Page 14 of Ice Queen

I’d stayed there as long as I could until the texts from Wyatt started to come in, asking where I was in the list. I bought that book, took it home, and read it anytime I was alone. I smile, thinking about how far I’ve come since then. How much stronger I am.

My clock chimes, telling me it’s now nine AM and I need to unlock the door. I let my hand fall, warmth radiates through my chest at the thought that maybe I could be that place of peace for someone else.

Even if only for a moment.

CHAPTER 5

Markus

“I can’t believe I have to do this,” I whine to Monroe, who hasn’t been able to wipe the stupid grin off his face since he was told about Sports Romance Night.

“There’s no way this guy isn’t gunning for me. I mean, do you know what this will do to my reputation?” I scoff. “I’ll be the village pariah by the time the night ends.”

Reed coughs to cover his laugh as we continue down the hallway toward the team gym. “I don’t know, man. You might be surprised.” He purposely stumbles, placing one hand over his heart as he catches himself on the wall. “Women love the mushy gushy stuff. You being the mascot of the first ever Sports Romance Night might just put you at the top of the eligible bachelor list.”

Filling my cheeks with air, I double over, pretending to hurl. “I am not an ‘eligible bachelor.’” I glare up at him through my lashes.

“First it was Rico Suave, now this? Come on, tio⁠*. Give me a bit more credit.” My brows furrow. “How would you even know? You’re like a freaking monk.”

I watch our captain push off the wall, rolling his eyes at me, but avoiding the question as he nudges the gym door open with his shoulder. The heavy drum beat of Pantera fills the gym. I’m convinced it makes you lift heavier, a science I’m sure has been studied. But one I don’t care enough to actually research.

It’s leg day, and the three of us always spot each other. Other than Wilson, we’re the closest in size. But he and Andrews work out at the gym that Abby, our team's physical therapist, goes to. Something about needing a change of scenery when it isn’t scheduled team lift time. Not that I mind, more room for the big dogs to work and mess with the rookies.

A few weeks ago, Monroe, our resident prank king, changed all the playlists to hold songs like “Call Me Maybe” and “Friday.” I think even “Barbie Girl” was in there somewhere. And every one of us jammed out like it was a regular occurrence. Oh, the pictures we got of their faces were worth every minute of the wasted lifting session.

After we’ve warmed up, I set up with my first set, 335 pounds. I’m on my way to 450, mainly because Wilson looked up the average squat range of pro hockey players, and it went from 330 to 440. And I am on a mission to beat that. Bragging rights and all that.

Lowering myself to the ground, I pause at the bottom of the movement, something Abby told us strengthened the bottom portion of the lift because it gets rid of the bounce or momentum that usually comes with a continuous squat. Halfway up, my name is bellowed through the gym.

“Mierda,” I hiss, slamming the bar back into the metal rack. “Do you have a death wish?” I level Coach Sterling with a glare that both my teammates match.

“Collins needs you.” He squares his shoulders, puffing out his chest.

“You don’t yell someone’s name in the middle of a lift, Sterling.” Monroe’s voice shakes. “He could have thrown out his knee, hell, even his back.”

Our dear coach just crosses his arms, blinking slowly as he stares at us. “That’s what a spot is for.”

What the actual?... My neck cracks as my head whips back and forth between my teammates, jaw hanging open. That’s what a spo– I’m not convinced this guy has a single working brain cell other than the one that flashes “douchebag” brighter than a strip club sign in Vegas.

“No, a spot is to help in distress,” Reed counters, crossing his arms and mirroring his stance. “Not a distraction no one saw coming.”

“Huh,” Sterling chuffs. “Guess you better get used to the unexpected then.” The implication hangs heavy in the air, and I shift on my feet, arms crossing over my chest as I put myself between him and my friends.

“Now, Samuels,” he calls over his shoulder, not caring to stop and make sure I’m actually following while he walks out of the gym.

“Would I get fired if I hung him from the flag pole by the boxers that are clearly too far up his ass already?” I mumble, not thinking the guys heard me. But their boisterous laughter has me playing with my lip ring to keep the smile off my face while I walk out of the room.

The walk is short to Mr. Collins’ office, and like a cockroach, Coach Sterling stands outside the door. “You wanted to see me, Sir?” I ask from the hallway.

I know I didn’t do anything wrong to warrant this summoning, so I don’t bother with the freakout that I’m sure Sterling is looking for.

“You’re coming to Romance Night tonight?” His eyebrow raises in question.

I chuckle, spinning the ring one more time. “Yes, got a whole speech planned.”

Mr. Collins’ eyes shine with amusement. “Of course you do, wouldn’t expect anything less.”

A choked laugh comes from the coach, who hides his smile behind his hand. God, what I wouldn’t do to break a stick over his head.