very dirty things to her.

  Filthy, even.

  “Unh, yeah…”

  I stroke harder and faster.

  Cricket’s not wearing any panties, and she’s already so fucking wet and ready for me. I dip a finger into her soaked pussy, quickly adding two more when she moans and begs for that.

  “Stretch me out,” she says. “Make me ready for your big, hard cock.”

  I like the way she thinks.

  As I pump into her, she gasps out my name.

  Damn, I can’t hold out much longer.

  I need to taste her, so I pull my fingers out and lick them.

  Watching me, Cricket squirms, begging now for my tongue.

  “Your wish is my command,” I groan in real life as I lean back against the rough stone wall.

  In my fantasy, I drop down to my knees.

  I start licking and savoring her folds, parting her wide.

  She has the sweetest, pinkest pussy I’ve ever tasted or seen.

  I must have her.

  Standing, I lower Cricket down to the bed.

  Plunging into her in my fantasy makes me explode into my hand.

  In real life, I’d last much longer.

  Today is simply about taking care of business.

  Once my heart rate returns to normal, I clean up and get on with showering.

  As I’m soaping up, I think about how I’m hoping more than ever now that Cricket goes out with me.

  I’d love to bring the fantasy I just had to life.

  I
still don’t fully understand the “wait till tomorrow” crap, but whatever.

  Tomorrow is here, and I have her number.

  I’ll see how things proceed and make a move from there.

  Should I be looking for signs?

  What kind, though.

  Oh, hell, I’ll just call her later to find out if I passed whatever “wait till tomorrow” test there was.

  I’m glad I have a promo event at noon. It’ll keep me busy. I won’t obsess too much about Cricket and her weird stipulation to our bet.

  For this event, I’ll be skating with a group of kids from a disadvantaged school.

  I love that the Wolves do shit like this, helping in the community and all.

  Working with kids is the best. They’re always so excited to skate with a real professional hockey player. Today should be even more special, as I get to surprise the kids with a donation of a bunch of brand-new hockey equipment, enough to start a team of their own at their school.

  The Wolves covered about half the cost, and I kicked in the rest.

  I like giving back.

  I’m all about paying it forward.

  After I’m showered, I dress in dark wash jeans and a red-and-black Wolves tee. Downstairs in the kitchen, I grab a quick breakfast of juice, fruit, and a few hard-boiled eggs.

  I’m feeling pretty chill, until I’m on my way to the arena and realize I have no idea whom I’m meeting with today to find out about how this thing will run.

  Crap.

  I have no clue.

  There’s always a point person, an event coordinator, but the Wolves lost the guy who used to do this kind of thing. He moved to another state right before Christmas.

  The team must’ve filled the job, though, right?

  Otherwise, they would’ve postponed the event.

  Now that I think about it, I do recall, in a recent email correspondence, there was mention of a new event coordinator who would be on hand.

  Ah, so I’m in luck.

  But, shit, I should’ve asked what his—or her—name is.

  Hell, it doesn’t matter.

  I’ll find out soon enough, as I just pulled into the players’ parking lot.

  After I park my shiny black Porsche, one of two sports cars I own, I head into the arena.

  It’s eerily quiet in the locker room without all the guys.

  I don’t like it.

  I can’t wait till the games start back up. Our holiday break has only been a few days, but it feels way too long.

  I’m beyond pumped that we have a game tomorrow night.

  Yes!

  I am so fucking ready.

  As I change into my hockey gear, something strikes me as odd. The person who used to coordinate these events would always come down to the locker room to give me a heads-up on what to expect.

  I mean, crap, I still have no fucking clue how things are going to go.

  Am I meeting with just one kid at a time for more personalized attention or the whole group at once?

  If it is just one kid, what order will they go in?

  If it’s a group, do I just skate over to them and get started?

  What happens then?

  Will the kids even be in a group?

  Or will they already be skating around out on the ice?

  And there’s more…

  Will there be time for me to sign autographs?

  When will that happen exactly?

  And when do I present the equipment?

  “Shit, that’s a lot to think about.”

  Yet here I stand, dick in hand—well, not literally, but you get the picture—with no fucking guidance.

  Who is this rookie coordinator the team hired?

  It must be hard to find good help these days.

  Ugh!

  I’m kind of in a sour mood by the time I hit the ice.

  The kids are everywhere—some are skating around and laughing, while others are just standing at center ice, talking.

  I’m glad to see that they all seem to be having fun.

  It’s a good start.

  When the large group of kids convened in the middle of the ice begins to part, I get why the new coordinator didn’t come to the locker room—“he” is a “she.”

  And man, this chick is fine.

  At least she is from the back.

  The new event coordinator has an amazing ass, all taut and tight with the right amount of round. Her glutes look firm and touchable encased in black spandex leggings.

  As she remains busy talking with the kids, I continue to check her out.

  Damn, even her long blonde ponytail is sexy. I like the way it curls down her lean back, the honey shade contrasting so nicely with the black long-sleeved tech top she has on.

  I can’t wait to see her face.

  To spur her to turn around, I clear my throat rather loudly.

  But she pays me no heed.

  I guess it’s because she’s engrossed with a little girl in pigtails.

  The other kids in her group are dispersing.

  Having heard my throat-clearing, they’re now all skating over excitedly.

  As one little boy approaches, he exclaims, “It’s him! It’s him! It’s Landen Zehner!”

  From there the kids converge on me in a cacophony, like they’re all chiming in at once.

  “Mr. Zehner, can I have an autograph before we leave today?”

  “Can my mom take a picture of us when we get off the ice?”

  “When do we start?”

  “Can you teach us how to do a slap shot?”

  And those are just the questions I catch.

  Help!

  “Um, er, uh,” I blubber. “Ah, why don’t you all just go ahead and skate around some more. I’ll get all those answers for you in a sec.”

  The kids comply, heading off in different directions, though they do appear to be a bit confused.

  So am I.

  This is why I need some damn guidance.

  With the throng of children out of the way, I have an unobstructed view of the new event coordinator. She’s finishing up with talking to the little girl, who I see now looks like she was crying.

  Okay, I’m not so annoyed anymore.

  How sweet and thoughtful is it that the new event coordinator is making sure the child is all right?

  I like her after all.

  I was irritated, but her thoughtfulness with the little girl has touched my heart.

  That’s why I’m smiling at her before she even turns around.

  May as well make a good first impression, right?

  And then, almost like she feels my eyes on her, the event coordinator spins to face me.

  And just that, my smile falters.

  “Holy shit! Cricket?”

  Smiling back at me smugly, she skates over.

  Now I know why she wanted to wait to confirm our date.

  But hold up here one little minute.

  This means she knew the entire time last night who the hell I was.

  With the realization that I’ve been played, I narrow my eyes at her as she closes in.

  What’s With That Look, Zehner?

  I skate up to Landen, picking up speed and spraying him with ice since his green eyes are narrowed at me accusingly.

  Ahh, someone doesn’t like to be one-upped.

  Get used to it, buddy.

  I like this game.

  And I’m good at playing it.

  Casually, I ask, “What’s with that look, Zehner?”

  “You know,” he begins, still clearly seething, “you could’ve clued me in that you work for the Wolves.”

  Ooh, he’s mad.

  This is so much fun.

  Good, I’m about to rile him up further.

  Shrugging, I reply, “I only started just the other day. Besides…” I snicker. “Where would the fun have been in letting you know I was aware of who you and your teammates were?”

  Glaring at me, Landen says tightly, “At least it all m
akes sense now.”

  I know where he’s going with this, but I play dumb, just…because.

  “What makes sense?” I ask, cocking my head.

  I’m glad the kids are busy and giving us a wide berth. They must recognize that we’re in a heated discussion.

  Landen, huffing, grinds out, “It makes sense that you told me to wait till today to decide if I want to go out with you.”

  Pretending to be bored, I check my pink-painted nails. “Oh, yeah, I forgot about that.”

  “Sure you did, Cricket.”

  Uh-oh, he’s catching on to my game.

  It may be time to end it, seeing as I really do want to go out with him.

  Even if he does drives me a little bit nuts with his cockiness.

  I drop the playing-it-cool act and flat-out ask, “So what’s your answer?”

  “Anxious, aren’t we?” he retorts, smirking.

  Crap, he knows he has me now.

  “Er, uh,” I sputter.

  Shifting on his skates, he snarks, “Just to clarify, I’m asking ‘What’s the answer to what, Cricket?’”

  Using my own tactic against me—jerk!

  But Landen is an incredibly hot jerk.

  I can’t deny that.

  He looks amazing standing on the ice in his hockey gear, sans helmet. I’m glad for that, as I’m able to secretly fawn over his messy blond hair, chiseled jaw, and those pretty green eyes.

  He’s so nice to look at.

  Still, I better answer his snotty question before he says something even more obnoxious about me checking him out.

  Glancing over at a small group of kids picking out youth hockey sticks that a guy from the ice crew just brought out, I inquire flatly, “Just let me know, Landen, so we can get this event started. Do you want to go out on a date with me or not? It’s totally up to you.”

  I’m certain he’s going to say yes, seeing as he’s checking me out, just like I was with him a few seconds ago.

  He looks happy with what he sees.

  Good.

  I cough to garner his attention, and his eyes meet mine.

  He smiles at me knowingly, saying nothing.

  “Hello?” I wave my hand in front of his handsome face. “Did you forget what we’re talking about? Hockey players can’t be this dumb, can they? Or maybe it’s just you.”

  Swatting my hand away, albeit lightly, he chuckles. “Ha ha ha. You’re just full of laughs, aren’t you? Did you ever consider maybe I’m still thinking it over?”