Page 83 of Hot As Ice

Slowly, she makes her way over. I grab her by the waist and set her down on my lap. Smoothing her hair off her face, I look into her big, beautiful eyes, which are filled with anxiety at the moment. “Celeste will understand,” I say. “She’s not a monster.” My father, on the other hand, won’t like it, not at all, but I’m not going to tell Stevie that. I will shield her from my father’s bullshit if it kills me.

Stevie slides her hands up my chest and wraps them around my neck. The simple action makes my heart pound wildly. I’m so fucking gone for this girl.

“No,” she says. “It’s okay. I can do it. I’ll just suck it up. I like Celeste. I want to be there for her.”

I kiss her on the nose. “Good girl.”

She shifts on my lap, making my cock even harder, something I didn’t think was possible. “Let me get out of this dress before a bead falls off or something,” she says.

“Finally,” I say, eager to have her strip for me. “Take your time. I wanna watch.”

THE NEXT DAY, I’m taping up my stick in the locker room before the game, but my mind is on Stevie at the rehearsal dinner.

I hate that she’s alone, but I know she can hold her own. It’s just that some of my father’s friends (and I use that term loosely) are assholes and I don’t want them ogling my girl. I talked to my uncle and grandfather and told them to keep an eye on her. They’re the only ones I trust around her.

They both said they would guard her with their lives.

Because they know how creepy my father’s friends can be, and how snobby some of the other guests are going to be. High society people are elitist as fuck. It makes them feel special to have money, as if they earned it, and that means they’re superior to the “have-nots.” Ninety percent of them just inherited it, like I will one day. That’s why I’m determined to play for the NHL and make a name for myself without my family’s influence. Of course, I fully acknowledge that I was able to become a great player thanks to a bunch of hockey camps and professional coaches my father paid for. It is what it is.

It’s weird to feel grateful for my privilege but also resent it at the same time.

As soon as I hit the ice for warm-ups, my mind clears. There’s so much to love about hockey, but the way it mutes the noise in my brain has to be my favorite thing about it. All the padding we have to wear also makes me feel like a warrior, like a samurai. If only I could figure out a way to take all the confidence and power I feel on the ice and transfer it into everyday life.

Maybe one day.

Tonight, we’re playing Yale on their home ice. They’re a pretty good team. At intermission, we’re tied 2-2. Coach hits us with his speech in the locker room, standing in the center with his arms crossed at his chest.

“This team is keeping you on your toes. That’s good; you’ve been getting too many easy wins lately. I want you to be challenged. But you can beat them. Stay hungry and focused. And know that your only real competition is yourselves. Alright?”

I look around the room. Everyone is hanging on Coach’s every word, as usual. He has a knack for motivating us, even when he’s being a hard ass, which is most of the time. But every single player respects him, and he’s never steered us wrong. Even when it’s tough love, it doesn’t feel abusive.

I’ve had coaches where it did feel abusive, and it wasn’t motivating at all. Quite the opposite. Some people think yelling at athletes and pushing them too hard is good for them, but it usually just causes burnout in athletes who would otherwise be great if a different coaching approach was taken.

“Now get out there,” Coach finishes, “and show them who you are.”

A roar goes up from all of us. We’re pumped. Ready to win. The adrenaline is strong and intoxicating.

“Let’s fucking go,” Ryder yells, punching me on the shoulder as we make our way through the tunnel and back onto the ice. “I wanna make those Yale players cry like little bitches.”

In the end, we don’t make them cry. It’s a close game, and we eke out a 3-2 win. I score once and get two assists. I’m not mad about it, but I wish we’d gotten more goals. I can’t believe we’re still undefeated. That sounds like I don’t believe in myself or my team, but it’s not that at all. It’s just that we’ve never had such a successful season. And, yeah, I don’t want to jinx it. I may not be as superstitious as Sean, but I have my own rituals and good luck charms. The biggest good luck charm is currently without me at my father’s rehearsal dinner.

It’s going to take less than an hour to get back, but the dinner will definitely be over by then, and I’ll be too beat to do anything but crash. We get on the bus, and I shoot Stevie a text.

ME

How’s the dinner?

STEVIE

It’s actually fun? The food is delicious. Celeste looks happy. Your dad literally never smiles.

ME

Yup, that’s my dad for ya

STEVIE

Do you think you’ll still make it? How was the game?