Page 49 of Melt the Ice

She raises back up on her knees, pulling my face down to hers. Her tongue drags across my jaw line, a chill passes through me at the sensation left from the ice that had been there seconds ago. I whimper as a drop of cold liquid runs down the column of my neck, pooling in the hollow of my throat.

“What pretty sounds you make for me, baby,” she breathes against my lips before she kisses my chin and lowers herself back down to the floor. Her teeth scrape down the front of my neck, making my boxer-clad hips buck toward her.

She gives me a soft tsk before whispering, “Impatient.”

“Lettie,” I don’t mean to drag her name out, but it comes out as a desperate plea.

“Oh… you beg too?” Her fingertips slide down my chest, stopping to cradle my hip bone. “You really are my good boy, aren’t you?”

My chest heaves, I’m surprised my tongue hasn’t fallen out of my mouth, begging for all this woman wants to offer me. If I die now, I’d be the happiest man to ever walk the earth.

But then she stiffens, “What is that?” Her wide eyes are focused on my thigh, the very thigh that holds the sparrow she drew when I was sixteen.

“I believe the book girlies call it a ‘slutty thigh tattoo’.”

She traces over the pattern, mesmerized, her head shakes softly before she looks back up at me with tears in her eyes. “You really got this tattooed on you?”

I nod, transfixed by the emotion swirling in her eyes.

“When?”

“My eighteenth birthday.” Her mouth falls open, but only for a second before she presses her lips to the blue heart that sits on the bird's chest, exactly the way she drew it back then. My muscle jumps at the contact.

She looks up at me through her lashes. She looks perfect settled between my thighs, her lithe body framed and protected by my own. I’ll take what she gives me and still ask for more. I’m a selfish man when it comes to her. My desire for her runs like a current, strong and wild, and I’d gladly drown before I ever let this woman go again.

I regret nothing, especially not the fact that I woke up to a mostly naked Scarlett this morning. Definitely not the fact that I got to make breakfast for her. We even did the rounds to check the fence together before I had to head to the airport. It was like we were kids, riding the horses around the ranch, making up ridiculous stories about what the animals talked about during the day.

She just had to go and throw my entire world off its axis once again. Lost in the throes of passion, the way she played my body and the way she let me play hers right back, every ounce of fight left at the edge of my bed. It was like I’d been given a second chance, one where being loved back was a possibility. One where I didn’t end up alone at the end of the day.

She’s been my lifeline since mom died, and subconsciously, I fear I’m putting way too much expectation on her. What happens if she leaves, or God forbid, something happens to her, too? I guess this stretch of away games will be a good test.

We won our game three to one, and I may have scored a goal, then pointed at the camera because I had a hunch someone was watching back home. My suspicion is confirmed when my phone lights up from its spot on the bench next to me. I unlock it as I pull my shirt over my head, not looking forward to putting this stupid suit back on.

Abby: You know I love you if I went along with Hannah’s stupid idea.

Abby: I’ll have you know, Scarlett’s still a little shit, and she knows not a damn thing about hockey… How are you going to marry someone who doesn’t know anything about your job? I mean, WTF Monroe?

I laugh under my breath, not wanting to gain the attention of any of my teammates, most of which are already dressed and heading to the bus. My chest swells knowing Hannah probably tricked Abby into showing up at the ranch unannounced. I may or may not have said something about it when she dropped Wilder off at the plane. It’s one of his away-game superstitions: if Hannah doesn’t bring him to the airport, he’s off the entire trip.

I have so many questions. Thanks for giving her a chance, though.

I watch as three dots immediately show up on the screen, dancing, then disappearing and reappearing like they’re made to taunt me.

Abby: She’s alright, she taught us how to cuss in Spanish.

Abby: She also wanted to know if you can “twirl like a pretty girl?”

My chin meets my chest as I shake my head slightly. That girl is something.

Depends, does a pretty girl spin like a 200-pound gorilla?

Abby: She said, “No, I kind of envision it like an elephant. The ones that wear tutus and tiaras.”

Huh, I could probably make that happen.

Abby: Eff this shit. Hold on.

**Abby added Scarlett Arias and Mrs. Friggen Wilder to the group chat**